Charlisse collapsed to her knees, and dropped her head into her hands. She slid fingers over her arm where Merrick had touched, then over her shoulder where his warmth had sent every nerve quivering. His scent was upon her: musk, salt, and leather. Why wouldn't he leave her be? Why didn't he go to his Spanish lady?

Fury rose within her, extinguishing her heated nerves and smothering her sorrow. She shot to her feet, took a deep breath, and swiped the tears from her face, ...