A Handful of Heaven

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Oh, God

He

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in places she'd never expected-her throat, her bottom, her breasts.

The buttons on her chemise gave way easily, and his hand slipped inside. His fingers felt hot and forbidden against her skin. One thumb brushed her nipple, coaxing the peak to hardness. Devon heard a low moan and then another. Goodness, the sound was coming from her!

She blushed, thinking it couldn't be ladylike to make such noises. She was just about to ask him when his hand slid down her belly and pushed between her legs.

Her query died in a gasp. He urged her thighs apart, and like a wanton she responded, opening for his touch. His fingers slid through the curly triangle of hair, seeking out that most sensitive part of her body. When he found it he stroked in a slow, circular rhythm.

Need sent her into a frenzy. Without thinking, she started fumbling with the buttons at his throat.

The moment her fingers touched the first button, Stone Man released his breath in a long, unsteady sigh. Then in one quick movement he ripped his shirt from neck to waist and flung it across the room.

Their hot, damp bodies merged. At the contact Devon's tenuous control snapped. She didn't think; she couldn't. Her whole body was alive, her every hair standing on end.

The hand between her legs disappeared, leaving in its place a cold frustration. His fingers, still warm and wet from touching her, slid beneath her chemise. The moisture left a trail along her breasts, a trail that the cold air traced. She shivered.

"Let's get under the covers," he said.

Crawling underneath the fur and wool blankets, they undressed each other eagerly. Devon snuggled up to him. Bringing her hands to his chest, she explored the soft black hair, marveling at its texture.

He took hold of her wrists. "Wait."

She frowned at him. "But I want-"

"I know what you want," he said throatily. "Trust me." He eased her onto her back. Looming beside her, his naked body half in shadow, half lit by the soft golden glow of the lantern's light, he studied her.

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She lay there, stiff and unmoving, her naked body stretched full-length on the white sheet, her eyes trained on his. She felt exposed and vulnerable . . . and more alive than she'd ever felt in her life. Her every nerve was tingling in anticipation of his touch.

He brushed the soft underside of her breast with his thumb. It was the only touching of their skin, and it felt like a brand on the coldness of her flesh. An uncontrollable shiver swept her body.

She felt the callused column of his finger inch upward toward her nipple. Her whole body tensed; her breathing stumbled.

The finger traced her aureole, teasing her, tormenting her. Her breath came in ragged gasps. "Please ..."

He answered her, moving the pad of his finger to the sensitive peak of her breast. She gasped, involuntarily arching into his hand.

One stroke, then another; and then two fingers settled on the drawn peaks of her breasts-tugging, twirling, teasing. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing. Oh, but it was difficult. The air in her lungs seemed to have vanished.

The hand on her breast slid down to her waist. A frown darted across her face, and she was just about to open her eyes when she felt it. His tongue! He licked her nipple once, then drew back.

The cold night air rushed in, sweeping across the wet, hardened tip. A