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“Yes,” he said huskily, letting go of her wrists, sliding his hands beneath her. Raising her to him, opening her thighs wide so that she was entirely vulnerable.

She was so beautiful, here, in her very heart. The petals of her labia, the fragile bud within…

He kissed that bud. Tongued it. Worshipped her with his mouth. Felt the intensity of her response, her moans, her whispers, and when she gave a long, keening cry and lost herself in his arms, he felt something happen deep inside him, something that had less to do with sex and more to do with joy.

He moved up her body, held her close as she clung to him and wept. Then he clasped her face and kissed her mouth and when her eyes met his, when he saw her lips form his name, he entered her on a deep, sleek thrust.

Her hips lifted from the bed. Her legs rose and wrapped around his waist.

“Matthew,” she said brokenly, and he began to move. Slowly. Deeply. Thrusting into her silken heat, then pulling back, and the pace of his lovemaking quickened, her cries grew more breathless and he felt it start, the incredible tension, the built-up of energy.

The long climb to the top, and then the moment when he stood poised on the very edge of the world…

Mia began to tremble. Her hands gripped his biceps; he saw her eyes blur with what was happening to her, what was happening to them both…

Then, only then, Matthew threw his head back and echoed her cry as he tumbled over the precipice.

They lay in a tangle of linen and moonlight, two strangers wrapped in each other’s arms.

Cool air from the blades of a ceiling fan washed over them.

Maybe that was why Mia suddenly felt chilly… Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was the sudden and dizzying return of sanity.

She opened her eyes. Stared up at the shadowed ceiling. Felt the powerful weight of Matthew’s body on hers…and her blood ran cold.

Had she lost her mind?

She’d slept with two men in her entire life. A boy she’d dated in college and a man she’d almost become engaged to. She’d known each one for months before she let things get this far.

She’d known Matthew Knight for less than twenty-four hours.

And he wasn’t a sweet-faced college kid or a doting suitor. He was—he was hired muscle, come to take her back to Cartagena any way he could.

Hired by a man who wanted what she had in her compact. Wanted it enough to see her dead.

She must have done something, made a little sound, because Matthew lifted his head and looked at her.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Nothing’s the matter.”

“I’m too heavy for you,” he said, and rolled off her. She began to move away but he drew her into his arms.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She forced a smile. “Hey, yourself.”

He gave her a soft kiss. How could a man like him be so tender? “You sure you’re okay?”

No, she thought, I’m not. But she knew what he was asking.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“Because—” He gave a husky laugh. “Because if that was a little too fast—”

It wasn’t. It had been wonderful. Incredible. Incredible sex, with a man who’d abducted her…

“No,” she said, “no, it was fine.”