Her body went limp, her head lolling back when he lifted her. Nothing shocked her now, not even when he laid her on the kitchen table like a main course he had skillfully prepared for his own appetite.
He stripped off his shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. Bracing one foot on the edge of the table, he pulled off one sneaker, then the other, tossing them both aside. He unbuttoned his jeans, dragged the zipper down.
Her eyes were clearing. Good, he thought. He wanted to watch them go blind again. As he stripped off his jeans, he let his gaze wander over her. Rosy, damp skin, delicate curves, her hair tumbled against dark wood. She was beautiful, breathtaking. When he was sure he could form words, he would tell her. Now he mounted her, and feeling her tremble beneath him, smiled.
“Say, Take me, Brian.”
She had to concentrate on pulling in enough air to survive, then let it out on a moan as his thumbs brushed over her nipples.
“Say it.”
Mindlessly, she arched for him. “Take me, Brian. For God’s sake.”
He drove inside her in one fast, hard stroke, holding them both on the edge as he watched those mermaid eyes glaze. “Now, take me, Kirby.”
“Yes.” She lifted a hand to his face, wrapped her legs around him, and gloried in the fast, dark ride.
He was breathless when he collapsed on her, and for the first time in days both his body and his mind were relaxed. He could feel her still quivering lightly beneath him, the solid aftershocks of good, hard sex.
He rubbed his face in her hair, enjoying the scent of it. “That was just to whet the appetite.”
“Oh, my God.”
He chuckled, and pushing himself up, was delighted to see her smiling at him. “You tasted like peaches.”
“I’d just had a bubble bath before you came around to ravish me.”
“Good timing on my part.”
She reached up to brush the hair back from his face—a casually affectionate gesture that intrigued them both. “As it turned out, I suppose it was. You looked very dangerous and exciting when you walked in here.”
“I was feeling dangerous. We had a family scene at Sanctuary.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your problem. I could use that wine now.” He shifted, slid off the table, and went to the refrigerator.
Kirby allowed herself to enjoy the view. As a doctor she could give him high marks for keeping in shape. As his lover, she could be grateful for that long, hard body. “Wineglasses are in the second cabinet to the left,” she told him. “I’ll get a robe.”
“Don’t bother,” he said as she hitched herself off the table.
“I’m not going to stand around the kitchen naked.”
“Yes, you are.” He poured two generous glasses before his gaze slid in her direction, roamed over her. “And you won’t be standing for all that long, anyway.”
Amused, she arched a brow. “I won’t?”
“No.” He turned, handed her a glass, then tapped his against it. “I figure the counter there will put you at about the right height.”
She was grateful she’d yet to sip her wine. “The kitchencounter?”
“Yeah. Then there’s the floor.”
Kirby looked down at the shiny white linoleum her grandmother had been proud to have installed three years before. “The floor.”
“I figure we might make it to the bed—if you’re set on being traditional—in a couple, three hours.” He glanced at the clock on the stove. “Plenty of time. We don’t serve breakfast until eight.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or gulp. “Awfully confident of your staying power, aren’t you?”
