She kissed his throat, feeling his pulse hammering beneath her lips. The heart of him. Every beat. For her. She would remember this moment for the rest of her life. Each separate beat under her lips, on her tongue, beneath her palm. She inhaled, drawing him into her lungs. Deep. Holding him there. He smelled fresh, clean, with that faint outdoor scent that was so elusive.

Outside, the rain poured on the roof and beat a rhythm against the window, drenching it so the water ran like a waterfall off the glass. The sound was beautiful to her, like a symphony, violins weeping in the background, her heart and his drumming a beat that she knew she would always remember.

He was never still, his hands and mouth as busy as hers. She loved that, too, that need in him, the driving hunger, as if he had to know every inch of her body. She felt that way, almost desperate to touch every single inch of his skin. Her fingertips followed the path of his scars, the long ridges that took her to the rows of muscles along his abdomen. Her mouth followed, kissing those scars, the signs of his courage and integrity. The marks he wore proclaiming he’d saved her.

He made a sound, deep in his throat, a dark, sexy groan that made her sex clench and her body shudder with desperate need. He’d given her release with his mouth in the studio, but that tension was back and this time it was a thousand times worse. Every nerve ending was on fire for him. She couldn’t get enough of touching him, of having every part of his body touching every part of hers. She felt almost frantic for the sensations he gave her with his hands…

Her head went up and she looked at his face, realizing it wasn’t the sensations so much as the need to be as close as possible. To give him pleasure. She wanted him to feel the way he’d made her feel. More, she wanted to worship his body the way he always seemed to worship hers. His hands moved over her, his mouth trailing kisses on her shoulder and down her arm, while his palms took in as much of her flesh as possible.

It was Ricco’s face that caught and held her attention – made her breath catch in her lungs and a million butterflies take wing in her stomach. For the first time, she looked beyond the dark sensuality carved so deep in the lines of his face, beyond the desire, the passion, and saw something else there she realized she’d seen before when he was with her. There was a vulnerability that was never there with anyone else.

She’d seen it on the street when he’d been thrown off the hood of the truck and was injured. She saw it when they were in his studio and he was creating his art. It was there now on his tough, handsome features. He was beautiful, and in that moment, he was all hers. She wished she could fully interpret that look, because she knew it was hers alone, but all she could do was memorize it and hold it close to her heart.

She breathed him in with every breath she took, wanting to gorge on him, absorbing every sensation, so that every detail was imprinted on her soul. She wanted to keep this memory, have this part of him, for all time.

Her heart clenched. Hurt so much. She rested her forehead against his belly as the realization swept over her. Not a moment. Not a memory. She desperately wanted him for her lifetime – beyond if she could. She had thought the ropes intimate, their connected shadows intimate, but this, the way he touched her body, so reverently yet at the same time with such dark passion – this was true intimacy. Not the ropes. Not the shadows. Not even the sex. Tears burned her eyes. She wasn’t going to ever get over him.

At once he lifted his body slightly up, propped himself up on one hand and looked down at her, studying her expression. There was no getting away from those dark, piercing eyes. He saw everything. Saw right into her.

“Amore, tell me.”

His palm curled around her throat and then moved down her chest to cover her right breast. She was acutely aware of his heat. Her nipple pushed right into the center of his palm, just as her heart had beat into it. She couldn’t tell him she knew he was going to have a night with her and, as with all the rest of his women, that would be enough for him. It would never be enough for her.

“Mariko.” His voice was gentle. Tender even. “You have to talk to me. You promised you would.”

She had, but in the ropes. Not lying under his gorgeous body without a clue what she was doing, but wanting it desperately. Wanting him desperately. She had to think of something fast if she was going to keep one shred of dignity.

“I’ve never done this,” she blurted. “I’ve never kissed anyone else or touched anyone else. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” That was the strict truth. She was terrified she’d do something wrong and he wouldn’t want to be with her. She hadn’t wanted him to know ahead of time. She’d read extensively, but no man would court her, not with their mothers being friends with Osamu. No one wanted to incur her wrath and her never-ending revenge.

She held her breath. Anxious. Waiting.

His smile was slow in coming, but when it did, it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. He stroked his finger from the base of her throat down to her belly button. “I know what I’m doing, farfallina mia. Have no worries in that department. I swear I’ll be gentle with you.”

Ricco had never felt possessive of a woman in his life. He’d never wanted to belong to a woman or have one belong to him. He didn’t remember being innocent or vulnerable. He’d worked too hard to shed both after the experience in Japan. He needed to be tough and scary. He went through women, not because he needed variety but because he’d never found the one that he needed. He hadn’t found Mariko. She was everything he wasn’t. Vulnerable. Delicate. Innocent. She had the heart of a warrior and could dispense justice as easily as he could, but her heart had not been hardened by the harsh experiences of her life.

He cupped her face in his hand – that beloved face. He wanted to wake up every morning to her face, to the gentleness in her eyes. That soft, sweet voice. Her body. All his. He bent his head to take her mouth. Her lips trembled under his. He loved the shape and feel of them. He teased her lower lip with his teeth, nipping and easing the sting with his tongue. He traced the seam, waiting for her to part her lips so he could be inside.

Kissing Mariko was like transporting himself into an erotic world of feeling, of heat and fire. Once he’d kissed her, he knew he could never rid himself of the obsession – and he didn’t want to. He’d surrendered himself before he’d known he was in any kind of danger. He kissed her over and over until he felt her body relax beneath his.

He breathed her name, his own personal magic, and kissed his way down her throat. One knee slipped between her legs, nudging them apart. He felt her tense, and he murmured to her softly against her bare skin. “Relax for me, amore. Trust me to keep you safe.”

“I feel like I’m flying again,” she whispered, her voice shocked. “How can you do that when you’re just kissing my skin?”

“You do that for me.” He gave her the truth when he never would have told another soul.