he said. Vaguely, she heard the satisfaction in his voice and knew she was defeated. How could she persist in a fight about going out with the man she had dreamed of having a date with for years?
His mouth possessed hers, his tongue stroking and playing until the blinding spiral of heat tightened and burst into searing longing. He had stormed her barriers and won the battle. She couldn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss, snuggling against the solidity of him and hearing a groan caught deep in his throat.
“You dirty fighter,” she whispered, coming up for air and running her fingers through his hair.
“If I win, it’s worth it,” he answered, and then his mouth covered her reply and her battle ended. With a thrill she felt his hard length pressed against her, her thighs against his muscled thighs, her breasts against his sculpted chest.
While he caressed her nape with one hand, his arm held her tightly. Their breathing became ragged; his kisses deepened.
She knew she was playing with a fire that sooner or later was going to burn her to cinders, but she couldn’t stop. Not when his heady kisses melted every impulse to resist.
His hand slid down her back, and then he tugged her T-shirt out of her jeans and slipped his hand beneath her shirt. His hand was warm, callused, delightful. While fiery tingles increased, his hand slid around to cup her breast.
She gasped as new sensations shot through her, heating her further, driving her wild. When she pressed her hips against him, she felt his hard response to her.
He tugged away her T-shirt and flung it aside, unsnapping her wisp of a bra and pushing it off her shoulders. Then he cupped her breasts in his large, tanned hands, his thumbs circling and caressing her taut nipples.
She cried out, holding his strong upper arms, closing her eyes and immobilized by nerve responses that streaked from his touch. Trembling, she grasped him, wanting him, wanting everything, knowing she shouldn’t be wanting any of his loving.
Enjoy the moment danced through her mind. Just for a time. A time to lose her heart completely. She slipped her hands beneath his sweater, running her fingers through coarse chest hair, over his hard muscles, stroking his nipples and hearing him groan again, a sound lost in their kisses.
In seconds, he tugged his sweater over his head and tossed it away, pulling her close against him while he continued to kiss her.
She caressed his smooth back, wanting to touch and be touched, unable to believe that this was David who was kissing her and wanting her to go out with him. How many dreams had been spun around him, how many nights of fantasy! Now he was here, his strong arms around her, and he wanted her. He was wicked temptation and irresistible desire.
His hands were at the belt of her jeans when she realized where they were headed. She caught his wrists in her grasp, twisting slightly to look up at him.
“David, you have to stop. You’re going way too fast,” she gasped, melting under his gaze.
“You’re beautiful, Rissa,” he whispered, stepping away slightly.
Quickly, she picked up her T-shirt, yanking it over her head. As soon as she pulled it down, she again met his smoldering gaze, which was as potent as a caress.
His jeans bulged with his evident arousal, and he reached out to stroke her cheek. He stepped close and pulled her into his arms to kiss her again.
Even though Marissa intended to push him away, she wrapped her arms around his neck. David leaned back to look down at her. “Come out with me Saturday night,” he rumbled. “Say you’ll go.”
“I’ll go,” Marissa said finally. “But let me catch my breath. You go far too fast for me, David.”
Suddenly he grinned, an infectious, white-toothed grin that dazzled her.
“Yee-ha!” he exclaimed, throwing back his head and letting out another whoop. “We’ve got a Saturday night date!”
She couldn’t keep from laughing. “You browbeat me into it.”
“You call that browbeating?” he asked. “I have another name for it.”
“Seduction,” she said. “Watch out, David. You’re playing with fire.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I guess with a Special Ops background, you like risks and life on the wild side, but I don’t. I don’t want more hurt.”
He tilted her chin up, lifting long strands of dark blond hair away from her face. “My last intention is to hurt you,” he said, and his voice held such an unmistakable note of tenderness that it made her knees weak.
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen,” she replied. “And slow down with the seductive kisses, because I have no intention of finding myself in your bed.”
“Is that right? I’ll remember that. At the same time,” he drawled, letting his hands slide down her arms and settle on her waist while his gaze drifted leisurely over her, “maybe my goal is to get you into my bed.”
Marissa sighed. “Half of me thinks you’re teasing and half of me thinks you’re serious and both halves are right.” She leaned over to snatch up her lacy bra and jam it into her jeans pocket. She turned to find him still watching her.
“Sit over there, and I’ll sit over here and we can talk,” she announced, trying to summon as much force into her voice as possible, knowing she was failing and he wouldn’t care, anyway.
“Darlin’, how about a compromise?” he asked, sweeping her into his arms and going to the sofa to set her down in one corner. He turned and sat in the other corner, twisting to face her and smile at her. “How’s this? There’s space between us, but I can still touch you a little.” Stretching out his long arm, he caught tendrils of her hair and twirled them in his fingers.
He was too close if he was in the same room with her, but at least she had slowed him down enough that she could gather her wits. She tried to ignore the fact that her body ached and tingled and burned for more. She could happily drown in his kisses for the rest of the night, but she knew where that would lead and that wasn’t what wisdom indicated she should do.
And that magnificent chest was still bare and still in touching distance. And far too distracting for a regular conversation. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked him, giving his chest a once-over again.
His brows arched. “You want me to put on my sweater? My chest disturbs you?” he asked with great innocence.
“You know what you’re doing,” Marissa snapped. “Go without your sweater. I can resist your chest,” she added, and he grinned, snaking out his long arm to grab his sweater and pull it over his head. He raked his fingers through his hair and it sprang back in thick waves. Marissa knew it didn’t matter a whole lot whether he had on his sweater or not because everything about him stirred her hormones.
“So if we go out—” she said.
“You said yes. When we go out—not if,” he reminded her.
“When we go out, who is
