Sandy , would it be so bad to take your first steps with me? I won't let you fall."
She glared at him as if he'd asked her to dance naked in church. "I'm not interested in a relationship."
At least she hadn't said she wasn't interested in one with him. He thought about backing off and simply saying good-night, but he'd always had more curiosity than sense. Right now, he was noticing how fast Sandy was breathing and the way her nipples had hardened and were pressing against her shirt. According to the signals her body was sending, she wasn't as immune to him as she would like him to think. It was kind of like standing in front of a growling, tail-wagging dog. Which end did you believe?
Which Sandy was telling the truth? "If you're not interested in a relationship, how do you feel about passion?" he asked, rising to his feet.
"What?"
He grabbed her hand and pulled her up next to him. "You heard me."
Wide eyes stared at him. Her mouth trembled. That mouth. Damn it all to hell, he remembered being fourteen and thinking he would die if he didn't know what her lips would feel like touching his. Those old longings overwhelmed him. Or maybe they were new longings. Or maybe he was just an old man playing a kid's game. He told himself to step away. He would have, too, if Sandy hadn't placed her hand on his chest. If she hadn't leaned forward slightly, inviting him.
It was stupid. It was inevitable. He bent down and kissed her.
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
S andy wasn't prepared to be swept away. She wasn't prepared for the need that crashed through her. Like a wave from the sea, it broke over her body and tugged at her feet until she was sure she would fall and go under. She already couldn't breathe; what difference would it make if she found herself drowning in sensation?
Kyle's mouth pressed against hers. She told herself to pull back, but after the first moment of contact, she was lost. Lost in the passion, the heat and the need. Lost to feelings she'd long thought dormant. Lost to the excitement of being joyfully alive.
At the first brush of his lips, her body surged toward him. She wanted to be next to him, around him, feeling everything, touching everywhere. His mouth was firm, yet yielding, his breath sweet and warm. He didn't invade her or conquer her, he simply touched her. He didn't try to hold her still, or in any way keep her from turning away. He didn't have to. Perhaps he already knew how her heart thundered in her chest and her palms grew damp. Perhaps he was used to consummation by fire, but for her, it was the first time.
He stood one step down from her, so they were closer in height. If she had the strength to open her eyes, she would be able to stare into his. But she had no will, no power, nothing but need and passion. From the faintest of kisses, from the barest whisper of his mouth on hers, the tide lapped at her feet, tugging, pulling, until her self-control slipped away and was lost.
Lips on lips, chest to chest, thighs brushing thighs. Her hands clutched at his upper arms, as much to hold him in place as to keep her balance. His hands rested on her waist, comfortably, easily, as if he'd held them there a thousand times before. As if he knew she would not—could not—withdraw from him.
Her eyelids fluttered as she became lost in a world of sensual intensity. She told herself it was just a kiss. Nothing more. But she hadn't been kissed in so long, she could have wept from the wonder filling her. She could have perished from the hunger. His mouth pressed against hers, promising more, leaving her quivering. She clung to him as her world disappeared, leaving only the darkness and the feel of him next to her.
He moved back and forth, reminding her of the familiar movements of love, of the dance between a man and a woman. He was broader than Thomas had been, taller and more muscled. But his touch was softer, slower and more controlled. The contrasts and similarities filled her senses. She wanted him to
She glared at him as if he'd asked her to dance naked in church. "I'm not interested in a relationship."
At least she hadn't said she wasn't interested in one with him. He thought about backing off and simply saying good-night, but he'd always had more curiosity than sense. Right now, he was noticing how fast Sandy was breathing and the way her nipples had hardened and were pressing against her shirt. According to the signals her body was sending, she wasn't as immune to him as she would like him to think. It was kind of like standing in front of a growling, tail-wagging dog. Which end did you believe?
Which Sandy was telling the truth? "If you're not interested in a relationship, how do you feel about passion?" he asked, rising to his feet.
"What?"
He grabbed her hand and pulled her up next to him. "You heard me."
Wide eyes stared at him. Her mouth trembled. That mouth. Damn it all to hell, he remembered being fourteen and thinking he would die if he didn't know what her lips would feel like touching his. Those old longings overwhelmed him. Or maybe they were new longings. Or maybe he was just an old man playing a kid's game. He told himself to step away. He would have, too, if Sandy hadn't placed her hand on his chest. If she hadn't leaned forward slightly, inviting him.
It was stupid. It was inevitable. He bent down and kissed her.
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
S andy wasn't prepared to be swept away. She wasn't prepared for the need that crashed through her. Like a wave from the sea, it broke over her body and tugged at her feet until she was sure she would fall and go under. She already couldn't breathe; what difference would it make if she found herself drowning in sensation?
Kyle's mouth pressed against hers. She told herself to pull back, but after the first moment of contact, she was lost. Lost in the passion, the heat and the need. Lost to feelings she'd long thought dormant. Lost to the excitement of being joyfully alive.
At the first brush of his lips, her body surged toward him. She wanted to be next to him, around him, feeling everything, touching everywhere. His mouth was firm, yet yielding, his breath sweet and warm. He didn't invade her or conquer her, he simply touched her. He didn't try to hold her still, or in any way keep her from turning away. He didn't have to. Perhaps he already knew how her heart thundered in her chest and her palms grew damp. Perhaps he was used to consummation by fire, but for her, it was the first time.
He stood one step down from her, so they were closer in height. If she had the strength to open her eyes, she would be able to stare into his. But she had no will, no power, nothing but need and passion. From the faintest of kisses, from the barest whisper of his mouth on hers, the tide lapped at her feet, tugging, pulling, until her self-control slipped away and was lost.
Lips on lips, chest to chest, thighs brushing thighs. Her hands clutched at his upper arms, as much to hold him in place as to keep her balance. His hands rested on her waist, comfortably, easily, as if he'd held them there a thousand times before. As if he knew she would not—could not—withdraw from him.
Her eyelids fluttered as she became lost in a world of sensual intensity. She told herself it was just a kiss. Nothing more. But she hadn't been kissed in so long, she could have wept from the wonder filling her. She could have perished from the hunger. His mouth pressed against hers, promising more, leaving her quivering. She clung to him as her world disappeared, leaving only the darkness and the feel of him next to her.
He moved back and forth, reminding her of the familiar movements of love, of the dance between a man and a woman. He was broader than Thomas had been, taller and more muscled. But his touch was softer, slower and more controlled. The contrasts and similarities filled her senses. She wanted him to
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