Rogue Stallion by Diana Palmer

wanted to do and what was sensible.
    “It’s hard for me, with women,” he said roughly. “Does that reassure you any?”
    She smiled gently. “Will it make you angry if I confess that it does?”
    He bent and his smiling mouth brushed against hers. “Probably. Open your mouth.”
    She obeyed him like a sleepwalker, but he soon brought every single nerve she had singing to life. Her hands slid under the shirt and over the thick tangle of hair that covered him, past male nipples that hardened at her touch. He moaned softly and pulled her closer. She sighed into his mouth as he deepened the kiss and made her knees go weak with the passion he kindled in her slender body.
    “It isn’t enough,” he said in a strained tone. He bent and lifted her, his gaze reassuring as she opened startled eyes. “I want to lie down with you,” he whispered as he carried her to the sofa. “I have to get closer, Jessie. Closer than this.”
    “It’s dangerous,” she managed through swollen lips.
    “Life is dangerous.” He put her down on the sofa, full length, and stretched out alongside her. “I won’thurt you. I swear to God, I won’t. All it will take is one word, when you want me to stop.”
    His mouth traced hers. “And what…if I can’t say it?” she whispered brokenly.
    “I’ll say it for you….”
    He kissed her until she trembled, but even then he didn’t touch her intimately or attempt to carry their lovemaking to greater depths. He lifted his head and looked down at her with tenderness and bridled passion. With her long hair loose around her face and her lips swollen from his kisses, her dark eyes wide and soft and dazed, he thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.
    “Are you stopping?” she whispered unsteadily.
    “I think I should,” he mused, managing to project a self-assurance he didn’t really feel. His lower body ached.
    “But we haven’t done anything except kiss each other….” She stopped abruptly when she realized what she was saying.
    He chuckled wickedly. “Jessie, if I push up that sweatshirt, we’re both going to be in trouble. Because, frankly, it shows that you aren’t wearing anything under it.”
    She followed his interested gaze and saw two hard peaks outlined vividly against the soft material. Scarlet faced, she got to her feet. “Well!”
    He sat back on the sofa, watching her with smug, delighted eyes. She aroused an odd protectiveness inhim that he’d never felt with another woman. She was unique in his shattered life. He wanted her, but it went far beyond desire.
    “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said gently. “I didn’t say it with any cruel intent. It delights me that you can want me, Jessie.” He hesitated. “It delights me that I can want you. I wasn’t sure…”
    She searched his hard face. “Yes?” she prompted gently.
    He got up and went to her slowly, secrets in his eyes.
    She pushed back the glorious cloud of her hair and then reached up to touch his sculptured cheek. “Tell me,” she coaxed.
    He brought her hand to his lips. “I exaggerated when I told you there had been a parade of women through my bed,” he said quietly.
    Her eyes were solemn, steady, questioning.
    His shoulders moved restlessly. He looked tormented. He tried to tell her, but the words wouldn’t come.
    Her fingers traced his hard mouth. “It’s all right.” She pulled his head down and kissed his eyes closed. He shivered. “My dear,” she whispered. Her mouth traced his and softly kissed his lips, feeling them open and press down, responding with a sudden feverish need. He pulled her close and increased the pressure, groaning as she gave in to him without a single protest.
    He let her go slowly, his tall, fit body taut with desire and need as he looked down at her hungrily.
    “I’ve never been with anyone like you,” he said flatly. “Because of the way I grew up, I always equated sex with a certain kind of woman,” he said huskily. “So that’s