Staggered by the knowledge, she poured everything she had into the kiss, needing to show him that whatever he felt was returned, equally. Then his mouth slid from hers to trail down her throat, over her shoulder. All thought, all reason, skittered away.
In a warm, slippery pool of silk and satin, he showed her what it was to ache for someone. To yearn for the sharp, thin point of pain the poets call ecstasy. Her hips arched under his, desperately offering. But he only continued that tormenting journey over her with teasing lips and gentle hands.
When his tongue flicked under the line of lace that clung tenuously to her breasts, she moaned, pressing an urgent hand to the back of his head. The taste there—honey, dampened by her arousal—nearly unraveled the taut knot of his control. So he pleased them both, closing a greedy mouth over that firm, scented swell.
Gasping out with pleasure, she bucked under him, straining for more, her nails digging heedlessly into his back as she whimpered and struggled for what was just out of reach. Maddened by her response, he brought his mouth to hers again, crushing her lips as he slithered a hand down to cup the heat between her thighs. Prayers and pleas trembled on her tongue, but before she could voice them, he slipped under the silk to stroke.
The unbearable pleasure shattered. Fractured lights, whirling colors, spun behind her eyes to blind her. She heard herself cry out; his name was nearly a sob. Then there was his groan, a sound of sweet satisfaction as her body went limp in release.
Never before. Her hands slid away from him, boneless. Sweet Lord, never like this. She felt weak, wrecked, weepy. As her breath sobbed out, as her eyes fluttered closed, they both knew that her mind, her body, were totally his for the taking.
He’d never felt stronger. Her wild response, her absolute surrender, filled him with a kind of intense power he’d never experienced before. Silk rustled against silk as he drew the teddy down, tossed it aside. Her skin, slick with passion, glowed in the shadows. He touched where he chose, watching, fascinated, as his own hands molded her. Gold against ivory. He tasted wherever he liked, feeling her muscles quiver involuntarily as he traced openmouthed kisses over her rib cage, down to her stomach. Heat to heat.
Then, wanting that instant of sheer pleasure again, he drove her up a second time, shuddering himself as her body convulsed and flowed with the crest of the wave.
At last, unable to wait a moment longer, he slipped inside that hot, moist sheath. Her groan of stunned delight echoed his own.
Slowly, as in a dream, her arms lifted to wrap around him. She rose to meet him, to take him deep. They moved gently at first, treasuring the intimacy, willing to prolong it. But need outpaced them, driving them faster, until, thrust for thrust, they sprinted toward the final crest.
His hand fisted in her hair as the last link of control snapped clean. Her name exploded from his lips like an oath as he emptied himself into her.
She wondered how she could ever have thought herself experienced. While it was true she hadn’t been with as many men as some thought, she hadn’t come to Alexi an innocent.
Yet things had happened tonight that had never happened before. And, because she was a woman who understood herself well, she knew that nothing she had experienced here would happen again—unless it was with him.
Relaxed now, she rubbed her cheek over his chest, content to remain as she’d been since he rolled over and dragged her across him. Tucked in the cocoon of his arms, she felt as cozy as a cat, and she arched lazily as he ran a hand down her spine.
“Will you tell me again?” she asked.
“What?”
She pressed her lips against him, feeling his heart beating strong and fast beneath them. “What every woman wants to hear.”
“I love you.” When she lifted her head, he laid a hand gently over her lips. He knew it would hurt to hear her say it, when she didn’t mean it as he did.
Suddenly she was glad it was dark, and he couldn’t see the smile fade away from her face. “Even after this,” she said carefully, “you don’t want me to love you back.”
More than anything, he thought. More than life. “Let’s just leave things as they are.” He traced her face with a fingertip, enjoying those odd angles. “Tell me how you broke your nose.”
She was silent a moment, gathering her composure. She couldn’t offer what he didn’t want to take. “Fistfight.”
He chuckled and drew her back to cuddle, instinctively soothing the tension out of her. “I should have figured.”
She made an effort to relax against him. There was time to convince him. Hadn’t he said they had plenty of time? “At boarding school,” she added. “I was twelve and homely as a duck. Too skinny, funny hair, dumb face.”
“I like your face. And your hair.” His hand cupped her breast comfortably. “And your body.”
“You didn’t know me when I was twelve. When you’re odd in any way, you’re a target.”
“I know.”
Interested, she lifted her head again. “Do you?”
“I didn’t learn English until I was five. Before my father’s business got off the ground, times were rough.” He turned his face into her hair to breathe in the scent. “I was this little Ukrainian kid, wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs. And back then, Soviets weren’t particularly popular with Americans.”
“Well, you made such great villains.” She kissed his cheek, comforting the small boy he’d been. “It must have been difficult for you.”
“I had the family. We had each other. School was a little rugged at first. Name-calling, playground scuffles. Even some of the parents weren’t too keen on having their kids play with the Russkie. No point in trying to explain we were Ukrainian.” He shifted, tangled his legs with hers. “So, after a few black eyes and bloody noses, I earned a reputation for being tough. After a while, we kind of got absorbed into the neighborhood.”
