When Lightning Strikes

"One kiss .. ." he promised.

"So what. Fine." She stiffened. Her lips folded together in a colorless line.

Gently he pulled her toward him. Their lips touched, briefly at first, no more than

a caress. He felt her sharply indrawn breath, felt the shiver that moved through her body.

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"Lainie . . ." He whispered her name, only that and nothing more, and then his mouth slanted over hers, claimed her. His tongue slid along her taut lips, urging them to open, to allow him entry.

She made a tiny whimpering sound and tried to draw back.

He forced himself to slow down, to be gentle. Squeezing his eyes shut, he eased the pressure of his kiss. The move surprised her. Her lips parted slightly, softened. A relieved breath slipped from her mouth to his.

This time he kissed her with gentleness, almost lovingly, in a way he hadn't kissed a woman in years. Maybe in a lifetime. His lips covered hers. The tip of his tongue caressed her lips, then eased between them and tasted the sweet moistness of her mouth.

Her tongue touched his, whether by accident or design, he didn't know, didn't care. At the cool, moist contact, desire pulsed through his body, swelled and ached. The intensity of his response caught him off guard. He hadn't felt anything like it in years, hadn't known true desire in ages. He'd forgotten how consuming it was, how hot. He moved uncomfortably on the hard ground, feeling the firm, round pressure of her bottom on the hardness between his legs.

Shaking, he drew back.

She sat as stiff as a nail, angled forward for the kiss, her eyes squeezed shut as if to block the reality of what had just happened. Tiny droplets of water clung stubbornly to the tips of her lashes. "Open your eyes, Lainie."

A heartbeat passed, then two, and then slowly she opened her eyes. Their gazes met, held, and for an instant Killian's world shifted. He felt as if he were falling into the warm, hazel pool of her eyes. He found

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himself thinking about things, wanting things he hadn't wanted in years, maybe forever.

Then he saw the sadness in her eyes, and he felt as if he'd been punched. His sudden optimism started to dissolve, slip through his rough, old man's fingers. Desperately he tried to reach for it, tried to hold on to something so ephemeral and fleeting, he couldn't begin to give it a name. "One more," he asked quietly, hearing the sharp edge of panic in his voice and not caring at all. For the first time in years, he felt an honest-to-God emotion in his soul, something that wasn't bitter or angry. He felt the desire, almost a need, to connect with this woman, to make her feel some portion of what she'd made him feel. And it scared the shit out of him to think that he would fail.

"See me this time," he said, gently brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "One more kiss . .."

She stared down at him, unblinking. Her lips were parted slightly, still moist from his kiss. The breath that squeezed past them was rapid, shallow.

Her face filled his vision, became his world. The soft, pliant feel of her bare skin beneath his fingertips taunted him with excruciating images of other parts of her body, equally soft, equally pliant.

"One more ..." She said the words softly, as if she were pondering them. Her eyes fixed on him, the dark gray-green pools huge and glassy against the heated flush of her cheeks.

He couldn't speak for wanting her. His lips tingled with the memory of her touch. Anticipation tightened every nerve until it was all he could do to sit still and wait. But he knew that this time it had to be her decision, or whatever this moment could mean would disappear.

Slowly, as if it were somehow against her will, she leaned toward him. Their gazes held, unwavering, until

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her face blurred before him, became a smear of pale skin and dark hair and green eyes.

Her lips touched his, a butterfly-fast landing, and then drew back. A low, frustrated groan wedged in his throat, burned for the release he wouldn't allow. His fingers splayed out, pressed against her back.

He angled toward her. She met him this time, kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with the first taste of passion. Her mouth formed to his, her tongue touched his in a lick of fire.

He clutched her to him, needing her suddenly, feeling and stroking and touching her. The kiss deepened, turned hot and wanting. It consumed him, overpowered him until he couldn't breathe, couldn't feel or hear anything except the exquisite pressure of her body against his and the pounding of his own heart. She made a soft, mewling sound of need.

The thought of it, of her wanting him, aroused him like nothing ever had before. One hand slid around her body, moved up to the cottony edge of her undergarment. He felt her flinch, felt the puckering formation of goose bumps on her stomach. Still kissing her, he moved his hand upward, cupped one small breast.

She stiffened but didn't draw away.

His thumb breezed across her nipple, brought it instantly to hardness. At the feel of it, pebbly and straining, he groaned. His other arm slid down from her back, moved around to her chest.