No hint of fear, of panic—of anything remotely resembling the frantic, embarrassed fluster he expected— showed in her features.
Quite the opposite. She was finally looking at him, studying his eyes, his face; her expression seemed almost serene, almost glowing.
Her eyes searched; her hands slid up to frame his face, then slid farther, her arms twining about his neck.
Abruptly losing patience, he pulled her to him.
Fully against him, body to body with only a fine layer of silk between.
He hadn’t counted on the shock affecting him.
For one instant, the world about them rocked, quaked, then settled not quite as it had been before. His lungs seized; every muscle tensed; every nerve came alive.
Impulses—powerful, primitive, and sure—rose and rushed through him; his head spun.
He heard her breath catch. He looked into her eyes. Saw something like wonder in her expression.
Their gazes touched, held.
For three long heartbeats, time stood still.
Between them, heat welled. Flames ignited, greedily grew.
Her gaze dropped to his lips.
Beyond his control, his dropped to hers.
Who made the first move he didn’t know. She lifted her head as he bent his. Their lips met.
And the fires leapt, then raged.
She pressed against him and he was lost. She opened her mouth to him, and he drowned in her bounty.
He sank against her, into her. In no way passive, she met him, her body firm and supple against his, her hands in his hair, her tongue dueling with his, inciting, inviting.
Wanting.
His control was gone before he even saw the threat. Vaporized by a need the like of which he’d never known. She was with him in want, in desire, in passion; her flagrant encouragement left no room for doubt.
Instinct claimed him, primal and unfettered. Unchained after being so long denied. He had to have her, all of her, had to have her beneath him, claimed and incontrovertibly his. It wasn’t lust that drove him, but something deeper, more powerful, something that dwelled in his heart and his soul and paid scant attention to the dictates of his brain.
Within a minute, the kiss turned ravenous; his hands hardened, fingers kneading possessively.
Alicia sensed the change in him and exulted. Her own needs unleashed for the first time in her life, she wanted all he did, wanted to experience all he and she together could be.
She’d made her decision. Or had had it made for her; she wasn’t sure, but either way she felt certain, confident beyond doubt, that this was meant to be.
The moment he’d turned to her, naked, aroused, yet somehow to her senses still unthreatening, she’d known. To her eyes, he was beautiful, incomparably male yet totally safe; never would she find another man she could trust as she trusted him—never with another would she feel the same certainty that she could go forward without fear, that she could surrender to him yet not lose herself.
That his victory would also be hers. That in his arms she would always be safe. Protected. Cared for.
Worshipped.
Despite the urgency that coursed through him, that hardened his body and shredded the veil of elegance that usually disguised his strength, that last was still apparent. His every touch was blatantly sexual, not rough but driven, forceful, demanding, even predatory, yet still each caress had only one aim, to awaken her senses and heighten their delight.
Pleasure was his currency, first and last.
She accepted it, and made it hers.