“Cut it out, Nathaniel.” She laid her cheek on his chest. “I hate it when you make me feel ridiculous.”
“I don't.” Possessively he ran a hand down her back. “I love to make you feel ridiculous. I love to make you feel.”
He nearly followed that up with a very simple “I love you.” But she wouldn't have accepted it. He'd barely done so himself.
“You did.” She kept her head over his heart. “You made me feel things I never have before. I was afraid.”
Trouble clouded his eyes. “I don't want you to be afraid of me.”
“I was afraid of me,” she corrected. “Of us. Of letting this happen. I'm glad it did.” It was easier than she'd imagined to shift, to smile, to press her mouth to his. For a moment, she thought he tensed, but she dismissed that as foolish and kissed him again.
His system snapped to full alert. How could he want her again, so desperately, so quickly? be wondered. How could he resist those sweet, tantalizing lips?
“Keep that up,” he managed, “and it's going to happen again.”
The shiver of excitement was glorious. “Okay.” She shared her anticipation in the kiss, torturing his mouth, teasing his tongue. Amazed that there could be more, she gave a low sound of delight when he rolled, shoving her beneath him and crushing her mouth.
For a heady moment, he let those violent needs hold sway, trapping her beneath him, devouring her lips, her skin, dragging a hand through her tousled hair until her throat was exposed to his hungry teeth and tongue.
She moaned, writhed under him. Whimpered.
Rolling away, he lay on his back, cursing himself, while his heart pounded the blood through his veins.
Confused, shivering with needs freshly aroused but unmet, Megan laid a tentative hand on his arm. He jerked away.
“Don't.” The order came out harsh. “I need a minute.” Her eyes went dead. “I'm sorry. I did something wrong.”
“No, you didn't.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up. “I'm just not ready. Look, why don't I go down and rustle us up something to eat?”
He was only inches away. It might as well have been miles, and she felt the sharp sting of rejection. “No, that's all right.” Her voice was cool and calm again. “I really should get going. I need to pick up Kevin.”
“Kevin's fine.”
“Regardless.” She brushed at her hair, tried to smooth it. She wished desperately for something to wrap around her nakedness.
“Don't pull that door shut on me now.” He battled back fury, and a much more dangerous passion.
“I haven't shut any door. I thought—that is, I assumed you wanted me to stay. Since you don't, I'll—”
“Of course I want you to stay. Damn it, Megan.” He whirled on her, and wasn't surprised when she jerked back. “I need a bloody minute. I could eat you alive, I want you so much.”
In defense, she crossed an arm over her breasts. “I don't understand you.”
“Damn right you don't understand me. You'd run like hell if you did.” He fought for control, gained a slippery hold. “We'll be fine, Meg, if you wait until I pull myself together.”
“What are you talking about?”
Gripped by frustration, he grabbed her hand, pressed it against his, palm to palm. “I've got big hands, Megan. Got them from my father. I know the right way to use them—and the wrong way.”
There was a glint in his eyes, like the honed edge of a sword. It should have frightened her, but it only excited. “You're afraid of me,” she said quietly.
“Afraid you'll hurt me.”
“I won't hurt you.” He dropped his hand, left it fisted on the bed.
“No, you won't.” She lifted a hand to touch his cheek. His jaw was tight, urging her fingers to stroke and soothe. There was a power here, she realized, a power she'd been unaware of possessing. She wondered what they could make between them if she set it free.
“You want me.” Feeling reckless, she edged closer, until her mouth slid over his. “You want to touch me.” She lifted his fisted hand to her breast, her heart pounding like a drum as his fingers opened, cupped. “And for me to touch you.” Her hands stroked down his chest, felt the quiver of his stomach muscles. So much strength, she thought, so ruthlessly chained. What would it be bice if those links snapped free?
She wanted to know.
“Make love with me now, Nathaniel.” Eyes half-closed, she linked her arms around his neck, pressed her eager body to bis. “Show me how much you want me.”
He held himself in check, concentrating on the flavor of her mouth. It would be enough, he told himself, to make her float again.
But she had learned quickly. When he sought to soothe, she enticed. Where he tried to gentle, she enraged.
With an oath, he dragged her up until they were kneeling, body-to-body. And his mouth was wild.
She answered avidly each urgent demand, each desperate moan. His hands were everywhere, hard and possessive, taking more only when she cried out for it. There was no calm water to sink in now, but a violent tempest that spun them both over the bed in a tangle of hot flesh and raging needs.
He couldn't stop, no longer gave a damn about control. She was his, and by God, he would have all of her. With something like a snarl, he clamped her hands above her head and ravished her flesh.
She arched like a bow, twisted, and still he plundered, invading that hot, wet core with probing tongue until she was sobbing his name.
And more, still more, wrestling over the bed with her hands as rough and ready as his, her mouth as bold and ravenous.
He drove himself into her, hard and deep, hissing with triumph, eyes glazed and dark. His hands locked on hers as she rose to meet him.
She would remember the speed, and the wild freedom, of their mindless mating. And she would remember the heady flavor of power as they plunged recklessly off the edge together.
She must have slept. When she woke, she was sprawled on her stomach across the bed. The rain had stopped and night had fallen. When her mind cleared, she became aware of dozens of small aches, and a drugged sense of satisfaction.
She thought of rolling over, but it seemed like too much trouble. Instead, she stretched out her arms, searching the tumbled bed, knowing already that she was alone.
She heard the bird squawk slyly. “You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve?”
She was still chuckling when Nathaniel stepped back into the room. “What do you do, run old movies for him all day?”
“He's a Bogart fan. What can I tell you?” It amazed him that he felt awkward, holding a dinner tray white a naked woman lolled in his bed. “That’s a pretty good scar you've got there, sugar.”
She was much too content to be embarrassed when she saw where his eyes had focused. “I earned it. That's a pretty good dragon you've got.”
“I was eighteen, stupid, and more than a little buzzed on beer. But I guess I earned it, too.”
“Suits you. What have you got there?” “Thought you might be hungry.”
“I'm starving.” She braced herself on both elbows and smiled at him. “That smells terrific. I didn't know you cooked.”
“I don't. Dutch does. I cadge handouts from the kitchen, then nuke them.” “Nuke them?”
“Zap them in the microwave.” He set the tray down on the sea chest at the foot of the bed. “We've got some Cajun chicken, some wine.”
“Mmm...” She roused herself enough to lean over and peer at it. “Looks wonderful. But I really need to get Kevin.”
“I talked to Suzanna.” He wondered if he could talk her into eating dinner just as she was, gloriously naked. “Unless she hears from you, Kevin's set to spend the night with them.”
“Oh. Well.”
“She says he's already knee-deep in video games with Alex and Jenny.” “And if I called, I'd spoil his party.”