pantry. Half-dazed, she took in the shelves where giant jars of sun-dried tomatoes vied for space next to sacks of rice and tins of whatever. Rhys had taken her by the hand and led her off the dance floor. Known exactly where he was headed. She’d simply followed, unquestioning. He closed the door behind him. Bolted it. Swung her so her back was to the door, the lock just by her arm. He nodded to it.
‘You can leave any time.’
‘I don’t want to.’
She saw his tension as he braced against the door but holding his body away from her. She looked along the length of his arms, pinning her in. She could see the strength in them. Not overdeveloped, bulging biceps, but defined, long muscles that were, frankly, beautiful. She sensed he was pushing against the door as a way to keep himself in check. She didn’t want him to hold back. No restraint, she wanted everything. Wanted him to want her in the deeply physical way she wanted him, and she wanted to feel it, experience it. All.
It was her turn to seize the moment. Daring, she reached out quickly before habit returned and she hesitated. She unfastened the top button of his shirt. She heard the catch of his breath. A tiny smile tugged the corners of her mouth. This could be an awful lot of fun. And she’d gone too long without fun. Well, not tonight.
Her fingers shook only a little as she worked the buttons with surprising ease. Until both halves of the shirt hung apart and she was able to see his taut bronzed torso. The initial attack of butterflies in her tummy was fast replaced by a serious tightening. Transverse, internal and external obliques—all those abdominal muscles tensed at the sight of raw male in perfect prime.
She must have a fairy godmother to grant her this wish. She forced her gaze from his torso to his face. She could see the way he’d clamped his jaw shut as he watched her admiring him.
Their eyes met. She saw the serious look in his again. The reality of what she was considering hit her.
She spoke. ‘I don’t usually…’
‘Neither do I.’
Somehow she knew that was true. ‘I just want to…’
‘Me too.’
Touch.
She reached a hand out sideways and flipped the light switch. Blackness covered them—sudden and total. She couldn’t even make out his outline. But she could hear him. Could sense his nearness.
‘Sienna?’
‘Indulge me.’ She smiled—excited by his audible tension, amused by her actions. She even sounded like a seductress. She slipped her panties down, kicking them off and to the floor. Now she felt like one. A sense of exhilaration flooded her. Freedom. In the dark, where there was only touch and scent and sensation, she could be as wicked and wild as she wanted.
‘How should I indulge you?’ The tension was still there, and a trace of husky desire.
‘Touch me.’
He stepped closer. She heard the movement of his feet. With the loss of vision her other senses seemed more acute.
His voice lowered but she still heard every word as clear as the beat of the drum. ‘Where should I touch you?’
‘Anywhere you want.’ Everywhere. She didn’t mind. In the dark like this, anything could happen.
He was close. Very close but still not touching and she wanted that beyond belief.
She smelt the wine they’d drunk. Then caught a hint of a scent new to her but thoroughly delightful—Rhys. Aroused.
But still he held back.
Her breasts ached. She longed to feel him caress them—to both soothe and set on fire. As for his mouth, the kind of luscious lips that overly wealthy housewives paid thousands for. The perfect Cupid’s bow. She wanted that everywhere. Where was he? Panic gripped her—he hadn’t changed his mind?
Then he spoke, that low sound of temptation personified. ‘I can’t quite decide where to touch and whether to use my hands or mouth.’
‘How about both? Everywhere.’
She heard his puff of amusement and his low murmur. ‘Sienna the Siren.’
At last he touched her, his hands settling on her waist as his lips sought hers. Back to the beginning—but it wasn’t a beginner’s kind of kiss. Deeper, long, lush kisses followed—lasting for ever. His hands moved, played up her back, and then slipped round her front, his fingers seeking her softness. The ache in her breasts intensified, wanting more.
He spoke her desire aloud. ‘I want to touch you. How do I get this off?’ He tugged at the material.
‘It’s complicated. I…’
His groan sounded half smothered. ‘Later, we’ll get rid of it later.’
Regret whistled through her. There would be no later. But the thought was wiped from her mind as his hands encircled her braless breasts, and his mouth found her nipple with killer precision.
Raw need ricocheted through her. She felt the pull in every limb. Her brain forcing her entire body to attend to the sensation in her nipples. Never had she felt so desired. Never had her breasts received such attention. Such deliberate and devastating touches. Lovers were usually distracted by then—by the scar. Tonight, despite the thin, slippery fabric covering her, she could feel his desire, the wet heat of his mouth as he caressed her with a physical want she knew would wane if he ever saw her in entirety.
She rocked her pelvis against him—an unconscious desire to soothe the ache that had sprung there. Then she realised her body, her very sex, was demanding the same kind of attention her breasts were receiving. The essence of her wanted his fingers, his lips, his tongue to delve and devour the way they were her rounded flesh.
She wanted everything he had. All of his body. All of his strength.
The scent of the room, the sound of her, the softness of her skin and the heady darkness all combined to give Rhys the feeling he’d left this earth and entered some sort of heaven. He ran his hands over her breasts and back, partly wanting to pull her into him, partly wanting her on a pedestal so he could worship each delicious bit of her.
He was spinning so far out of control. He needed to step back. Regroup a little. Hell, he couldn’t even remember if he had a condom in his wallet. Did he have one? Think, brain. Think. But she was kissing him again and rational thought was becoming impossible. In this darkness, the cool room wasn’t that cool at all. Her long hair tickled his skin and he found himself weaving his hands into it again and again. Running fingers through its silky softness as she kissed his chest, her hands firmly smoothing down his abs. And suddenly he could see it—there was nothing in his mind but the bright, burning gold. Flaxen flames. A gorgeous mess that was so striking and so seductive. He pulled her close for another deep kiss, couldn’t keep away any longer, wanting to touch her most intimate space. From the way her hips writhed against his he knew she wasn’t about to say no.
He bent his knees so he could place a palm on each leg, halfway up her thighs. He heard her breathing hitch. He kissed her softly, kept close so he could catch every nuance of her reaction as he slowly slid his hands towards home. Her legs were slim but he could feel their supple strength. As he traced
