Tempt Me at Midnight by Maureen Smith

to their conversation, the relaxed camaraderie shared by two people who could complete each other’s sentences, even when they chose not to. At the same time, Lexi couldn’t help wondering how it was possible to feel so comfortable with a man who set her blood on fire.

    They’d just finished dessert—an exquisite parfait glacé aux marrons—when a romantic Viennese waltz began playing in the background. Suddenly Lexi was transported back to the night of the masquerade ball.

    Quentin rose from his chair and rounded the table to stand over her, his hand outstretched to her. “I believe you still owe me a dance.”

    Her heart thudded at the deep, intoxicating timbre of his voice. In the far recesses of her mind, she knew she should just thank him for the wonderful dinner and call it a night while she still could.

    Instead she smiled, placed her hand in his and murmured, “I believe you’re right.”

    Quentin led her out to the middle of the floor and drew her into his arms. She melted at once, curving her arms around his neck and settling her head against the broad wall of his chest. The dramatic difference in their heights should have made their dancing awkward. But they swayed together as easily and gracefully as if their movements had been specially choreographed by the great George Balanchine.

    Years of practice, Lexi rationalized. They’d danced together a thousand times over the course of their friendship. But tonight was different. She felt it as surely as Quentin did.

    “When was the last time we did this?” he murmured, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

    “Danced together?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Michael’s wedding.”

    “Then it’s been too damn long.”

    A secret thrill of pleasure curled through Lexi, and she smiled.

    His strong, muscled thighs rubbed against hers as he turned her slowly in a circle, keeping one hand at the small of her back and the other firmly around her waist. She could feel his steady heartbeat, the lift of his chest with every breath he took. She relished the warmth of his body surrounding her.

    She didn’t want the romantic waltz to end. She didn’t want the night to end. She was completely caught up in the profound perfection of the moment.

    So she didn’t mind when the hand at her waist urged her closer. She simply closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. A moment later Quentin ran his other hand up her back, a whisper of sensation against the silk of her blouse. Her breasts tingled, her nipples puckering against his hard chest.

    She felt his breathing change at the same time hers quickened.

    She lifted her head and stared up at him. Though the lights were dimmed low, there was no mistaking the flare of hunger in the glittering eyes that stared back at her. Her heart thumped against her breastbone.

    Cradling her face between his hands, Quentin brushed his lips across her forehead, her closed eyelids, her nose and her cheekbones before claiming her mouth. Lexi trembled, her senses reeling from the fiercely tender assault. She kissed him back, hungrily seeking the heat and flavor of his mouth.

    As their tongues tangled sensually, he stroked a hand down her body and cupped her bottom. She moaned. Her blood poured through her veins like heated wine, leaving her feeling flushed and slightly intoxicated.

    As Quentin gently kneaded her butt, she leaned up on tiptoe until her aching groin cradled the hard, thick bulge of his erection. He groaned, holding her tightly against him while his mouth devoured hers with searing intensity. Her heart thundered, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

    “Lex,” he whispered raggedly. “I want you. Tell me what I have to do to have you.”

    The words jarred her back to reality.

    She tore her mouth from his and stared up at him. The raw hunger on his face mirrored the desire rampaging through her body. She wanted him, wanted him so badly she shook with it. It would have been so easy to surrender to temptation, to go