think of how close he was. But he was close, and all her senses were reacting to him. She was so involved in trying to ignore her senses that she was just a fraction too late in reacting when he leaned forward to drop the catalogues onto the coffee table and then returned to her side.
It all happened very quickly, she realized somewhat dazedly. Without a wasted motion Ryder had lifted her legs across his lap, keeping one arm over her thighs and slipping the other around her shoulders. She was half lying in the corner of the couch, conscious of his hard thighs beneath hers and his powerful arms holding her prisoner.
Trapped, she felt unnervingly helpless.
Her hands had lifted instinctively to his chest, braced to hold him off. But Ryder made no attempt to use force. Instead, he smiled down at her, a curiously apologetic smile that still managed to hold a great deal of masculine triumph.
"I couldn't stand it anymore," he explained softly.
Since she didn't have to hold him off, Amanda realized that her fingers were moving just a little of their own volition, probing through his thick sweater to find the hard flesh beneath. She tried to make them stop, but the silent command couldn't seem to reach that far.
"You're—moving too fast," she managed to protest in a strained voice.
"Am I?" He shook his head slightly. "I don't think so. I've got the feeling if I give you too much time to think, you'll run away from me."
"That's ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. I don't—I don't run away from men."
"I'm glad to hear it." His voice was deepening, growing a little rough. "Do you know there are secrets in your eyes?"
"What?" She was startled, uneasy.
The arm around her shoulders shifted so that his fingers tangled in her thick hair, holding her head firmly. "No, don't look away. Amanda?"
Warily she met his gaze again, wondering what on earth was happening to her strength of will. He seemed to have the knack of eroding it.
"Amazing eyes," he murmured, his own probing almost unconsciously. "So green. Even now, in an almost dark room, they're green. It isn't fair for you to have eyes so green."
The long fingers moving in her hair were unexpectedly pleasurable; she could literally feel her ability to think clearly slipping away, dissipating like smoke in the wind. All the things she knew she should tell him were locked inside her somewhere, and she couldn't find them, couldn't shape the words. She could only look at him and wonder on some distant level of herself what was happening to her.
"Damn those eyes," he said on a long breath, then lowered his head until his mouth touched hers.
Amanda felt a hot shiver of pure need ripple through her body at the first touch of his lips. Her mouth opened to him instantly, and she felt as well as heard the strange, muted sound in the back of her throat.
He kissed her with utter absorption, as if there were nothing in the world except the two of them and this urgent desire rising inexorably between them. His mouth was hard, yet it seduced rather than demanded, beguiled rather than forced.
She was half conscious of her arms sliding up around his neck, of her fingers twining in the thick silk of his dark hair. Never in her life had she felt anything like the need inside her; it was shattering in its intensity, and she could no more fight it than she could stop breathing. When his lips finally left hers she murmured a husky protest, not even aware of doing so.
"Amanda," he said tautly as his mouth moved slowly down over the warm flesh of her throat.
Hearing her name from him surprised her somehow, and she understood dimly that it was because her identity was overwhelmed by this passion between them. She could recall reading novels where the women had "lost themselves" in passion, and because she herself had never caught fire, she'd been able to sneer inwardly at those weaklings. But now she understood—and it frightened her.
He made her surrender to feelings she couldn't control. The need
It all happened very quickly, she realized somewhat dazedly. Without a wasted motion Ryder had lifted her legs across his lap, keeping one arm over her thighs and slipping the other around her shoulders. She was half lying in the corner of the couch, conscious of his hard thighs beneath hers and his powerful arms holding her prisoner.
Trapped, she felt unnervingly helpless.
Her hands had lifted instinctively to his chest, braced to hold him off. But Ryder made no attempt to use force. Instead, he smiled down at her, a curiously apologetic smile that still managed to hold a great deal of masculine triumph.
"I couldn't stand it anymore," he explained softly.
Since she didn't have to hold him off, Amanda realized that her fingers were moving just a little of their own volition, probing through his thick sweater to find the hard flesh beneath. She tried to make them stop, but the silent command couldn't seem to reach that far.
"You're—moving too fast," she managed to protest in a strained voice.
"Am I?" He shook his head slightly. "I don't think so. I've got the feeling if I give you too much time to think, you'll run away from me."
"That's ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. I don't—I don't run away from men."
"I'm glad to hear it." His voice was deepening, growing a little rough. "Do you know there are secrets in your eyes?"
"What?" She was startled, uneasy.
The arm around her shoulders shifted so that his fingers tangled in her thick hair, holding her head firmly. "No, don't look away. Amanda?"
Warily she met his gaze again, wondering what on earth was happening to her strength of will. He seemed to have the knack of eroding it.
"Amazing eyes," he murmured, his own probing almost unconsciously. "So green. Even now, in an almost dark room, they're green. It isn't fair for you to have eyes so green."
The long fingers moving in her hair were unexpectedly pleasurable; she could literally feel her ability to think clearly slipping away, dissipating like smoke in the wind. All the things she knew she should tell him were locked inside her somewhere, and she couldn't find them, couldn't shape the words. She could only look at him and wonder on some distant level of herself what was happening to her.
"Damn those eyes," he said on a long breath, then lowered his head until his mouth touched hers.
Amanda felt a hot shiver of pure need ripple through her body at the first touch of his lips. Her mouth opened to him instantly, and she felt as well as heard the strange, muted sound in the back of her throat.
He kissed her with utter absorption, as if there were nothing in the world except the two of them and this urgent desire rising inexorably between them. His mouth was hard, yet it seduced rather than demanded, beguiled rather than forced.
She was half conscious of her arms sliding up around his neck, of her fingers twining in the thick silk of his dark hair. Never in her life had she felt anything like the need inside her; it was shattering in its intensity, and she could no more fight it than she could stop breathing. When his lips finally left hers she murmured a husky protest, not even aware of doing so.
"Amanda," he said tautly as his mouth moved slowly down over the warm flesh of her throat.
Hearing her name from him surprised her somehow, and she understood dimly that it was because her identity was overwhelmed by this passion between them. She could recall reading novels where the women had "lost themselves" in passion, and because she herself had never caught fire, she'd been able to sneer inwardly at those weaklings. But now she understood—and it frightened her.
He made her surrender to feelings she couldn't control. The need
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