Dangerous Magic by Stephanie James, Jayne Ann Krentz Page A

excruciating moments with hers, forcing a response her body did not seem loath to give.
    As the sensuous intensity of the assault continued Elissa felt herself give ground before it. The man was as overwhelming in his lovemaking as he was in his choice of paintings. In both he expressed himself with bold, masculine power. The impact of her senses was impossible to ignore, and somehow it grew difficult to distinguish between the two vastly different forms of attack.
    In the paintings which had been done for him she had been exposed to the bleak isolation of a man who has always fought the world on his own terms. The artist had caught that quality with indisputable sureness. In Wade’s arms she experienced the relentless demand for her to meet him on the shores of the wild sea or in the middle of that searing dessert and temper the isolation for a time.
    And by answering his fierce demands could she succeed in charming him? In weaving the spells he accused her of being able to cast could she exert some measure of power? The heady thought somehow mingled with the exciting sensation of his hands on her body as Wade began searching out the warmth of her skin.
    “No,” she whispered achingly as he made short, efficient work of the buttons on her sapphire-blue shirt.
    “Yes,” he muttered huskily, his mouth on the pulse in her throat. And Elissa knew she didn’t have the will yet to stop him. Soon…soon…
    Fumblingly she tried to catch his hand and push it gently back from its goal, but he trapped her restless fingers in his and transferred them to the buttons of his own flannel shirt.
    “Touch me, little witch,” he grated as he left her fingers clinging precariously to the edge of his shirt. “Let me feel your hands on me. Pet your wolf and see what happens!”
    The demand was irresistible. Even as she felt her breast swell beneath his cold caress she was obeying his orders and undoing the fastenings on the plaid flannel. She heard her own breath catch in her throat as her shaking fingers found the crisp, curling hairs of his chest and began to thrust through them.
    His groan of response was utterly entrancing, Elissa discovered. It made a woman yearn to elicit more evidence of his rising passion. It made her feel reckless and daring. She traced soft circles around the male nipples and sensed his spine arch rigidly in reaction.
    “Ah, my sweet Elissa,” he breathed as he finished his work on her shirt and eagerly pushed back the material. She closed her eyes as she felt him drinking in the sight of her soft curves. She felt first his hands and then his lips on the hardening tips of her breasts as he disposed impatiently of her lacy bra.
    “One way or another I’m going to join you in your fortress, even if I have to make the foundations shake! And you’ll welcome me when the time comes, I swear it!”
    Elissa was aware of him sliding lower, his hands shaping the curve of her hip as he sowed strings of kisses down to her navel. The almost unbearable excitement arced through her limbs and one knee lifted in reaction.
    At once Wade’s hand moved to the jean-covered inner part of her thigh, stroking her through the material until both of her legs shifted languidly.
    He leaned farther over and dropped a heated kiss on the contoured line of her waist precisely where it disappeared into the protection of the denim.
    Elissa’s fingers groped blindly across the strong expanse of his chest, probing at the lean, tight skin along his rib cage and seeking the flat stomach beyond.
    When he began working his way caressingly back up to her mouth she involuntarily clung more closely, her body demanding more of his warmth and fire. The level of passion was new to her, and the temptation to reach out and leave her mark on his splendid isolation was enthralling in itself.
    A self-sufficient male was probably a challenge for any woman, but one who taunted you with that challenge, invited you to change him, was like a drug in one’s