After Hours

She looked up, realizing she’d slipped into her old habit of saying whatever she happened to be thinking. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?”

He nodded toward the glass of orange juice in front of her. “Drink your juice.”

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she picked up the glass. “Yes, sir.”

His eyebrows drew sharply downward. “Don’t start that again, dammit.”

Startled by his vehemence, she lowered the glass from her lips. “I was only teasing, Rhys.”

“Oh.” For a moment he looked almost sheepish. She found the expression hopelessly endearing. He studied her gravely for a moment, then reached over the table to brush his thumb across her lower lip. “Orange pulp,” he explained when she caught her breath.

“Oh. I—uh—thanks.” Ducking her head so that her untamed curls fell forward to conceal her flaming cheeks, she pretended to concentrate on the remainder of her meal, even though her lip was tingling like crazy. As was the rest of her.

The moment she finished eating, Angie stood and began to clear the table. “Thanks again for the first aid, Rhys,” she chattered as she worked. “I owe you one. Two, actually. One for the rescue last night.”

“You didn’t really need rescuing, you know,” he murmured, eyes never leaving her. “You were handling yourself well enough. You should be relieved to know that you aren’t really an easy blonde when you’ve had too much to drink.”

Only with you, Angie thought, cheeks flaming again as she remembered the whispered plea for him to kiss her. But then, I don’t have to be drunk to have no willpower against you, do I, Rhys? “I don’t suppose you know where my purse is,” she said, hoping her even tone hid the uncomfortable clarity of her memory.

“On the dresser in my bedroom.”

“I’ll go get it. I’ll call a cab from the phone in there.” She headed for the door even as she spoke.

He followed, of course. “You won’t call a cab. When you’re ready to leave, I’ll drive you.”

She didn’t bother arguing. He’d spoken in a tone she knew all too well.

She hadn’t realized quite how closely he’d followed her until her hasty turn after retrieving her purse brought her right up against his chest.

He steadied her with his hands on her forearms, looming over her without making an effort to step back. “You okay?” he asked in a distracted murmur, his glittering gray eyes on her still-tingling mouth.

No, I’m not okay. I want you to kiss me again. I want you to…

“Oh, Rhys,” she whispered, her shoulders sagging as she looked up at him in mute surrender.

The two kisses they’d shared thus far had been hot, rough, almost savagely hurried. This one was slow, lingering, infinitely seductive. Angie melted into his arms, purse falling unnoticed to their feet. Her arms went up, fingertips burrowing into his silver hair as he lifted her so high against his chest that her toes barely touched the floor. His tongue stabbed deep into her welcoming mouth, curling with hers, making her quiver with desires she could no longer control.

This time he’d gotten beyond her defenses and she could think of nothing but how very much she needed to be loved by him.

“Angelique,” Rhys muttered, pulling her even closer. Had he ever wanted another woman this badly? Had he ever craved another woman’s touch, burned with a hunger so ravenous it threatened to consume him? Had he ever trembled for any woman before this one?

No, his mind assured him even as he lowered her to the temptingly close bed. Never before.

Her hand curled at the back of his head, pulling him down to her. “Dammit, Rhys,” she complained just before she pressed her mouth to his.

His chuckle was strangled somewhere in the depths of that next long, thorough kiss. He knew how she felt.

Removing her dress had been torture the night before, when he’d known the treasures he’d uncovered would be denied him. It was sweet torture now, knowing how close he was to possessing those treasures. He thought fleetingly of the long months of celibacy, of fantasies concerning her—and he hoped to hell he’d be able to control himself long enough to get her clothes off.

Angie arched her back to assist him in pulling off her clothing, as impatient as he for them to be gone. Through heavy, slitted lashes she watched him as he stripped away his own shirt, slacks and briefs. Such a beautiful body, she thought raptly, avid eyes examining every perfect inch of him. Her gaze rose to his face when he leaned over her. Had she ever thought his gray eyes cold? They were flaming now, glinting with a passion she’d once thought foreign to him. His silver hair was sexily rumpled, his jaw taut with the control he tried so desperately to exert over himself. Dark splotches of color burned high on his lean cheeks. His lips—those oh-so-clever lips—were slightly parted to expose the edges of his gritted teeth. “Such a beautiful man,” she murmured, raising her hands to stroke those warm, lean cheeks.

He groaned raggedly. “You’re beautiful, so very damned beautiful.” And he lowered his mouth to hers again, his fingers pushing into her tangled curls to cup her head. She was stunned to feel the unsteadiness of those fingers. Vulnerability was so incredibly seductive when it appeared in Rhys.

So this is what it’s like, she thought wonderingly, arms cradling him to her aching breasts. This is what it’s like to care.

Is this what it’s like? Rhys wondered at the same time, forcing himself to ease the kiss before her tender mouth was bruised. Is this what it’s like to feel cared for? He knew he’d never felt so thoroughly wanted.

Her throat was long, soft, pulsing. He stroked it with his lips, nibbled at the taut slope of it. Her nearly soundless moan vibrated against his mouth. He loved the feeling.