Yet she could feel him all around her. The more they kissed, the longer she stood there, she could feel the hard heat of him sinking into her bones.
Weakening them.
There came a moment when the temptation to lean into him simply became too much. Refusing to let herself think, she took that last half step and let their bodies meet. Let her breasts press against his chest, let her thighs touch the hard lengths of his.
A shiver of sheer pleasure swept through her; she welcomed it, wallowed in the sensation. But it was his reaction that enthralled her, that focused her mind even as they both instinctively readjusted the angle of their heads, continuing the kiss, continuing to taste and explore—even while she wondered, amazed at his restraint.
Fascinated by it.
His kisses remained unhurried, lazy and inviting, yet his body felt as if he had a devouring demon trapped within, a demon he held chained by sheer force of will. She pushed her hands, trapped against his chest, up and over his broad shoulders, savoring, assessing, marveling at the tension locked in every muscle of his large frame.
Behind the veil of his kisses lurked heat and fi
re, and hunger. A hunger she wondered if she could sate, could satisfy.
He was keeping her protected, shielded from it all—from his desire, his passion, all he wanted from her.
A certain sultriness slid through her mind. She kissed him back, more definite, more demanding; he took all she offered, gave all she wanted in return, but his control—steely and absolute—didn’t quake. It didn’t so much as quiver.
Temptation welled, stronger, more assured, more compelling, but even in her hazy, pleasured state, she knew it was too dangerous.
Far too dangerous to tempt him to drop his shields, and let her experience the full force of his desire.
It was he who eventually pulled back and lifted his head. He looked down at her; shadows wreathed his face—she couldn’t see his eyes.
But she could feel him all around her.
She stood within his arms, held gently against him, and not one nerve was shrieking in warning.
All her nerves were pleasured, warm, all but purring with content.
He searched her face, his own hard-edged planes sharpened by restraint. “You taste like fine wine. You’re addictive, intoxicating even in small sips.”
“You taste…dangerous.” Dangerously male.
“I am dangerous. But not to you.”
She looked into his eyes and found she believed him.
His arms fell from her and he stepped back. “Come—I’ll walk you to the house.”
She acquiesced with a nod. They walked back side by side, through the trees and across the lawns. He showed her how to walk across the gravel drive without making a sound, then led her to one of the French doors of the library.
He opened it and stood back.
As she moved to pass him, he reached out and drew her to him. She was surprised, but permitted it—permitted him to kiss her, one last, long, lingering time.
Raising his head, he murmured against her lips, “One small step at a time.”
Hands braced against his chest, she looked into his dark eyes and nodded. Then she stepped back.
He released her and guided her through the door. “Good night.”
She turned to look at him. “Aren’t you coming?”
He shook his head. “I’ll walk for a while.”
She frowned; he looked at her, then shut the door.