windows from the street. Marisol waited for her eyes to adjust, then slowly wandered through the living room to the kitchen.
The surroundings were familiar, even in the dark, and she walked to the stairs and slowly climbed to the second floor. His bedroom was at the end of the hall and the door was open. The floor creaked and Marisol stopped, holding her breath and listening to the silence around her. A few seconds later, she continued until she reached his bed. She glanced around the room, not really sure what to do now that she was here.
Kneeling down beside the bed, she rested her arms on the mattress and studied his face. His hair fell in boyish waves across his forehead and he looked so much younger when he was asleep. Her fingers twitched and she fought the impulse to touch him, not sure if she planned to stay.
She reached out and skimmed her fingertip above his lip, his breath warm against her hand. And then, leaning over him, she kissed his mouth, so softly that he wouldn’t awaken. But to her surprise, he opened his eyes.
They stared at each other for a long moment, then he jerked, pushing himself up on his elbows. Marisol sat back on her heels, her gaze still fixed on his face. She waited for him to speak, unwilling to make explanations for her presence.
When he didn’t, she stood and reached for the buttons of her loose cotton dress. One by one, Marisol undid them until the dress gaped open. Then, she shrugged her shoulders and it fell to the floor around her feet, leaving her naked.
She didn’t wait for an invitation, but as she stepped forward, he moved across the bed, lifting the sheet as he did. He was naked beneath and Marisol slipped in beside him. A heartbeat later, she was in his arms again. His lips came down on hers and he kissed her hungrily, roughly, the taste of his tongue warm and sweet in her mouth, the stubble of his beard sharp on her chin.
All her fears and doubts instantly dissipated as he ran his palms over her body. Ian touched every inch of her, as if he were reassuring himself that she was real and not just some vivid dream. And when he was satisfied, he began a lazy exploration, this time taking more care with each caress.
She sighed softly as his hands cupped her buttocks and pulled her hips against his. He was already hard and his erection pressed against her belly, branding her skin. He continued to kiss her, communicating his need without words, as if speaking might somehow break the spell that enveloped them both.
Marisol wasn’t thinking about everything that had gone wrong. Her thoughts were focused on everything that was right between them, a desire so deep that neither one them knew its limits.
His lips trailed along her jaw and then dropped to her shoulder, kisses mixed with a soft bite here and there. There was pleasure in the tiny bits of pain and it only seemed to make her need more urgent.
When he found her breast, she arched against him and he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked gently until it grew hard and sensitive. With every touch, every kiss, she surrendered a bit more of herself to him, and by the time he reached the spot between her legs, Marisol no longer had ownership of her responses.
When his tongue flicked at her clitoris, Marisol’s breath caught in her throat. Every nerve in her body jolted, as if an electric shock had just shot through her. Every shred of her being focused on that one spot, on the delicious caress of his tongue and on the wild sensations that coursed through her.
She shifted until she could give him the same pleasure, taking his shaft into her mouth and then drawing back. Suddenly, every action was met by an equal reaction, and she wasn’t sure whether she was initiating or receiving. It didn’t really matter. They were caught in an endless circle of pleasure that came closer and closer to spinning out of control.
Marisol danced at the edge and she knew if she just let go, the pleasure would wash over her in waves. But she wanted more than what his tongue could give her. Reaching down, she tangled her fingers in his hair and drew him away.
As if he sensed what she needed, he pulled her up to her knees and then wrapped his arms around her body from behind. His palms cupped her breasts and she reached back and grabbed his hips, pulling him tightly against her.
They tumbled forward, Marisol falling to her hands and knees. Ian grabbed her waist and slowly pushed inside her, burying himself deep. A low moan slipped from her throat, enough to tell him that she wanted more.
From that moment on, Marisol lost all sense of what was real. Every thought focused on the feel of his shaft, moving in and out of her. Each stroke brought her closer and closer to completion. And when he felt the shift in her desire, Ian increased his pace, driving harder and harder.
She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t see his face, but that didn’t matter. The connection between them was relentlessly carnal, driving them both forward.
When her orgasm hit, she was unprepared for the power of it. No longer able to control herself, she fell forward and he went with her, shuddering as he found his release, as well.
They lay perfectly still except for the short gulps of breath they both required. Ian nuzzled his face into her hair and she listened as his breathing returned to normal. He slowly slipped out of her and when he was completely apart, he gathered her in his embrace and tucked her body against his.
They didn’t speak. In truth, Marisol was afraid to-afraid they’d go back to the strange, stilted conversation of the last time they were together. Maybe they weren’t good at relationships. But they were fabulous at the sex.
Someday, that might not be enough. Someday, she might want something more. But for now, Ian’s body was what she needed, his passion, his strength and his complete surrender.
IAN SAT QUIETLY in the dark, sprawled in an overstuffed chair near the bed. He’d been watching Marisol sleep for hours, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing, noting the tiny movements of her fingers. He knew so many little things about her, things that might go unnoticed in a normal relationship, yet he seemed to find them particularly fascinating. Gradually, pieces were becoming a whole, but there were still huge gaps to fill, questions that needed to be answered.
When he’d first realized she was there beside his bed, he’d thought he was caught in a dream. But the moment she touched him, her warm, naked body against his skin, Ian knew she wasn’t just a nighttime fantasy.
Over the past few days and nights, he’d done his best to put her out of his head. But it was clear by his reaction to her tonight that what he’d thought was progress had simply been a feeble attempt at denial. His body still responded to hers. If anything, he wanted her more for having been without her for three days.
Finding pleasure in her was his body’s ultimate betrayal. But it wasn’t just the physical act of coming inside of her that he craved. His orgasm had become more about possession than release. Every moment he spent in such intimate contact was a moment that bound her to him.
Marisol was his. Her body, her soul, her heart, her mind, he wanted them all. He couldn’t imagine relinquishing her to another man, knowing what they’d shared. But how far would he go to keep her in his life?
She stirred and Ian leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. At first, he thought she’d go back to sleep, but then Marisol pushed up on her elbow and searched the bed for him, reaching out to touch his pillow.
“I’m here,” he murmured.
She turned, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “Is it morning?”
He shook his head. “No. Go back to sleep.”
She snuggled down beneath the covers and sighed. “Your front door was unlocked. You shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked.”
“My brother Declan stays here occasionally when he’s in town. Sometimes he forgets his key. Besides, who’s going to break into my house? I’m the police chief.”
“I broke in,” she said with a self-satisfied smile.
“But you didn’t come to steal anything.” He paused. “On second thought, maybe you did.” She’d stolen his willpower, his resolve and his self-control. And yet somehow, she didn’t make him feel weak or inadequate. And he certainly wasn’t a victim.
Being with Marisol made him more alive than he’d ever been. Losing himself in her body, in their lovemaking, made him realize what it was to be a man. He reveled in their differences, in the perfect contrasts between their bodies, soft and hard, delicate and strong, woman and man.
He and Marisol had been fashioned by fate to be together. It was the only explanation for the sheer exhilaration he felt when he touched her, and the contentment that seemed to descend upon them both when they were finished.
“Are you sorry I came?” she asked.
He shook his head. “How could I be?”
