and placed his hands on his hips. “Naomi, only a fool would wrap himself in a red sheet and go out to meet a thousand-pound bull. I don’t fancy myself; but baby, you do fancy me.” Then he added in a dangerously soft voice, “I’d rescue you from a burning building, Naomi, but if you push me another fraction of an inch, I’ll have that dress off of you in a split second. And before you can bat one of your big eyes, you’ll be begging for mercy. Believe it!”
Tiny shivers skittered from her head to her toes and a rapidly spiraling heat suffused her as she imagined what he would be like if she dared him. She stared in rapt attention at his hypnotic face, taking in his serious manner, thrilled at the temptation of him standing before her, tense and flagrantly male, excited in a way that she had never been before. She didn’t wonder or even care what he thought as she stood there looking at him, trembling. Time had no meaning as her gaze traveled up his long, lean frame, pausing briefly on his powerful chest and strong corded neck and reluctantly coming to rest in the turbulent pools of fire that his eyes had become. Vaguely, she realized she needed to compose herself, but a feeling of helplessness nearly overcame her. She rimmed her lips with the tip of her tongue and, with what sense she had left, turned to leave the room.
Rufus narrowed his eyes at what was one of the most lush examples of honest feminine need he’d ever seen. He reached for her, and she moved to him without caution or care, like a moth to a glowing flame, nail to magnet. He gathered her to him with stunning force, and as if it was what she needed, she moved up on tiptoe, curled her arms around his neck, and let her long artist’s fingers weave through the tight black curls at the base of his head. He brushed her lips briefly, molded them softly to his, and held her head while he took his pleasure. Dimly, he realized that she was out of her league when she felt him growing against her and sagged in his arms.
Gently he lifted her and pressed his closed lips to her breast, hating that offending dress that separated him from her flesh. “Rufus. Oh, Rufus.” Was she begging him for more, or pleading for mercy? He couldn’t tell which, but he knew he was rapidly reaching the point where he’d need awesome self-control. He lowered her to her feet, held her away from him, and looked at her. She was as shaken as he, and his behavior annoyed him, because he didn’t want to mislead her or hurt her. And he didn’t trust himself to have an affair with her, after that kiss, which had been even more powerful, more punishing that the other that they had shared, he wouldn’t count on his ability to keep his head straight. He moved away from her, certain from the look of her that she wanted him even closer. And he was pretty sure now that her experience with men had been minimal. But what was he supposed to do while she stood there, apparently absentminded, rubbing the spot where his lips had been? He swore softly and pulled her to him again.
“I want you, Naomi.” He spoke in low guttural tones, the quiver in his voice a sure sign—if she had known it—that he could be putty in her hands. But she didn’t know it, he discovered, and she replied with the volley of an ingénue.
“Please let me go. That doesn’t flatter me, Rufus. I told you, it’s not going to happen now or ever.” If she had been a hot poker in his bare hand, he could hardly have put her away from him more quickly. He had almost made a fool of himself over her, and she’d turned him off, just like that. How could a woman go up in smoke in a man’s arms one minute and arrogantly tell him to get lost the next?
He wiped his mouth symbolically with the back of his hand and allowed her to witness one of his indecipherable grins. “Better stop playing it so close to the edge with me; the next time you behave the way you did tonight, we may both regret it. And Naomi,” he chided
Tiny shivers skittered from her head to her toes and a rapidly spiraling heat suffused her as she imagined what he would be like if she dared him. She stared in rapt attention at his hypnotic face, taking in his serious manner, thrilled at the temptation of him standing before her, tense and flagrantly male, excited in a way that she had never been before. She didn’t wonder or even care what he thought as she stood there looking at him, trembling. Time had no meaning as her gaze traveled up his long, lean frame, pausing briefly on his powerful chest and strong corded neck and reluctantly coming to rest in the turbulent pools of fire that his eyes had become. Vaguely, she realized she needed to compose herself, but a feeling of helplessness nearly overcame her. She rimmed her lips with the tip of her tongue and, with what sense she had left, turned to leave the room.
Rufus narrowed his eyes at what was one of the most lush examples of honest feminine need he’d ever seen. He reached for her, and she moved to him without caution or care, like a moth to a glowing flame, nail to magnet. He gathered her to him with stunning force, and as if it was what she needed, she moved up on tiptoe, curled her arms around his neck, and let her long artist’s fingers weave through the tight black curls at the base of his head. He brushed her lips briefly, molded them softly to his, and held her head while he took his pleasure. Dimly, he realized that she was out of her league when she felt him growing against her and sagged in his arms.
Gently he lifted her and pressed his closed lips to her breast, hating that offending dress that separated him from her flesh. “Rufus. Oh, Rufus.” Was she begging him for more, or pleading for mercy? He couldn’t tell which, but he knew he was rapidly reaching the point where he’d need awesome self-control. He lowered her to her feet, held her away from him, and looked at her. She was as shaken as he, and his behavior annoyed him, because he didn’t want to mislead her or hurt her. And he didn’t trust himself to have an affair with her, after that kiss, which had been even more powerful, more punishing that the other that they had shared, he wouldn’t count on his ability to keep his head straight. He moved away from her, certain from the look of her that she wanted him even closer. And he was pretty sure now that her experience with men had been minimal. But what was he supposed to do while she stood there, apparently absentminded, rubbing the spot where his lips had been? He swore softly and pulled her to him again.
“I want you, Naomi.” He spoke in low guttural tones, the quiver in his voice a sure sign—if she had known it—that he could be putty in her hands. But she didn’t know it, he discovered, and she replied with the volley of an ingénue.
“Please let me go. That doesn’t flatter me, Rufus. I told you, it’s not going to happen now or ever.” If she had been a hot poker in his bare hand, he could hardly have put her away from him more quickly. He had almost made a fool of himself over her, and she’d turned him off, just like that. How could a woman go up in smoke in a man’s arms one minute and arrogantly tell him to get lost the next?
He wiped his mouth symbolically with the back of his hand and allowed her to witness one of his indecipherable grins. “Better stop playing it so close to the edge with me; the next time you behave the way you did tonight, we may both regret it. And Naomi,” he chided
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