Don't Tempt Me by Barbara Delinsky

haven’t waited since this afternoon for a simple thank you, Justine.”
    His eyes were dark and glittering, his hair set to sparkling by the light high above. Then, all light faded as his head lowered, as his lips sought and unerringly found hers. Their touch was warm and light, firm yet gentle. Justine was startled into immobility by the understated power of it all, unable to grasp the extent of her susceptibility, struggling to reconcile her vow of freedom with the sumptuous invitation to submission before her. It seemed a futile battle, with the odds stacked against her.
    He lifted his head for an instant to study her features, then raised his hands to gently cup her face, pushing back the curls at her cheeks as he did so. “Justine …” he murmured in warning—and she understood him perfectly. Having read her eyes and her thoughts, Sloane knew her outward passivity to be a denial of the deeper emotion stirring within her.
    Her lips parted softly beneath his gaze, their silent invitation met with a smile. “That’s better,” he crooned
against their gentle curves. And he kissed her again. This time, she yielded to him, loosing the emotion as it surged through her. It was desire, in its most basic form.
    Her arms crept up the front of his jacket to his neck, then coiled around its strong column to draw her whole body closer to his. She warmed, then quivered as his hands covered her back, caressing gently then lifting, lifting her more firmly against him. Passion ignited beneath the persuasion of his lips, which tasted and explored, then consumed in turn. All reserve was abandoned to his kiss, as Justine reeled amid the headiness of the sensual awakening he caused. When he finally pulled back, she felt the loss.
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been waiting for,” he whispered, his breath warm against the hair at her temple. “It was worth it.”
    Any word she might have offered caught in her throat, as the real world rolled in like fog off the sea. Confusion reigned in her sensual mist, a sense of fear in her subconscious. The pale hands at his lapels exerted a slow pressure, as she levered herself away from him. “Sloane, I …I …”
    Mercifully, a strong finger at her lips stilled her stammer. What would she have said? She had no idea!
    â€œShhh. It was nice, Justine. Let’s leave it there.” With a low sigh, he stepped back himself. “Have you got your key?”
    Regaining a semblance of composure, she dropped it in his upturned palm, then watched him open the door. “Thanks,” she murmured, as he returned the key and stood aside to let her pass through.
    â€œAh … Justine … ?” His tone was suddenly lighter.
    From across the threshold she turned. “Y—yes?”
    â€œYour things … ?”
    Before her, he held her briefcase and purse. With a sheepish smirk she took them. “I think I’m hopeless,” she
laughed softly at herself, shaking her light copper curls in despair.
    Sloane’s hands sought refuge in the depth of his pants’ pockets. “Not entirely.” The crinkles at his eyes suggested inner laughter. “You’re reputed to be a great lawyer, and” —his voice lowered—“you do kiss beautifully.” With the warm pop of one thumb against the button of her nose, he strode back down the hall toward the elevator, sparing her the indignity of her rampant blush.
    Once safely locked within her apartment, she stood in stunned silence, leaning back against the door, her arms hanging limply by her sides. The racing of her pulse gradually slowed as the tingle of desire subsided. Desire. It was an awesome force, she realized, suddenly understanding the fear that lurked in the recesses of her mind. For the first time in her twenty-nine years, desire had overpowered her. What else could have explained the abandon with which she had returned Sloane’s kiss? But