He was going to kiss her again.
He was going to do it now, simply because he had to.
She’d obviously guessed his intentions, because her body tilted toward him in response.
“You’re engaged,” she breathed, a pained expression flitting across her face.
“Not yet.” He hadn’t even bought a ring, never mind popped the question.
Her head tilted, and her lips softened. “But you will be.”
His hand crept around to the back of her head. “Let’s survive this little adventure before-”
“Are we in that much danger?”
He hesitated.
He didn’t want to lie. But he knew those men in the desert weren’t the police, and they’d looked extremely dangerous.
At his silence, her expression shifted. She wriggled forward. Her hands rose to cup his cheeks. “If we’re in that much danger…”
He sucked in a sharp breath as her lips touched his.
Reaction ricocheted through him. He tangled his fingers in her hair, gripping convulsively at its softness. His free arm snaked around to press against the small of her back. He came to his feet, pulling her with him, bringing their bodies flush together while he deepened the kiss and reveled in passion that consumed his body.
A tidal wave of emotion washed through him. He closed his eyes and let every millimeter of her body imprint itself on his brain. He lowered his hand to her buttocks, pressing her meaningfully into him, letting her know he was aroused-as if there was any question.
His mouth opened wider. His tongue probed deeper. His breathing grew labored. And his hands squeezed her intimately.
He moved his lips to the crook of her neck, and she groaned as he tested the tender skin. Her hands wound around his neck, clinging tight, pressing her breasts against his body, her hardened nipples spurring his desire.
He slipped a hand between them and covered one breast with his palm, reveling in the soft weight and the delicate texture. Her mouth found his again, kissing hard and deep, leaving no question of her acceptance.
Then she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
He shrugged out of it, and she pressed her hot lips against his chest. He held still for a moment, palms swirling in her hair, eyes closed, teeth gritted.
Then he pulled off the tunic, flipped the clasp of her bra and gazed at her creamy breasts, topped with perfect, pink nipples. For a second, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.
He reached for her breast, watching in fascination as his broad, tanned hand covered the pale mound. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her head tipped back.
He kissed her exposed neck, drawing the skin into the hot cavern of his mouth. She gripped his upper arms to brace herself, fingertips digging into him in a way that ratcheted up his desire. He kissed his way down to one nipple, then the next, drawing the taut pebble into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, trying desperately to hang on to some semblance of control, even as he fought the urge to rip off the rest of her clothes.
Her breaths came in pants.
He pulled at the waistband of her skirt, dragging it over her hips, past her buttocks, down her thighs, until it pooled on the floor.
Then he drew back to gaze at her.
She was drop-dead gorgeous. He’d never seen a more beautiful, more desirable woman. He put his palm flat against her chest. She watched as he eased his way down, over her breast, her flat belly, her hip bone, her downy curls.
She tipped her head up, and met his eyes.
They stared at each other, frozen in time.
Then his free hand went to the button on his slacks.
She didn’t blink as he flipped it open. He drew down the zipper. Their last chance to stop, and they both knew it.
Neither of them took it.
He kicked out of his pants, and drew her down on the bed, stretching full length beside her, legs entangling, hands caressing.
He slowed his kisses, touching her face, smoothing her hair, whispering in her ear, using French to tell her she was beautiful and desirable, and he’d never been with a woman who moved him more.
His hands wandered, while hers did the same, discovering secrets and hollows, speeding up their breathing, then slowing it down again.
In French, he told her everything he was doing, everything he was feeling, everything he wanted.
She kissed him deeply, her hands on a journey that forced him to grit his teeth, sweat popping out on his brow.
He needed her. Now. Right now.
His fingertips skimmed their way up her long, smooth legs, and her thighs twitched apart, inviting him. He swiftly extracted a condom from his wallet, positioning his body, feeling the hot, enticing entrance to hers.
He kissed her one more time, entwined their fingers, murmured words of passion and want and desire.
Before his brain registered her French response, he was inside her, and his world contracted to a single primal urge. He thrust and withdrew, over and over.
A freight train roared and throbbed to life inside his brain, growing faster and louder and harder, in sync with his body. But he held the urgency at bay.
He kissed her deeper. He clasped her to him, feeling the twitches of her body, hearing the gasps of her breath, tasting the pure nectar of her swollen mouth.
She whispered his name.
Then she said it again.
He wanted her to stop, but he wanted her to go. His name on her lips was pulsing incredible sensations through his bloodstream.
Her hands tightened in his. Her hips twitched and her thighs tightened. He could sense her shimmering.
He smiled and whispered her name, urging her over the edge. Then he felt her slide, and he gave in himself, and pure, pristine pleasure cascaded like a waterfall around them.
When it finally stopped, the world filtered through.
The fan whooshed above them, puffing tepid air.
The colorful room came into focus.
Julia’s breathing sounded long and deep, her bare breasts rising and falling against his slick chest.
He shifted to remove his weight from her.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, smoothing stray wisps of hair from her cheek, impulsively kissing the space afterward.
“You suppose it was the adrenaline?” she ventured, gazing straight up at the rotating fan.
He didn’t know how to answer that.
He didn’t think they could blame the adrenaline.
“Because,” she continued, still obviously searching for an explanation, “we don’t really like each other all that much.”
“We seem to connect on some level,” he pointed out.
“I suppose.”
Okay, maybe it was ego, but he had to know if he’d been alone in that.
He raised his head on his elbow, gazing down at her. “I mean, have you ever…”
She looked at him. “Had sex?”
He shook his head. “Had sex like
“You mean in French?”
He cringed. “I didn’t realize you spoke French.”
She grinned at his discomfort. “No kidding.”
He couldn’t even remember all he’d said.
