Thieves In The Night by Tara Janzen Page A

taking what he needed—her kiss, her mouth moving over his, her hands touching him.
    “Kiss me, Chantal.” He blew the words on her lips, holding her a breath away, waiting for the response he already felt pulsing under the tender skin beneath his fingers. When it came, when she lifted her lips to his, he sealed their mouths and plundered slowly, savoring each portion of sweetness she gave, letting her lead him deeper into the magic. But each moment of enchantment demanded another, until he wanted more than a kiss.
    His hand slid to the small of her back and lower, pressing her into the cradle of his hips, needing her that close and closer. The soft angora clung to her curves and hid nothing from his exploring hand, not the tautness of her buttocks and thighs, not the quivering response of her body. With just her kiss, with just the erotic forays of her tongue into his mouth, his body began the inexorable tightening toward a higher pleasure. Sinew by sinew, a smoldering heat spread toward his groin. He slowly rubbed his hand up under her arm to her breast and rolled his lower body against hers, igniting the flame only she could quench, catching her gasps of pleasure with his mouth and still wanting more.
    Chantal was drowning in his seduction, and dying for what she couldn’t have. Heavy waves of pleasure weakened her knees as his kiss weakened her will, hinting at the sensual delights he offered. His other kisses hadn’t prepared her for the depth of feeling he was capable of evoking. Nothing had. She turned her mouth deeper into his, loath to let him go, and ran her hands under his sweater, needing to feel him once more—the soft heat of his skin, the tightness of his muscles—for the long nights ahead when the memories of a stranger would haunt her. His response was immediate and undeniable, his body hardening against all her softest places.
    He angled his mouth away from hers and laid a trail of wet, biting kisses to her neck. “Make love with me, Chantal.” His voice ached with the same need sweeping through her body. His tongue traced and licked the delicate contours of her ear. His teeth grazed the peach-sweet skin of her nape. “Make love with me.”
    She was going to hate herself, already hated herself, for the answer on her lips. Fate should have known better than to set her up with a one-night stand. Tearing herself from him, she took a step away, needing a clean break.
    “Jaz, I’m taking you back,” she whispered sadly. “Back to where you were supposed to be last night.” Her hand involuntarily tightened into a fist. How had he come to mean so much? Even breathing hurt. Eyes filled with all the regret in her heart pleaded with him to understand.
    But he didn’t understand. He looked as if somebody had kicked him in the gut, his face stark and vulnerable with the passion he needed to share. He stepped forward, his hand reaching.
    “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. She couldn’t make love and watch him go. And she couldn’t go with him, wouldn’t run again.
    Desire-darkened eyes held hers across the emptiness, and the light of passion was slowly extinguished behind a veil of frustration. A muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw. “This doesn’t settle anything, Chantal,” he said roughly. Nothing could hide the harsh edge of disappointment in his voice.
    No, he didn’t understand, she thought, but better his anger than his pain. She retrieved the documents from the cedar chest and handed them to him, then turned on her heel and crossed the cabin to her armoire.
    Shrugging into a calf-length coyote coat, another expensive present from Elise, she said, “I’ll meet you in the car.” Then, without another glance, she strode past him and out the door.
    The ride to Jaz’s hotel was made in silence. There was nothing left to say. He’d told her Snowmass Village, and she made all the turns by instinct, onto Highway 82, the left turn up Brush Creek. She pulled her blue Land Rover