He was a man who had spent his entire life learning the art of self-control.
He licked one sweet pink nipple, then blew on it. She cried out, arched toward him, her body an elegant bow.
"Please," she whispered. "Zacharias, please..."
She reached for him, dug her fingers into his hair, urged his mouth to her breast and he did what she wanted, what she needed. How could he not taste that lovely bud? He drew it into his mouth, sucked it, sucked harder. She cried out and he felt his thoughts begin to spin.
His body ached.
All he had to do was shift his weight, sweep aside the torn nightgown...
Not yet.
Not yet, he told himself, and he drew her hands from his hair, manacled her wrists with his fingers, tugged her arms high over her head.
"No," she said, "Zacharias, let me-"
He kissed her.
Kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
Slowly.
Tasted. Licked. Sucked.
She gave a short, sharp cry and arched up from the bed again.
"Let me touch you," she pleaded. "I need to touch-"
"Not yet," he said, his voice low and rough and hot, and he kissed his way down her body to her navel, kissed the tiny indentation, kissed his way over the slight, elegant convexity of her belly, kissed those soft pale curls at the apex of her thighs, kissed them and marveled that she was natural here, too, not shaved and buffed to some s.e.xual standard that was beyond him to comprehend.
She was sobbing. Bucking against him. Struggling to free herself from his grasp, but he wouldn"t let her, wouldn"t stop kissing her, wouldn"t let her touch him and now, oh G.o.d, now he was nuzzling the edges of the torn nightgown apart, nuzzling her thighs apart, and she was wet, so wet, so hot...
His mouth found her.
He was doing things. His tongue. His teeth. His lips...
Color danced behind Jaimie"s closed eyelids. Red. Pink. Purple. Blue so deep, so pure that it had to be the very fabric of the universe.
She was gasping for breath.
"Zacharias," she whispered, "please oh please oh please..."
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 s.e.xy, sleepy look.
Her heart swelled.
"Morning," she said softly.
He grinned.
"Morning," he said, just as softly. He kissed her. Tenderly. Lingeringly.
She smiled. "What a guy!"
His grin broadened. "Well, if you say so-"
"A man who reads minds. Very impressive."
"Oh, that."
"Why, Mr. Castelianos, sir, whatever did you think I meant?"
Zach rolled onto his side so they were face-to-face. He"d seen lots of women first thing in the morning. Some used the kind of makeup that didn"t wear off. He"d always thought it made them look like bleary-eyed Barbie dolls. Some, he was pretty certain, crept out of bed at dawn so they could reapply what he thought of as their faces. One or two let the night do whatever it was going to do: smeared mascara, bedhead hair, rosy cheek-color that had transferred to the pillow.
This was a first.
Jaimie had fallen asleep looking the same way she had when she"d let him into her apartment. No makeup. No carefully combed and teased and sprayed-into-submission hair.
She was herself. Unadorned. Natural. And- "Beautiful," he said.
She laughed softly, touched the back of her hand to his jaw. How could that dark stubble be so incredibly s.e.xy?
"Liar."
"Me? Lie about such a thing?" He gave her a little push and she tumbled, very willingly, onto her back. "Are you suggesting that I"d say whatever it takes to have my way with you, madam?"
"Mmm." She turned her hand over so that her palm cupped his jaw. The stubble felt wonderful. Soft. Teasing. s.e.xy. "I am, indeed, sir."
"Mmm, yourself." He caught her hand, kissed it. "Hey, I"m a guy. Saying whatever we think will get us past "Go" is in our DNA." He kissed her palm again, touched the tip of his tongue to the sensitive skin. "But not this time."
The stroke of his tongue made Jaimie"s toes curl.
"No?" she said, a little breathlessly.
"No," he said, his voice a low, raw growl. Zach moved over her, his body hard, his eyes dark. "You"re beautiful. You"re so beautiful, you d.a.m.n near stop my heart."
"I wouldn"t want to do that," she said. "Because if I did-" He moved, kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, slipped his hand between her thighs. She moaned and arched against his fingers. "If I did, we wouldn"t be able to-to-Oh G.o.d, Zacharias. When you do that-what you do that-"
His mouth captured hers as he entered her.
She cried out, came hard and fast. He held out as long as he could, waited until he felt her spasm around his rigid flesh a second time. Then he let go, lost himself in her cries, her scent.
Lost himself in her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
They showered.
"Together," Zach insisted, even though the shower stall wasn"t much bigger than a phone booth.
Jaimie pointed that out. He said it wouldn"t be a problem. He made it sound as if it were simply a logistical issue that he"d solve in a practical way.
Not quite.
It turned out that what he"d meant was that he"d hold her in his arms, she"d cling to him, and that in very little time, the magical combination of water and soap and skin-on-skin contact would prove that the best way to deal with the lack of s.p.a.ce would be for him to lift her in his arms, for her to wrap her legs around him.
For him to be deep inside her.
Afterward, he swathed her in a towel and took her back to bed. This time, he made love to her with a tenderness that transcended anything he"d ever experienced with a woman.
At the end, he collapsed against her. Her mouth was against his throat. She said something; he could feel her lips move though he couldn"t hear the words. Carefully, he rolled to his side with her still in his arms.
"What did you say?"
"I said-I said I"ve never-I"ve never-"
He kissed her.
"No," he said gruffly. "Neither have I."
She smiled. Yawned.
"I"ll make us some breakfast."
He grinned. "I notice you said that without moving an inch from this bed."
She batted her lashes. "It"s the thought that counts."
Moments later, they were both asleep.
By the time they woke again, the rain had changed to sleet.
They dressed, Zach in what he"d worn the night before, Jaimie in jeans, a sweater and leather boots.