current sparked and sizzled from her into him, leaving him breathless, dazed and churning. Even as he groaned against the onslaught, he felt her arch away from the power that snapped back into her.
She shuddered against him and made a sound—part protest, part confusion—as she tried to struggle away.
He’d wrapped her hair around his hand. He had only to tug gently to have her head fall back, to have her eyes dark and cloudy on his.
He took his time, letting his gaze skim over her face. He wanted to see in her eyes what he had felt. The reflection was there, that most elemental yearning. He smiled again as her lips trembled open and her breath came fast and uneven.
“I’m not finished yet,” he told her, then dragged her against him again and plundered.
She needed to think, but her thoughts couldn’t fight their way through the sensations. Layers of them, thin and silky, seemed to cover her, fogging the reason, drugging the will. Before panic could slice through, she was rocketing up again, clinging to him, opening for him, demanding from him.
He knew he could feast and never be full. Not when her mouth was hot and moist and ripe with flavor. He knew he could hold yet never control. Not when her body was vibrating from the explosion they had ignited together. The promise he had heard in her voice, seen in her eyes, was here for the taking.
Unable to resist, he slid his hands under her sweatshirt to find the warmed satin skin beneath. He took, possessed, exploited, until the ache spreading through his body turned to pain.
Too fast, he warned himself. Too soon. For both of them. Holding her steady, he lifted his head and waited for her to surface.
She dragged her eyes open and saw only his face. She gulped in air and tasted only his flavor. Reeling, she pressed a hand to her temple, then let it fall to her side. “I … I want to sit down.”
“That makes two of us.” Taking her arm, he led her to the couch and sat beside her.
She worked on steadying her breathing, focused on the dark window across the room. Maybe with enough time, enough distance, she would be able to convince herself that what had just happened had not been life-altering.
“That was stupid.”
“It was a lot of things,” he pointed out. “Stupid doesn’t come to mind.”
She took one more deep breath. “You made me angry.”
“It isn’t hard.”
“Listen, Boyd—”
“So you
can
say it.” Before she could stop him, he stroked a hand down her hair in a casually intimate gesture that made her pulse rate soar again. “Does that mean you don’t use a man’s name until you’ve kissed him?”
“It doesn’t mean anything.” She stood up, hoping she’d get the strength back in her legs quicker by pacing. “Obviously we’ve gotten off the track.”
“There’s more than one.” He settled back, thinking it was a pleasure to watch her move. There was something just fine and dandy about watching the swing of long feminine legs. As she paced, nervous energy crackling, he tossed an arm over the back of the couch and stretched out his legs.
“There’s only one for me.” She threw him a look over her shoulder. “You’d better understand that.”
“Okay, we’ll ride on that one for a while.” He could afford to wait, since he had every intention of switching lines again, and soon. “You seem to have some kind of screwy notion that the only thing that attracts men to you is your voice, your act. I think we just proved you wrong.”
“What just happened proved nothing.” If there was anything more infuriating than that slow, patient smile of his, she had yet to see it. “In any case, that has nothing to do with the man who’s calling me.”
“You’re a smart woman, Cilla. Use your head. He’s fixed on you, but not for himself. He wants topay you back for something you did to another man. Someone you knew,” he continued when she stopped long enough to pick up a cigarette. “Someone who was involved with
She shuddered against him and made a sound—part protest, part confusion—as she tried to struggle away.
He’d wrapped her hair around his hand. He had only to tug gently to have her head fall back, to have her eyes dark and cloudy on his.
He took his time, letting his gaze skim over her face. He wanted to see in her eyes what he had felt. The reflection was there, that most elemental yearning. He smiled again as her lips trembled open and her breath came fast and uneven.
“I’m not finished yet,” he told her, then dragged her against him again and plundered.
She needed to think, but her thoughts couldn’t fight their way through the sensations. Layers of them, thin and silky, seemed to cover her, fogging the reason, drugging the will. Before panic could slice through, she was rocketing up again, clinging to him, opening for him, demanding from him.
He knew he could feast and never be full. Not when her mouth was hot and moist and ripe with flavor. He knew he could hold yet never control. Not when her body was vibrating from the explosion they had ignited together. The promise he had heard in her voice, seen in her eyes, was here for the taking.
Unable to resist, he slid his hands under her sweatshirt to find the warmed satin skin beneath. He took, possessed, exploited, until the ache spreading through his body turned to pain.
Too fast, he warned himself. Too soon. For both of them. Holding her steady, he lifted his head and waited for her to surface.
She dragged her eyes open and saw only his face. She gulped in air and tasted only his flavor. Reeling, she pressed a hand to her temple, then let it fall to her side. “I … I want to sit down.”
“That makes two of us.” Taking her arm, he led her to the couch and sat beside her.
She worked on steadying her breathing, focused on the dark window across the room. Maybe with enough time, enough distance, she would be able to convince herself that what had just happened had not been life-altering.
“That was stupid.”
“It was a lot of things,” he pointed out. “Stupid doesn’t come to mind.”
She took one more deep breath. “You made me angry.”
“It isn’t hard.”
“Listen, Boyd—”
“So you
can
say it.” Before she could stop him, he stroked a hand down her hair in a casually intimate gesture that made her pulse rate soar again. “Does that mean you don’t use a man’s name until you’ve kissed him?”
“It doesn’t mean anything.” She stood up, hoping she’d get the strength back in her legs quicker by pacing. “Obviously we’ve gotten off the track.”
“There’s more than one.” He settled back, thinking it was a pleasure to watch her move. There was something just fine and dandy about watching the swing of long feminine legs. As she paced, nervous energy crackling, he tossed an arm over the back of the couch and stretched out his legs.
“There’s only one for me.” She threw him a look over her shoulder. “You’d better understand that.”
“Okay, we’ll ride on that one for a while.” He could afford to wait, since he had every intention of switching lines again, and soon. “You seem to have some kind of screwy notion that the only thing that attracts men to you is your voice, your act. I think we just proved you wrong.”
“What just happened proved nothing.” If there was anything more infuriating than that slow, patient smile of his, she had yet to see it. “In any case, that has nothing to do with the man who’s calling me.”
“You’re a smart woman, Cilla. Use your head. He’s fixed on you, but not for himself. He wants topay you back for something you did to another man. Someone you knew,” he continued when she stopped long enough to pick up a cigarette. “Someone who was involved with
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