BONDS OF JUSTICE

She’d never felt more alive, more sensuous in her femininity. “No.”


“Good.” His hands shifted up to close over her breasts through the practical cotton of her bra. “If I bought you naughty lingerie”—shaping her, possessing her—“would you wear it?”

Joy rippled through the sensuality, a piquant spice. He was as determined as her, she thought, to make this time theirs, something no one would ever be able to steal from them no matter what the future held. “How naughty?”

“Very.” He pinched her nipples lightly—a quick, sharp bite—rolled them between his fingers. “The pieces might even make you blush.”

Heat was already rising over her body, but it was a languorous, seductive thing. “That sounds like a dare.” Reaching back with one arm, she tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him to her. “And I accept.”

A smile she could feel against her skin as his hands slid off her aching flesh. Dropping her own arm to the side, she let him undo the clasp of her bra, then reached up to pull it down and off her body. “Why is it”—she shivered as he kissed the top of her spine, went lower—“that I always end up naked while you remain dressed?”

A husky masculine chuckle, his lips moving over her shoulder, his hands on her hips. “Because I’m a smart man.” Playing his fingers across her abdomen, he undid the top button of her jeans. “Take these off for me.”

That slow, slumberous heat flamed, burned, but she took a step forward, lowered the zipper and then—taking a deep breath—pushed down both the jeans and her panties. Leaning forward to pull them off her feet, she could barely hear anything through the thunder of her heartbeat. Max didn’t say a word until she straightened back to her full height. But then he spoke . . . and she melted.





CHAPTER 38


“Beautiful.” A rough sound, impatient hands that turned her to meet his kiss.

And oh, his kiss.

It held the same wild tenderness, the same protectiveness that had torn through her every shield from the very first. But it also held something else—a raw, dark pleasure, a hotly sexual aggression. Shuddering, she pulled at his shirt. Buttons went flying every which way as he cooperated with her frustrated need to touch him, but his attention was on her mouth, his hunger inexorable.

His hands back on her body as soon as his shirt fell to the floor, he squeezed and petted until she broke the kiss, unable to take any more. But he wouldn’t let her go. Kisses on her jaw, on her neck as he walked her backward, the heat of his chest an exquisite caress. She was more than ready to fall onto the bed when it hit the backs of her knees. Not waiting for him to nudge her, she crawled on and turned over to brace herself on her elbows.

He was watching her with a glittering kind of focus, one that made her skin tighten until it almost hurt. She swallowed as his fingers went to his jeans, as he undid the snaps and peeled the denim down his legs, along with his briefs. Her eyes were riveted to the thick length of his erection . . . to the hand he clasped around it. He stroked once, and her body arched. She couldn’t explain it, didn’t understand it, but the sight of him stroking his own flesh was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. “Max.” A shuddering plea.

Coming over her as she lay back in unspoken invitation, he lowered himself just enough that their thighs brushed, the hardness of his erection pushing at her abdomen in blatant masculine demand. Sucking in a breath, she slid her hands up the beauty of his chest and over those magnificent shoulders. “Yes.” It was an answer to a question he hadn’t asked.

But he understood. Relaxing his muscles, he allowed his body to touch her all over. The full-body contact was an erotic lightning strike, an electrical storm. Moaning at the pleasure-pain of it, she tangled her fingers in his hair and took his mouth in a kiss of her own. He shuddered against her, his hand clenching on her hip. When he moved that hand to push at her thigh, she spread her legs in silent invitation.

He touched her slickness, and it made her tremble. But he didn’t stroke her with lazy patience as he had once before. This time, his touch was deliciously, demandingly rough, as he used his knowledge of her body to make her twist beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his shoulder muscles bunching against her palms as he played with her. “Scream for me, Sophie.”

She managed to tighten her thighs, trapping his hand in between. “I,” she gasped out, “am not a screamer.”

A wicked, unexpected smile, that lean dimple flashing in his cheek. “Well now, a man’s got to take that as a challenge.”