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She should stop him. Not right this minute, of course. She wouldn’t ask the impossible of herself. But real soon now. Before she lost her mind, and forgothemightrealizeanymomentthatsexcouldn’t be this hot unless her heart was fanning the flames.
He’d never feel the same. She knew that. The women in her family never captured the hearts of their men. She could accept that, because she had to. She would embrace every second of this happiness while she had it. And every brain-frying second of this painful pleasure with him for as long as she had him in her life.
She turned in his arms as fast as any whirling dervish. She had to hold the length of him against her, the coiled strength of him, the heat of him, from herachingarmstoherswellingbreastsandthatspot at the apex of her legs growing hotter, wetter, more yearning.
He pulled her closer. Stop. Stop. I’m going to explode before we even get our clothes off.
He did stop, and she thought she could catch her breath. But no. He cradled her face in his big, stroking hands and gazed deeply into her eyes. Something was there in his. She didn’t dare dream of what it might be.
He angled her for his kiss. The touch of his lips was warm and questioning at first, but not for long. He turned marauder. Flavors, heady and intoxicating, swirled around her as her blood built toward boiling. She opened her mouth farther. Come in. Take more. Here, I’ll give you more than you ever dreamed of.
He took.
He reached for the buttons on her blouse, tracing each new exquisitely sensitive bit of skin as he uncovered it. He outlined the hot flesh at the edge of her lacy black excuse for a bra. He slipped his finger inside the fabric to tease the tip of her breast as his mouth on hers promised more.
She moaned.
He groaned.
He picked her up with one fast, fluid bunch of his muscles. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“Stairs,” she said thickly. “Stairs down the hall.”
Hereachedtheminseconds.Heboundedup,holding her molded to his chest. He kicked open the door she directed him to, and stopped at her bed to look down at her with smoldering eyes.
The pause in their passion gave her conscience time to awaken. She had to tell him what he meant to her. She had to be honest.
“You’rethemostbeautifulthingI’veeverseen,”he said.
“That’sjustlust,”sheblurted.“Ineedtotalktoyou about that.”
“Hush,” he breathed. “No talk.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Nothing matters now except you and me.”“That’s just it,” she said. “You and me is the something I have to tell you about. Being the kind of guy you are, you would never forgive me if I tried to hide this from you.”
Her conscience tried to stiffen her spine, but everything in her was melting toward him. Compromise. That was it. She’d tell him some of it. Not all of it. After all, she couldn’t be sure of all of it, could she? But she’d give him fair warning of what might be.
“You see,” she said carefully, “the fact is — I could see myself falling in love with you.”
The sudden stillness crackled around Van. He stiffened his arms, holding her away. She glanced at him sideways, all nerves.
“You — what?” he said.
Lotsofwomenhadimaginedtheywereinlovewith him, or tried to tell him they were. A long time ago, he’d fallen for it. A few times, anyway. He’d returned their feelings, or tried to. Now he knew better.
Some of them really did think they were in love. Lust, that’s all it was. He didn’t mind returning that favor at all. At best, though, they were in love with the idea of love. More likely, they’d decided to fall in love with a man who had more money than he could ever spend.
Mary was no different. Was she?
“I’ve fallen in love with the thought of taking you to bed.” He cautiously searched her face. Desire, yes, it was all over her face and in the warmth of the delicious body in his arms. But back to her face. A rising tide of red. Embarrassment? He couldn’t rememberthelasttimehe’dbeenwithawomanwho was embarrassed about wanting sex.
“Don’t worry,” she hurried to say. “It makes it better. It makes it safer for both of us. I promise. Let me explain.”
Wait a minute. If she needed to explain, his first gut reaction had been the right one. He was holding an armful of trouble he had no right to get into. Womenwhoknewitwasaflingwereonething,butit soundedasthoughthiswomanwasnotoneofthose. “Explain. Yes. Do that.”
His arms slackened. He didn’t mean them to do that.Itwasjust—she’dshockedhim.Hedidn’tknow what to think, not about love, not about safety. He didn’t want to think about anything.
