All Grown Up by Janice Maynard Page B

murmur that might have signaled any one of a number of emotions, she wrapped one arm around his neck and found his mouth with hers. With her free hand she shoved up the tail of his shirt and stroked his chest. Her touch burned him. It had been years since their first and only kiss, but he remembered the taste of her as if it had been only yesterday.
    His tongue plundered the sweet recesses of her mouth, tangling with hers. Gasps and moans were barely audible over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.
    The erection he was unable to hide pulsed between them, thick and hard and ready. When he ground his hips against her belly, she whimpered. Need built and crashed over him, invisible but inescapable. He slid the robe down her arms and let it drop. Lifting her by her ass, he carried her to the chair beside the fire and held her in his lap, bending her back over his arm to kiss her wildly.
    Her hair was a silken waterfall. He grabbed handfuls of it, using the grip to guide her mouth to his. Somewhere, deep inside a single rational thought cell, he acknowledged that this was insanity. But the impossible had happened. Annalise, who would normally as soon hiss at him as speak cordially, was actually passionately, eagerly, returning his kiss.
    His hands trembled, moving recklessly all over her body. A nipped-in waist, delicate collarbone, gently curved stomach. Nipples that begged to be touched, pinched, soothed with a kiss. He left the bodice in place. If he stripped her at this point, it was all over. He lifted the hem of her gown and touched her leg, finding nothing but hot skin.
    When he moved halfway up her thigh, Annalise clamped her hand over his, blocking further exploration. “Stop,” she said hoarsely.
    He did, but it cost him dearly. Every sinew in his body throbbed with the need to take, regardless. “I want you, Princess. God knows, I do.”
    There was a momentary hesitation as if, even for her, the interruption was agonizing. Without warning she slid from his lap and faced him, arms wrapped around her waist, ebony hair a mad tangle. With the firelight behind her, he could see the outline of her slim legs through the thin fabric of her gown. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her distress strafed him with a thousand knives. Why could he never get this right?
    He stood as well, but she held up a hand. “Don’t come any closer.”
    “Talk to me,” he begged. “Tell me what you want.”
    Her eyes were tragic, the blue dulled almost to gray. She began to speak. Stopped. Swallowed hard. It almost seemed as if she were holding herself tightly to keep from shattering into irreparable pieces. “Did you have this in mind when you came here this weekend?” she asked, her voice low and broken.
    “No,” he muttered, staring past her into the fire for a moment and then returning his gaze to her face. “No,” he said more forcefully.
    His groin ached, his eyes were gritty with lack of sleep and his breath came in great gulps that did nothing to help him relax.
    It was the wrong answer. Somehow he knew that instantly. Grief flashed in her eyes and disappeared, leaving nothing but blank, mute misery in its wake. “I know we’re snowed in, Sam, but surely you could go without sex for one night. I won’t be your easy lay, your sadly predictable one-night stand.”
    “That’s not what this is, damn it.” His gut felt like the time he had suffered an appendicitis attack. “You’re special. How can you not know that?”
    He took her in his arms again, and this time she didn’t protest. But the fevered beauty he’d held moments ago had turned to ice. He kissed her again and again…tender kisses, slow drugging kisses. All he accomplished was making himself miserable.
    She fit so perfectly in his arms, it was an absolute miracle. How could she not see it?
    His own behavior sickened him. Had he told her the truth, or was his subconscious a devious bastard? Had he jumped at Gram’s request in order finally to have Annalise