“Having you say that to me is better than candles and flowers, believe me.” Like the house, she thought, the room suited him. Simple lines, quiet colors, ordered space.

“I wanted to be here. I wanted to be in your bed.”

Walking toward it, she saw the photograph of the cardinal on the facing wall. Touched, she turned to look at him, and wanted him more than she’d imagined she could.

She reached up to undo the buttons of her shirt.

“Don’t. Please. I want to undress you. If you don’t mind.”

She dropped her hands. “No. I don’t mind.”

He reached over, turned the lamp beside the bed on low. “And I want to see you while I do.”

He stroked a hand down her cheek, ran both hands down her body as he drew her against him.

Then his mouth took hers.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HAD SHE BEEN KISSED LIKE THIS BEFORE? SO THAT THE MEETING of lips, of tongues vibrated through her entire body? Had she ever been seduced so completely, as much by words as by that single, dazzling kiss?

How had the tables turned on her? She’d thought to seduce him, to tease him upstairs, and into bed. She’d thought to keep it light and easy, as the evening had been—for the simple and basic purpose of releasing the ball of lust that gathered inside her when she was around him.

It should be simple, basic.

But it wasn’t.

He touched his lips to her cheeks, her brow, then those quiet blue eyes watched her as he unbuttoned her shirt. He barely touched her, and still the breath backed up in her lungs. He barely touched her, and still the control passed from her hands to his.

Standing in that quiet light, his eyes on hers, she didn’t care.

With the shirt open, he trailed a fingertip along her collar-bone, then down over the swell of her br**sts. Just a whisper, barely a graze. But it set her skin to humming.

“Are you cold?” he asked when she trembled.

“No.”

And he smiled. “Then . . .” Slowly he nudged the shirt off her shoulders, let it slide to the floor. “Pretty,” he murmured, skimming his thumbs over the lacy cups of her bra.

Her breath released, hitched, caught again. “Carter, you make me weak.”

“I love your eyes. Magic seas.” He traced his fingers down her torso, up again, down, leaving little paths of shimmering sensation in their wake. “I’ve wanted to watch them when I touch you. Like this.”

Patient, steady, he explored. Swells and dips, curves and angles. While her body quivered in response, he flipped open the button at her waistband, eased down the zipper.

Once again he ran his hands down the sides of her body, inch by inch. Her pants slipped down her hips, her legs.

“Here.” He took her hand. “Step out.”

She obeyed like a woman in a trance, and felt her pulse scramble as he ran his gaze down her as he had his hands. Slowly. His lips curved. “I like your boots.”

She looked down, saw the thin-heeled ankle boots she now wore with only her bra and panties. “It’s a look.”

Smiling, he hooked his fingertip in the waist of the panties. She managed an “Oh, God” as he tugged to bring her body to his again.

This time, his mouth met hers like a fever, a flashpoint of heat. Even as she melted in it, he turned her, drawing her back against him. His teeth nibbled at the curve of her throat as her head fell back.

He let his free hand roam, over smooth skin, angles and curves, while he undid his own shirt. When they were skin to skin, her arm hooked around his neck, and her body began to move sinuously against him.

Not too fast, he reminded himself. He wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every breath. He had Mackensie in his arms.

Her heart hammered under his hand, and he thought that alone a miracle. She was with him, she felt him, wanted him. And tonight, at last, the dreams of the boy, the longings of the man would both be eclipsed by the reality of the woman.

He toed off his shoes, indulging himself with the taste and texture of the back of her neck. He caught the strap of her bra in his teeth, nudging it aside so he could free the lovely, lovely curve of her shoulders.

She arched back against him, shuddered.

Pleasure, he thought, so much here to give and to take. He wanted to please her, to saturate her with sensation, and to watch her rise and ride. While his own needs hammered inside him, he unhooked her bra as his hand all but floated over the narrow vee of her panties. He traced her inner thigh, teased, just barely teased a fingertip under the lace.

“Carter.” Her hand pressed down on his, urging him on. But he retreated, and once again turned her to face him.

“Sorry. I’m not finished.”

Those magic eyes were full of storms now, the porcelain skin flushed with passion. For him, he thought. Another miracle. She reached for him, and her mouth took his in a desperate kiss.

Wait, he thought, as his blood pounded. Wait, there’s more.

He nudged her onto the bed, eased down with her.

“The boots,” she began.

“I like them.” And he lowered his head to take her breast.

Her body shuddered and shone, it ached and sighed. Her mind simply emptied of all else but him and what he brought to her.

Slow hands, skilled lips swamped her body with sensations, layer after gossamer layer until they lay so thick she couldn’t find air through them.

“I can’t. I can’t.”

“It’s all right.” He slid a finger down, gliding over her, into her.

The veils ripped away with a blast of release.

As her body quaked through it, he ran his lips down and used his mouth to destroy her. She rose and fell. So fast, so fast. So much, as sensation poured over sensation until all blurred into shadow and light and mad movement. A sea of feeling swamped her, with a storm rolling through, pitching her toward desperation until she broke over the next swell.

When at last he slipped inside her, they moaned together.

She bowed up, nearly snapping his thinning leash of control. He stared into her eyes, gone dark, gone glassy while he drove them both mad with long, slow strokes. He felt her climb, watched her climb, steeped himself in her.

“Mackensie,” he said, just “Mackensie,” as he let himself fall into her eyes, into her body, and drown.

SHE FELT DRUNK AND DRUGGED. EVEN HER TOES FELT HEAVY, Mac thought. Air went in and out of her lungs again, and that was good. She was pretty sure she’d stopped breathing a number of times while Carter had . . .