breast, lifting them so that he could feel the swell against his skin.
“Don’t, for God’s sake,” he groaned.
She moved his hand against her, drowning in the sweetness of his touch, arching toward it. Both her hands went there, pushing his fingers completely over her. “Calhoun,” she moaned. She felt so weak that she thought she’d have to lie down again, but she couldn’t let go of his hand.
“You aren’t sober enough,” he whispered roughly, although the feel of her was doing terrible things to his self-control. He was already going rigid with need as he followed her down.
“I’m not sober enough to be afraid,” she whispered. Her eyes searched his glittering eyes. “Teach me.”
He actually shuddered. “I can’t.”
“Why?” she asked. “Because I’m plain and unsophisticated, because I’m not blond—” Her voice broke.
So did his control. He leaned down, his smoky breath mingling with hers as his hand cupped her. “Because you’re a virgin,” he breathed into her mouth as he took it.
She moaned. It was sweet, so sweet. Nothing like that other time, when he’d been rough and hadn’t given her enough room to respond. He’d been impatient and demanding, but now he was gentle. His fingers stroked her body from her breasts to her waist to her flat stomach. His mouth teased at hers, probed it, traced it in a silence that was thick with sensual pleasure. Abby felt warm all over, safe and cared-about. She let her lips admit the probing of his tongue, admit him into the sweet darkness of her mouth. She didn’t even protest when the kiss grew much deeper, much slower, or when she felt his hand slide under her to find the catch at her back.
The air was cool on her body. He removed the lacy covering that was no covering at all, and his hands were heaven on her hot skin. She moaned, helping him, pressing his fingers against her, drawing them over her hungry body.
“Abby,” he groaned against her mouth, half-crazy with the hunger to make love to her completely, to salve the ache that was throbbing through his body.
She opened her eyes, letting her gaze fall lazily to his chest. Her hands went to his shirt, and she worked at the buttons, feeling him tense. But he didn’t protest, even though his heartbeat was shaking his big body as it lay beside hers.
“There,” she whispered when she could see and touch the thick wedge of hair that ran down to his belt. “I’ll bet women love to touch you there,” she murmured as she pressed her fingers hungrily against him.
“I’ve never let a woman touch me like this before,” he said huskily. “I didn’t like it until now.”
Her eyes searched his, and she shifted restlessly on the coverlet, hungry, aching for something without a name, without an image.
“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, searching her eyes. “Tell me. I’ll do anything you want me to.”
She swallowed, and her lips parted unsteadily. She took his head in her hands and tugged at it, lifting her body. And he understood without her having to put it into words.
“Here?” he whispered tenderly, and put his open mouth completely over the swollen tip of her breast.
She moaned helplessly. It was beyond her wildest imaginings of what passion would feel like. Her body was in control. Her mind could only watch, it couldn’t slow down what was happening. She twisted the cool, thick strands of his blond hair while he smoothed his warm mouth over her breasts and stomach, her faint cries encouraging him, her body welcoming him.
His mouth slid back up to meet hers. And as she opened her own lips to welcome him, she felt his body slowly cover her.
Her eyes opened then as his mouth lifted fractionally, and she watched his face, hard with passion, as his body fit itself perfectly to her slenderness.
She barely breathed, her eyes wide and full of new knowledge as she felt him intimately and knew without words how badly he wanted her.
“Are you afraid this time?” he whispered quietly.
“I should be,” she replied. She reached up and touched his face as he drew his chest slowly, teasingly over her breasts. Her breath caught, but she traced his eyebrows, his cheeks, his mouth with fingers that trembled and adored him.
His big, callused hands slid under her back, lifting her up into the curve of his body. “I want you, Abby,” he whispered, bending to her mouth as his body shuddered over hers. “I want you so much….”
She curled her arms around his head and held his mouth against her eager one. “I want you, too, Calhoun,” she whispered into his mouth.
He almost lost control completely then. He kissed her until he had to stop for breath, his body shuddering rhythmically, his knee between her long, soft legs, his hand low on her hips. He felt her trembling and heard her whimper. Oddly, it brought him to his senses.
Slowly, so slowly, he rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, cradling her against his damp body. He slid his hands to her head, holding her forehead to his throbbing chest.
“Lie still, honey,” he whispered raggedly when she began to move again. He caught her hips and stilled them. “Just lie against me and breathe. It will be all right in a minute. Lie still, baby.”
Her hands were flat against his chest, trembling there in the thick mat of hair, and she felt his unsteady breathing against her hair. He was as shaken as she was, but why had he stopped? She didn’t understand. If he wanted her, then why had he stopped?
“Sweet thing,” he breathed when the tremor was almost out of his big arms. “Sweet, precious thing, another few seconds and nothing on earth would have stopped me, did you know?”
She nuzzled her head against him. “Why did you stop?” she asked dazedly.
He tilted her head back on the pillow and smiled into her drowsy eyes. “Don’t you know?”
“Because I’m not blond, I guess,” she sighed, almost weeping with frustration and disappointment.
“Because you’re not lucid,” he corrected. He brushed the long, soft hair away from her face. “Abby, you’re half lit.”
“I want you,” she moaned.
“I know. I can see it. Feel it.” He hugged her close for a minute, because he was almost in control now. Then he let go and quickly and efficiently slid her into her gown. “Sit up, honey.”
She did, and he eased back the covers and helped her get under them. She lay quietly beneath two layers of fabric and blinked at him sleepily. “Calhoun, stay with me,” she whispered.
He smiled gently, his dark eyes possessive on her flushed face. “Justin would love finding us in your bed together. He’d probably make me marry you.”
“And I guess that would be the end of your world,” she replied.
His expression hardened. He drew in a slow breath and touched her cheek gently, thoughtfully. “I’ve been alone a long time. I like being my own boss, answering to no one. I’ve been a rounder, and in some ways I still
