Oh, no, you’re very, very good! he thought. But she was speaking; she needed to speak. He savored the feel of the burning within him and just held her as she went on.
“We did talk about this, Amelia and I. She said that I was an actress, surely I played the part somewhere along the line. And I have played the part, but this is real life, and when it comes to real life... I guess I should tell you that I’m a little out of practice, it’s been a while, I am career oriented, well, not really, not above all else in life, just that my last relationship—with an actor, go figure—didn’t go so well, and onstage playing a part is one thing, but when it’s really you... I’m sorry, I’m ridiculously nervous, and I can’t seem to stop talking. I’m woefully out of practice, not that I haven’t thought that someone would come along somewhere along the way and I’ve stayed on birth control pills... That may be more than you wanted to know, and oh! Well, I mean, really, I’m trustworthy and I—my God! I’m still talking and I—”
“I can help you stop!” he told her, and he pulled her closer, molding his mouth down over hers, tasting sweet and seductive warmth and a hint of peppermint. Her lips parted to his and he made the kiss slow and leisurely, as if he could come to know her, really know her, through the depth of a kiss. When their lips parted, she said, “I talk too much.”
“I can take care of that,” he murmured.
And he kissed her again. Her arms encircled his neck, her fingers playing at his nape. “And when I first met you, I just thought that you were a...”
“A what?” he murmured, his lips teasing at her throat then.
“Well, I thought you were trying to kill me, and that...”
He lifted her hand and teased the palm and wrist. “You do have one mean right hook,” he assured her.
“And you do have a way of sweeping someone off their feet,” she said.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet!” he teased.
And swept her off her feet.
Her arms curled around his neck and they lay down on the bed together. He felt her lips tease along his neck and a sweet raw ache began to tear at him. He rose above her, lowering his mouth to hers again, sweeping aside the silk of the robe, moving his lips and tongue over her collarbone, down to the valley of her breasts. The silk she wore created a heightened sensuality to each touch, and yet it was in the way; she slid her hands beneath the soft wool of his sweater, running them up his midriff, and he paused to pull the garment over his head. She laughed then, fingers on the buttons of his shirt.
“My Lord,” she murmured, “you do have enough clothing on!”
“It’s Alaska!” he reminder her.
“Difficult,” she said.
“Trust me, we find a way—we do find a way!” he said.
She was determined to help; she slid her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans; they ran over his bare flesh and sent schisms of electricity racing through his hips, and down below his belt. But he eased back from her, removing the Glock and its holster from the back of his waistband and setting them next to the bed, reminding them both briefly of why they were there. Their eyes met for a moment; the movement might have given them pause, and it did, but her hand slid down his arm and she told him, “Amelia did remind me that I haven’t really lived in a long time.”
He lay back with her. “In some ways,” he said, “I don’t think that I ever really did.”
He fumbled out of his shoes and socks; she helped and hindered as he removed the rest of his clothing, and they laughed breathlessly at the effort. Finally, he was naked beside her.
She was in the silky robe. He straddled her and began to kiss her, lips caressing her flesh through the silk—slender throat, breasts, belly and below. He ran his fingers along her thighs, planted more kisses at her knees and above.
She writhed beneath his touch, rising and twisting, finding his lips again, kissing them with hot, wet intensity. Then she pressed him down to the bed, sliding against him, seductive with every inch of her body, arousing him with each brush of her hand, feathering of her fingers, and searing tease of her tongue. His hunger burned, centralized—and shot through his limbs. But the burn was as evocative in anticipation as it might be in fulfillment, and he held back, savoring the way they exchanged touching...stroking...caressing...tasting.
The silk robe slid from her flesh, and yet he felt that her skin was as soft. Her eyes... So deep a blue, as if the passion and the fight and the sweetness that had so compelled him to her were alive in that sea of blue.
He didn’t remember feeling this way before, as if he’d burn alive in desire without her, as if the woman he touched was why the basic instinct existed.
They laughed and rolled and kissed and touched anew, so intimate in every move, and then suddenly the laughter faded with the heat of passion. He groaned softly, sweeping her up, finding her mouth again while he thrust into her at last. The waiting culminated in a pleasure that was almost unbearable—instinct, need, desire and something more...