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      Martinique

      French West Indies

      April 1831

      “One kiss, ma Sapphire douce, one kiss, else I will perish,” the handsome, dark-haired Frenchman declared, bringing both hands to his heart where he stood chest-deep in the pool of crystal blue-green water beneath the waterfall.

      Maurice wore nothing but a pair of buff doeskin breeches, soaked through and clinging to his body like a second skin, and the sight of his bare, muscular chest and dripping hair slicked back over his head made Sapphire’s pulse quicken and her knees go weak. “You’ll have to catch me first, Maurice.” She laughed and splashed him, swaying her hips provocatively beneath the transparent shift she wore for her late-afternoon swim.

      Maurice lunged forward, his hand striking out, but she turned and dove headlong into the pool, touching the sandy bottom with outstretched fingertips before she came back up, lungs straining for air.

      “Got you!” He caught her ankle and began to drag her toward him, running his hands up her bare calf.

      “No!” Sapphire squealed, kicking her free leg and laughing. “Release me, kind sir.”

      “Not until I have my kiss, fair damsel.” Stepping back, Maurice found his footing on the sandy bottom again and pulled her into his arms.

      Surrendering at last, Sapphire looped her arms around his neck and tipped her head back, allowing her wet, waist-length auburn tresses to fall over her shoulders and dip into the water. Closing her eyes, pressing her hips to his, she reveled in the feel of Maurice’s body against hers.

      Maurice had caught her eye at a ball last autumn when he and his brother Jacques had returned from school in France to join his father on a neighboring plantation. She’d felt the magic from the first night they met. A few innocent kisses, followed by heated glances across crowded rooms and several furtive meetings, and she’d fallen