By the time Fergus followed she had the doors open on the other side of the shed. This was a dry shed, with the boat having to be winched up a tracked ramp to be under cover. The boat the family had used had long been sold, but the shed itself was weatherproof and completely dry.

Ginny had always loved it. It had become a bolthole, when things had been too awful at home, and she’d squirrelled things away here. Blankets. Pillows. An old mattress, with a couple of broken springs. Her comforts were ancient but not so old they couldn’t be very useful now.

Fergus stopped at the door and gazed around in appreciation. The moon was almost full, and as soon as Ginny flung open the boat doors onto the lake, the moonlight flooded in.

‘I have candles,’ Ginny said, a trifle self-consciously and he nodded.

‘I bet you have. With little cupids engraved…’

‘There’s no need to mock.’

‘I’m not mocking,’ he said softly, grinning. ‘Ginny, this is magic. A man could fall in love…’

‘But you won’t.’

‘Of course I won’t,’ he said, though he suddenly sounded a trace unsure. He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. His smile faded. ‘Ginny, are you sure?’

‘About tonight? I’m as sure as I’ve ever been about anything. But tomorrow…there’s no tomorrow, Fergus. We both know that.’

‘So we do,’ he said gently. ‘But there is tonight.’

She looked up at him, fixing her eyes on his. Making sure. And then, suddenly, before any more of these stupid scruples could get in the way, she tugged her shirt over her head. Then she flicked the fasteners of her bra, letting it fall free, and reached for the zip of her jeans.

He caught her hand.

‘This is not an offering you’re making,’ he said softly, catching her other hand as well and holding her before him. ‘This is mutual love-making we’re indulging in here. Mutual. I want you, Ginny, but I want you to want me.’

‘I do want you,’ she whispered.

‘Not for sex, Ginny. For love-making. Whether or not there’s a tomorrow, this needs to be an act of love or I want no part of it. I need you to kiss me.’

She gazed up at him. He was looking down at her, but he wasn’t looking at her breasts, as some men might have. He was searching her eyes.

He was so…so…

There was something changing inside her. Something she hadn’t been aware could be changed.

Fergus.

She twisted the grip of his hand so it was she who was doing the holding. She lifted his hand high, so the back of his hand was against her cheek. So she could feel the roughness of his skin against her.

This was so right. For this night, this was her man. He was big and tender and scarred with the same horror she’d faced. She put her hands up and touched his face, gently, tenderly, never letting her eyes move from his.

‘Fergus.’

He bent and he kissed her.

And in that instant her world readjusted itself. The awful tilted axis somehow righted itself. Love-making, he’d called it, and maybe it was the right description. For now, for this wondrous moment, the horror of commitment made way for…

For what? She wasn’t asking and neither was he. Because wonderfully, inevitably, Fergus was merging his mouth with hers. Her hands were cradling his face, brushing his cheek with her fingers, tracing the roughness of skin, and for this moment she was loving every inch of him.

He deepened the kiss, and the sensation made her want to cry out in pleasure. But she couldn’t, for to do that would be to break the moment. To take pause…

But he did take pause. He moved back then, just a little, so she could see the flare of desire in his eyes but could also read the sudden doubt.

‘Ginny, it is love-making.’

‘Yes, but only for tonight. Just for tonight,’ she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear but suddenly no longer sure that her words held truth. She smiled up at him, forcing her smile to be that of a calm, sure woman, with the situation totally in her control. The fact that the situation was suddenly totally out of control was no fault of his and it was no less magical for that. For the first time in her life she was out of control, and glorying in it.

Please…

The word was no sooner formed in her mind before she had her answer. She was being kissed again, and it seemed she’d been waiting all her life for this kiss.

Her lips parted, joy surging through her body as she realised that hesitations were gone. For this moment things had indeed changed. He was her Fergus-the man who’d lain beside her and rescued a lamb and somehow changed the way she viewed her world.

She closed her eyes, aching with sensual pleasure as he deepened the kiss. His fingers were holding her, tracing the contours of her waist, seeking to know her. He was glorying in the smoothness of her skin, slowly, wonderingly, and each inch of movement sent shivers of sheer sensual pleasure through her entire body.

She let herself lean into him, letting her body’s weight be supported by his, seeking reassurance that he was real and not some romantic fantasy. Not some dream that would dissipate before it went further. That this was happening in truth and not in dreams. She was naked to the waist and he was still clothed, but that was of no concern. She could feel the strength of him underneath. The clothes would disappear in time and for now it seemed they had all the time in the world.

‘For tonight I love you, Fergus,’ she whispered. ‘This is indeed love-making.’

‘It is indeed.’ He held her at arm’s length. ‘Ginny, are you indeed sure? You know I make no promises.’

‘I want no promises. For now I just want you.’

He gazed down into her eyes for a long, long moment, questioning, probing, but her answers had already been given.

‘My beloved fool. We’re both fools.’

‘No. We’re a mature man and woman with a condom. Out to have a very good time.’ She smiled up at him, aware that her whole universe was centred in this one moment, and she caught his hand and held. She kissed every finger in turn while he gazed down at her bent head with wonder in his eyes.

He kissed her once more but it was different. Better. He kissed her as she needed to be kissed. As she ached to be kissed. Her neck, her lips, her eyelids.

She lifted his hand and led it to her breast. He slipped his fingers around the soft swell, cupping the smooth contours, tracing the nipples, making her cry out in a soft, low ache of need and desire and love.

He was still in his shirt and she needed him closer. She needed the fabric to be gone. The night was dreamlike and wonderful as she pulled away. The flickering rays of moonlight off the water were playing on their faces. There was no need of candlelight here.

Her Fergus. For tonight, this was her Fergus.

They didn’t speak. There was no room for speaking. There was no need. Her fingers were unfastening the front of his shirt. He watched her, his hands gently touching her face, and she could hear his breathing deepening as she made her way downward. Her fingers were feeling the warmth of his skin under the fabric. Her lovely Fergus. Her hero, wounded as she was, but for this night magically healed.

His breathing was becoming ragged as she ran her hands over his chest, feeling his hair between her fingers. Leaning closer, she kissed his neck, tasting the salt of him. Loving him. The shirt had fallen away and he was left with only his jeans.

Her Fergus. Hers.

She locked his arms behind him, then lifted her head to allow him to kiss her. He was tasting her neck, caressing her shoulders with his tongue and the sensation was so exquisite she thought she must cry out in pleasure. She could hardly breathe. She stood motionless, gasping her pleasure as he lowered his head and kissed between her breasts. Slowly. Slowly. His hands gently cupped each breast and his lips moved from one to the other. He kissed them in turn, tantalising, teasing the proudly upright nipples. Savouring.

His fingers moved, gently, whispering down her back, her arms, neck… And then he tugged her into him and their heated bodies moulded together.

Skin to skin.

Their mouths were joined again, her hands holding him in urgent, primeval need. His hands tugged at her hips and she felt her jeans slipping. Good. This was right. She searched for the zipper of his and tugged, and her hands kept on tugging. Away. Away. As his clothing disappeared, her hands stayed at his hips. She felt his body stiffen with shock as her fingers found what they were seeking.

And she found what for this moment she desired above all else. That which would link her to this man in a way she must be if she was to live.

She was under no illusion now. This night was changing her, hauling her out of a dark abyss that she could no longer bear to be in. The escape for her was in loving this man, whether he wanted her or not. But joyously he did want her. For this moment, and that was all that mattered. It was all that could be allowed to matter.

Their bodies were melting into each other. He tugged her closer, then swept her up into his arms and lowered her onto the ancient mattress. She heard herself cry out with dismay as they were momentarily separated, as he did what he needed to do to keep them safe. But it was done in an instant and then he joined her, his body melting against hers.

Slow. Tender. Inevitable. Their bodies curved against each other, and as they met, skin against skin, she felt herself growing dizzy with passion she’d never known. That she’d never realised she could know.

Oh, the feel of him. The joy. He kissed her neck, a rain of kisses, running his tongue over her smooth, soft skin, while his magic hands caressed the hot skin of her breasts, her navel, her belly and beyond.