A Proper Wife

“Never!”

Ryan’s hand threaded into her hair, fisting in its abundance, forcing her head back so that her beautiful, treacherous face was turned up to his.

“We’d be like a Fourth of July fireworks and you know it. Starbursts and flames and rockets to the moon.”

“What an incredible ego you have! I just told you, I’d never—”

“You would. Hell, you almost did, right there in the foyer of James’s house the other night. All I had to do was lift your skirt and you’d have wrapped those long legs around me, begged me to—”

This time when she tried to hit him, he was ready. He laughed, forced her face to his, and kissed her.

“Stop it,” Devon gasped, tearing her mouth from his.

Ryan put his arms around her. “Is that really what you want?” He looked into her eyes as he brought his lips to hers again.

But there was nothing demanding in his kiss this time. His mouth moved gently against hers in a series of soft, nibbling little kisses that threatened to drain the marrow from her bones.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, burying his face

in her hair. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t.” Devon said, but her voice was faint and papery, and when Ryan nuzzled the hair away form her neck and slowly began kissing his way down its length, she moaned.

“Put your arms around me,” he whispered.

No, she thought, no, don’t do it.

But her hands were already slipping up his chest, linking behind his neck; her fingers were digging into the silky dark hair that touched his collar.

“We can’t,” she said in a choked voice. “Ryan, please...”

Ryan kissed her, his mouth soft and cool on hers. Her lips parted, but only a little; she began to tremble in his arms.

His body was hardening like steel. She wanted him, he knew it, but she was holding back. It was almost as if she were new to this, as if the sensations his mouth and hands were arousing in her were sensations she had never felt before.

It was a parody of innocence. He knew that. But knowing it didn’t lessen its impact. His breathing quickened as he drew her closer against him. Her heart was racing; he could feel it leap against his. He swept his hand over her body, down the long, clean line of her spine to her rounded bottom, then up again to cup her breast.

Her response was swift and electric. She made a soft, keening sound of surrender and thrust herself against him, her pelvis pressed against his, her breast hardening to fill his palm.

He had to have her. Now, here, on the desk or on the couch or on the damned floor, it didn’t matter which. All he knew was his overwhelming need.

With a groan, he swept the tweed jacket from her shoulders.

“Devon,” he said thickly.

The door flew open.

“Mr. Kincaid!”

Devon sprang back at the sound of Sylvia’s voice. Her gaze flew to the secretary’s face. The woman looked shocked. No. Not just shocked. Amused. Delighted.

Why wouldn’t she be? Devon spun toward the window. It wasn’t every day a secretary walked into her boss’s office and found him in the middle of a seduction—though for all she knew, seductions were the norm around here. With a man like Ryan Kincaid, anything was possible.

But not with her. All her life she’d been called “cold.” Bettina said she had a cold heart; the girls at school said she was a cold fish. And the few men she’d dated had used a word that was much crueler.

And yet the touch of a man she knew just well enough to hate had sent her flying out of control. If his secretary hadn’t come in just then...

“Dammit; Sylvia,” Ryan said gruffly, “this had better be good.”