He moved back up her body. Kissed her parted lips. Tasted desire and need and hunger, and knew he was dancing on the thin knife-edge of sanity.
Another kiss, deep and hot.
Then he let go of her wrists.
She reached for him, but he pulled back, kicked off his sneakers, tore off his jeans, his boxers.
He came back to her, hot skin against hot skin, steel against satin, and she clutched his biceps, rose to him, sought his mouth, kissed him, bit him, her hips lifting to his in such blatant female offering that he knew he couldn’t take much more.
“Jaimie,” he said.
She blinked. Her eyes met his.
“Tell me.” His voice was ragged. “I need to hear you say it. I’ve waited weeks to hear you say the words.”
Suddenly, all the knowledge of the universe glowed in her eyes.
“Make love to me, Zacharias,” she whispered. “Please. I need you. I want you. I—”
He thrust into her.
She came in a rush of light, of music, of emotion so intense that she began to weep.
He began to move.
She cried out, wrapped her legs around him, met him stroke for stroke. His name was on her lips, a mystical chant taking her deeper and deeper into a place of golden sunlight and swirling stars.
Her eyes closed.
“No,” he demanded. “Open your eyes honey. Look at me.”
His face was a study in male dominance, the bones standing out in stark relief beneath the taut, golden skin. He clasped her hands, drew them to her sides.
“You’re mine,” he said. “Mine.”
He surged forward. She heard herself cry his name.
And the world came apart.
* * * *
She woke hours later.
Rain pattered against the house. And she was lying in Zacharias’s arms, warm, safe—and happy.
The last time she’d come awake this way, what she’d felt was shame. All she’d wanted was to escape.
Now, all she wanted was for the rain to continue. It was Friday, her day off, and between that and the rain, she had the perfect excuse to stay right where she was.
Unless Zacharias had other plans. Unless he had to return to New York…
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Jaimie lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. He was early-morning gorgeous. Rumpled hair. Jaw dark with stubble. Eyes still with that sexy, sleepy look.
Her heart swelled.
“Morning,” she said softly.