She squeezed her eyes closed on a desperate groan, twisting the wool of his coat between her fingers to drag him closer, closer, her head thrown back to give him access, because dear God, how could anything feel as heavenly as his mouth on her neck?
“Max, I want . . .” What? What did she want? She hardly knew, but—
More. She wanted more. More of his mouth, more of his teasing lips, more of his heart thrashing against her palms, more of his whispers in her ear, and his breathless groans.
“What, Rose?” He brushed his lips over her collarbone and nipped gently at the hollow between her neck and shoulder, making her tremble in his arms. “What do you want? Say it again.”
She drew back so she could look into eyes gone a deep, smoky gray, her heart hammering, and her breath stuttering in her chest. “You. I want you, Max.”
He gazed down at her with burning dark eyes, lingering on her eyes, her lips, the pale bare skin of her throat, and slowly, slowly he lowered his forehead to hers. “Then I’m yours.”
Hers. For now, yes. Just for these few stolen moments.
There was no escaping that truth, but even as she knew it—knew that this could only lead to heartbreak—she touched her parted lips to his.
Because it was already too late. It had been, since the first moment his mouth touched hers.
She was already lost.
* * *
He couldn’t get enough of her. The glide of her soft skin under his fingertips, her breathy little gasps and sighs, her panting breaths in his ear, and the sweetness of her lips against his.
It had never been like this for him before. Of all the ladies he’d kissed, all the sophisticated beauties he’d taken to his bed, never—not once—had he ever been consumed by such an insatiable hunger for a woman as he was byher.
It was a kind of madness, the depths of his desire for her.
It was dangerous. Ruinous. It made a man careless, reckless.
But she was clinging to him, kissing him, needy little pleas falling from her lips, and the thought was there and then gone again, no match for the wild passion burning between them.
He dipped his head, pressing his nose into the soft skin behind her ear and breathing deeply of the scent that clung to her—fresh air, snow, pine needles, andher. She made his head spin, and his cock surge desperately against his falls.
“Rose.” His voice was a husky, guttural growl as if he’d gone feral. “I need you closer.” He caught her by the hips and slid her toward the end of the table, her legs dangling off the edge, and then he pressed closer, wedging himself into the sweet vee between her legs.
He reached down to fist her skirts, tugging them up, up . . .
No. It was too much. He’d lose control, and she was an innocent.
But it was as if she’d read his mind, because in an instant she’d wrapped her legs around his waist and was urging him closer, her heat burning him through the cloth of his pantaloons. “Yes,” she whispered against his ear. “Like this.”
Yes. This was what he wanted. To lose himself in her.
He tugged her earlobe into his mouth and gave it a sharp nip, desire roaring through him when she let out a little cry and jerked in his arms. “I’ve thought of nothing but our kiss since that first night.” He traced his thumb over her mouth, parting her lips. “Open for me, sweetheart.”
He leaned down, drawing closer, Rose’s breath rushing from her lungs as his lips brushed over hers. Her mouth was warm, her lips soft and giving, and somehow kissing her was nothing like he’d imagined it would be, yet at the same time it was familiar, too, like coming home.
“Max.” She gasped as he kissed his way over her jaw, then down her neck to her throat, pausing to drop a soft, quick kiss on the dimple in her chin before taking her lips again, delving deeply into that warm cavern where she was sweetest, his body trembling with barely leashed desire.
He couldn’t get enough of her. Would never get enough of her.
He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he couldn’t think, couldn’tbreathe, and she wanted him. Somehow, against every odd, every law of fair play, this lovely, kind, joyful spirit wantedhim.
He brushed a few wispy locks of hair back from her face and pressed his lips to the pulse point at the hollow of her throat, triumph roaring through him when he felt the frantic flutter of it against his tongue. “All day, and every night, your kiss has haunted me, Rose.” He let his fingers drift down her neck to the secret space between her breasts. “You’ve bewitched me.”
“I . . . oh.” She dug her fingers into his shoulders when he cupped one of her breasts in his palm.
“You’re so pretty here, Rose.” She was tiny, her curves slight, and never—never—had he touched anything as perfect as her. “Look at me. I need to see your face when I touch you.”
