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He linked his hands behind her, flexing his powerful shoulders with the motion.
"Which still doesn't answer me. I want you."
Her eyes dropped to the massive chest supporting her. She wanted him, too, but
she wasn't blinded by passion, she was too aware of consequences, of motives. She
was confused—utterly confused. How had this all happened between them?
He caught her chin and tilted her flickering eyes up to his. "I won't let you get
pregnant. Is that what you're afraid of?"
The flush went from her hairline down to her throat in a slow, vivid flood, and he
watched it with a dark scowl.
"What kind of men have you been with?" he asked with a rough chuckle. "Didn't
you ever talk about sex, for God's sake?"
"Not a lot, no," she managed to blurt out.
"On the other hand," he murmured, easing her down onto her back, "why talk
about it at all?" His mouth brushed lazily across hers, a shimmer of exquisite
sensation that he repeated again and again while his warm hands moved against her
back, slipping her robe from her shoulders and then easing down the straps of her
gown.
"Nick. . ." she whispered shakily under his warm, hard mouth as its expert
pressure increased sensuously.
His hands eased up to her rib cage, his thumbs rubbing slowly, gently, at the sides
of her breasts in a growing pattern that made her body rise toward him pleadingly.
"I've held back until I ache like an adolescent," he whispered against her throat.
"My God, I've tried to give you enough time, but I'm running out of it." And this
time, he meant business. There was no light, teasing pressure in it now. He kissed
her with practiced skill, exploring every inch of her mouth with his lips, his tongue,
his teeth.
His warm hands were on her breasts now, the gown somehow lowered to her
waist, his fingers making incredible sensations flow through her taut body as they
caressed her.
"Oh, Nick," she gasped, looking straight into his dark eyes as he lifted his head to
look down at her.
His chest rose and fell heavily, and there was a faint dampness on the skin her
fingers were pressed against. His eyes lowered to the high, bare curves of her
breasts and he studied her as if he'd never seen a woman's body before, something
thrilling in the bold intensity of his gaze.
"Nicholas," she whispered.
"What, love?" he asked softly.
Her hands reached up to touch his broad face, to trace the hard lines that never
seemed to relax, even now. "I. . . I want to be . . . closer," she managed shakily.
His mouth gently crushed hers. "Do you?" he murmured. "How close, like this?" He
eased his massive body over hers until it relaxed onto hers from breast to hip, his
arms taking the bulk of his formidable weight.
"No," she whispered under his seeking mouth. "All. . . all of you, Nicholas," she
murmured, gasping as she felt the crush of his body pressing her down into the
mattress, making silvery waves of emotion surge through her slenderness. Her soft,
bare breasts flattened under the rough, hard crush of his chest, and she could feel
the pattern of the dark curling hair on it tickling as her arms reached up to hold
him closer than she'd ever been to another living soul. She wanted desperately to
please him, to give and give and go on giving until he burned with the same fires he
was kindling in her.
"I want. . . to please you," she whispered into his rough, hungry mouth.
"You are pleasing me " he ground out. His mouth broke hers open, invading it
intimately, hungrily. "God, your breasts are soft. . ."
She moved sensuously under him, feeling the crisp, dark hair on his massive chest
make new and wild sensations run through her slender body.
"Am I too heavy?" he murmured against her eager mouth.
"No," she whispered achingly. Her eyes looked straight up into his as her tongue
traced patterns along the chiseled line of his upper lip.
He watched her, his eyes dark and full of secrets, his chest throbbing against
her breasts, his breath flaring through his nostrils.
"Do you always watch your women like this?" she asked unsteadily, pausing to run
her fingers along the long, broad curve of his muscular back.
"Only when I've wanted them like hell for years," he replied. He pressed against
her deliberately, making her feel the proof of his desire like a brand against her
hips. "Do you feel how much?"
She caught her breath at the sensation, her legs going boneless, admitting the
full weight of his body between them so that not one part of their bodies were
separated.
He bent and kissed her again, thoroughly this time, the way he had that first day
in the Rolls, with a thrusting, demanding pressure that made her body arch into
his—that ripped a moan of pure pleasure from her throat.
She heard a soft, triumphant laugh and opened her eyes lazily, feeling a hundred
tiny tremors raking he yielded body as his hands eased the rest of the gown away
from her. The room was cool enough that she missed his warmth when he raised
himself up to throw the gown over the side of the bed.
His dark eyes ate every inch of her, running up the long, smooth curve of her legs
to the curve of her hips, the deep indentation at her waist, the thrust of her
breasts. She had the strangest feeling that she would have minded that scrutiny
from any other man. Even years back, James Harris had been too intent on
possession to pay much attention to her young body. He'd been in a hurry and the
result had been a blur of discomfort, embarrassment, and no pleasure at all for
Keena.
But this was different. Nicholas was special to her in ways she'd never
discovered until just lately. And to him she wasn't merely a body or a one-night
stand. She was something quite different, she could see it in the dark, appreciative
gaze he drew over her.
He bent and pressed his mouth to her soft, warm stomach, working his way up to
her breasts, his hands smoothing her flesh, touching her in new ways, learning the
sweet contours of her body while his lips and tongue and teeth fostered a riot of
sensation that left her breasts tingling, her body hungry and writhing under the
expert arousal.
Her fingers were tangled in his shaggy mane of hair, her eyes half wild as he rose
to see the expression on her flushed face.
"You don't know how to give it back, do you?" he asked in a strange, husky tone,
his powerful body pulsing with desire.
She touched his mouth with her fingers, fascinated by it, by the pleasure it gave.
"Give what back?" she whispered. "I want you, Nick," she added softly. "You must
know that by now."
"You aren't a virgin," he said, but it was a question.
She bit her lip. "No."
"Damn it, don't look like that," he ground out, turning her averted face back to
his. "I told you once that it didn't matter to me, and I meant it. But you don't act
like an experienced woman. How careful am I going to have to be?"
She sighed weakly. "The first time . . . the only time . . . was with James," she
admitted tightly. "It was uncomfortable, and hurried—" her voice broke off.
"Go on," he urged.
"I thought I'd die of shame when I found out that he hadn't any plans to marry
me. He'd only wanted me, and he told his brother that it had been like . . . like
making love to a man."
Nicholas didn't say anything. Not a word. He stared down at her with eyes she
couldn't read in a face gone as hard as granite. Now he knew the agony that Harris
had inflicted on her.
"Don't hate me . . ." she pleaded tearfully.
"Hate you, for God's sake!" he blurted out. He bent and crushed his mouth down
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