He started with her neck, the backs of his fingers skimming a line down from her jaw to her chest. Tracing the edge of her crisp white shirt right down to the first—perhaps prudishly high—button, then back up the other side, pressing one kiss, then another, and finally a third.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but found she couldn’t. Her mind was too foggy. And there was the haunting fear that if she said the wrong thing she might break this unexpected spell.
And yet...somewhere...something needled her. Niggled at her.
What was she forgetting?
But then he let his hands wander down her back, dancing over her spine, her hips, until they were cupping her backside and she could do nothing but move with him and press tighter to him.
Heat against steel. Heady and exhilarating.
Just as it had always been with him.
No other man had ever had this effect on her. Not before Zeke, and certainly not after. She’d never even tried. There had never been anyone like him. And that, she told herself, was the only explanation for why she responded to him as if she were a drowning woman and he were the only one who could throw her a lifeline.
She shifted against him urgently, revelling in the sensation of every inch of his sinfully hard body pressed so exquisitely against every inch of her. Exalting as she heard the unmistakable catch of his breathing. Then the hot, still slick feel of his mouth again as she matched his kisses stroke for stroke, urging him on without even a word.
Moving herself against him, until he was reaching for her shirt, making only the briefest attempt to undo the awkward, slippery pearls before cursing softly into her mouth and simply giving one efficient tug. They popped off naughtily, then skittered noisily, feverishly, across the hard floor.
And then Zeke was dropping his hand lazily down the valley between her breasts, his knuckles grazing each soft swell, his tongue teasing swirls over her sensitive skin. Again and again he let his tongue sweep over her, each time stopping short of the nipples that swelled, almost painfully, with the need for him to touch them.
In the dim distance, she could hear her soft moans, her half-uttered pleas, but it was surreal. Like an old dream that she had clung to for so many years. An old memory.
Yes, it had been far, far too long.
And yet...
As her memory clicked over, Tia allowed instinct to kick in. She let her hands glide over Zeke’s shoulders, drawing something from their strength, their familiarity. She traced her fingers over the bunched shoulder blades and down the muscled back. She cupped his hard backside just as he had done with her.
And then she very slowly, very deliberately, lifted her hips up to meet him. To press against the hard evidence of his own desire. The way they had done countless times, so many years ago, drawing him in as though it was her who was doing the seducing, not him.
Perhaps that was why he suddenly drew back from her, breaking the kiss and leaving her almost bereft, her eyes flashing open, her hands reaching to cup his cheeks only for him to catch them, and draw them to his chest.
‘Zeke...’
‘No.’ His rebuttal was harsh, ragged. ‘My pace. Not yours.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘Stop talking, Tia. Just wait,’ he commanded.
She didn’t think she could have done anything but obey, just as before, even if she’d wanted to. But the truth was, there was a part of her that was only too happy to stop thinking, stop running, and do exactly what Zeke told her to do.
Then he stopped, his face so tantalisingly close to hers, his gaze holding hers wordlessly, his eyes almost black with desire. When he slid his hands to her waistband, unhooked the buttons and the delicious lick of the zip wound its way into her ears, she thrilled in anticipation.
His hand dropped between them; she could only gasp, her eyelids feeling suddenly heavy as he toyed with her skimpy underwear, which had been like her own private joke with herself.
‘Somewhat incongruous with that preppy, oh-so-professional shirt, aren’t they?’ he accused, but she took a little comfort in the huskiness of his voice, which betrayed him.
‘I guess I like to surprise.’
His mouth tautened to a grim line.
‘As do I.’
It only dawned on her what he was doing when he dropped abruptly to his knees and pushed her tight suit skirt up to her hips. He intended to make her lose control whilst he held onto his. Hardly fair, or sporting.
‘Wait...’ she protested, trying to jerk away, but her voice was flimsy at best and, besides, he was more than ready for her. ‘That isn’t...’