Her right shoulder curved delicately. He found a tiny round mole in the hollow and touched it with the tip of his tongue. She trembled. So did he.
Her breasts were swollen, hard tipped, glistening in the overhead light. He paused to look at them before tasting and had the satisfaction of watching the rosy tips tighten further from nothing more than the touch of his eyes. She growled her impatience and arched upward.
He closed his mouth over her, his cheeks contracting as he pulled her deep inside. She shuddered and cried out, her long, smooth legs moving restlessly against his longer, rougher ones. He threw his knee across her thighs to hold her still as he caressed her. Her fingers tightened convulsively in his hair, the tugging sensation increasing his overall hypersensitivity. He quickly reined in his galloping senses, determined to give her all the pleasure he knew how to deliver. For the first time in his empty, loveless life he cared more about a woman’s pleasure than his own, and his attention to her brought him more fulfillment that he’d ever known before.
Long moments later her breasts were flushed and damp, heaving with the sobbing breaths rasping in her throat. “Please, Rhys. Oh, please.”
Could she possibly be as hungry as he? Could she possibly need to have him inside her as desperately as he needed to be there? He fumbled in the drawer of the bedside table, his fingers closing around one of the small square packets that had been stored there so long, unneeded. He didn’t have to ask whether the protection was needed now. He knew full well that it had been at least as long since Angie had made love as it had been for him.
Moments later he surged upward, taking her mouth again, fitting himself between her thighs. He paused then, anxiously aware of her small size and his own painfully substantial arousal. His fingers tested her, finding her tight, moist and so very hot nearly sending him straight out of his mind. She pushed herself into his hand, straining for the completion that hovered just out of her reach. “Now, Rhys. Now.”
The husky demand shattered the last of his restraint. His hips flexed and he pressed into her, filling her until he could bury himself no more deeply. Only then did he pause, wishing dazedly that he could stop time, make this moment last indefinitely. Soft, strong arms held him tightly, and for the first time ever, he found a place where he felt as if he belonged.
But nature would not be denied. The ancient rhythm overtook him, sweeping him along toward the inevitable conclusion. He fought it, teeth grinding as he tried to postpone the culmination, that necessary end to the intimacy he’d sought for so long. But then Angie stiffened beneath him and sobbed out his name, her body convulsing around him, and he knew the limits had been reached. His harsh cry held as much protest as exultation, his body bowing into an explosive, mind-clouding climax.
He buried his face in her throat and tried to pretend that he’d never have to pull away from her.
SHE DIDN’T TRY to convince herself that she’d been wise to make love with Rhys. But she had no regrets—how could she possibly regret that?
Stirring reluctantly beneath him, she pushed gently at his damp shoulders. “I can’t breathe,” she said regretfully.
Murmuring an apology, he rolled off her, their bodies separating as he pulled her into the curve of his arm. “Better?”
She nodded against his shoulder. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Are you sorry?”
“No.”
She felt his muscles relax infinitesimally beneath her cheek. “Good.”
She lifted her head to lo
ok at him. His eyes met hers. Why had she thought it would be any easier to read his expression now that they’d made love? His thoughts were still hidden from her. “I’m still worried about having an affair with my boss,” she told him frankly. “It’s not at all a prudent situation.”
He frowned. “What just happened was no boss-employee fling,” he told her flatly. “That was something—something neither of us had any chance of controlling,” he explained with an uncharacteristic groping for words.
Propping herself on one elbow, she touched the furrow between his dark, peppered brows. “Do you know when you frown like that the skin here forms a little upside-down V?” she asked whimsically, reveling in the freedom to touch him as she chose. As she’d wanted to touch him for so very long.
He caught her hand and kissed it, then turned it within his fingers as if studying it.
“What are you thinking?” she asked softly, intrigued by his expression.
“Such a tiny hand,” he murmured, his own closing fully around it. “You’re so small. And so damned young. And yet you have the power to bring me to my knees. I wonder if you’re aware of that.”
Her eyes closed in a brief spasm. “I suppose I should know by now not to ask you a question unless I’m prepared for an honest answer,” she managed, the words rather strangled.
“That’s right. You should.”
“I don’t want to bring you to your knees, Rhys,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I’m not sure anyone could do that. You’re so very strong. So self-sufficient.”
“Except where you’re concerned,” he agreed.
She dropped her cheek back to his shoulder. “What now?” she couldn’t help asking.
“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice a deep rumble from low in his chest. “I’ve got a lousy track record with relationships, Angelique. I don’t want to make any promises I’m not sure I can keep.”
“I’m not asking for promises,” she returned promptly. “I don’t even want them.” Not yet. Not until she knew whether he’d still be tempted to make them once he knew the ugly truth about her father.