When he held out a hand, it felt impossibly right to place her own against his palm and allow him to lead her to the bedroom, to watch him put his fingers to the buttons of her shirt, slide them out of the slots one by one.

His knuckles brushed the side of one breast, making her shiver.

“Cold?” An intimate murmur against her neck as he dropped the shirt to the floor and moved to curve his body around hers from behind, a hard, sleekly muscled male with an arousal he made no effort to hide.

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.”

She adored him. Tugging down his head, she pressed a line of kisses along the dimple, even as he began to tease her with small movements of his finger against her clitoris. Her breath caught. “Max, you’re rushing me.”

The sensual complaint made him chuckle. “Fair’s fair.” But he withdrew his hand, leaning down to kiss her slow and lazy though his body thrummed with tension above her. His hair was a cool stroke across her skin as he moved lower, nuzzling at her breasts before taking a tight little nipple into his mouth.

It was an agony of sensation, and it was magnificent. “Oh!”

Grazing her with his teeth, he released the nipple. “That,” he said, circling the wet nub with his tongue, “was close to a scream.”

“Gasp,” she breathed out. “It was a gasp. Now please do that again.”

“What?” Another wicked smile.

“Max.”

Chuckling, he dipped his head to tease her neglected nipple, curving his hand possessively over the roundness of her other breast.

Shivering, she found she’d spread her thighs again, that she was cradling him in the most intimate of ways. The depth of pleasure was a knife, sharp and edgy—she shifted restlessly, her hands running up and down his back. Mine, she thought with a primal possessiveness, he’s mine. Her hands touched his buttocks when he raised his head to kiss her on the lips, and she found she really, really liked stroking her hands over the sleekly muscled strength of him.

A groan against her. “Stop that.” He nipped at her lower lip when she didn’t comply. “Or I’ll play the same game with you . . . in front of the mirror.”

Her hands went motionless.

Max braced himself on his forearms, intrigued enough to fight the pulsing need of his cock, the drive to sink into Sophie’s silken heat. “So, Ms. Sophia Russo has kinky fantasies about mirrors. Interesting.”

Heat colored her cheeks, but she tilted up her head. “Tell me one of your fantasies.”

He loved that she trusted him enough to not back down. Fighting fire with fire, he made a slow, deliberate move . . . until his erection nudged at her clitoris. Lord have mercy. It felt so good, he wanted to slip a few inches lower, take everything. But this was Sophia’s first time, and he damn well intended to drown her in pleasure—it was a matter of determined male pride . . . and of how much he felt for this woman.

Whose eyes drowned in black as she said, “Don’t think you’ll distract me.”

Smiling, he kissed her, nuzzling at her throat as he spoke, “You know those suits you wear? The prim ones with skirts to the knee and jackets that button below your breasts?”

“Mmm.” She made one of those little movements that drove him insane, rubbing herself against his cock. “My suits are boring.”

It took him several seconds to find his voice. “Au contraire.” Husky words, his breath caught in his throat. “Those suits give a man ideas. Like, for example, catching you alone in a deserted office”—he gripped her earlobe in a quick, teasing bite—“bending you over a big wooden desk, pushing up that sedate skirt to find you wet for me.”

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