You're Still the One by Annabel Jacobs Page A

her chin, tilting her face toward his. "It's been a long time," he groaned. "Too long."
                  To whoever watched, it probably appeared that they were kissing again. Katie lifted her head, her lips brushing his. Needless of heat slid under her skin. She forced herself to follow his gaze to the left, searching for the camera.
                  Rick kissed her cheek, her temple. Her heart ached with a strange combination of sadness and anger as she struggled to pretend, the way he was.
                  This close there was no way he could miss the way her nipple had hardened and heat -- of embarrassment, of arousal -- flushed her body.
                  He breathed in her ear again. "The camera's in the light knob."
                  Her hands flexed involuntarily, bunching his shirt as her gaze shifted to the round knob on the wall that controlled the overhead light and ceiling fan. She tried to focus on what he said, but all she could think was she wanted him to kiss her again. For real, this time.
                  No, no, she desperately corrected. Where was her pride?
                  What pride? her conscience taunted. To even be here with him, she had to pretend she had none.
                  She could feel the power of his thighs bracketing hers, the flat, hard muscle of his belly, the lingering taste of his mint gum on her lips.
                  Tears stung her eyes, and Katie stiffened her spine. He felt it, trailed those wicked fingers up her back. His touch only fanned a languorous heat, and her irritation spiked. She didn't like how he sent her pulse skyrocketing, didn't like the way she ached to arch into him, wrap her body around his.
                  Resentment flared. Did he know how he was affecting her? Was he enjoying it? His voice was cool; his eyes weren't. In a perverse need to find out if she could still affect him the way he did her, Katie slid her hands up his chest, around his neck and pressed full against him. She took a reckless satisfaction in seeing his eyes widen, feeling the sudden flex of his body against hers.
                  Going up on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear, "Now what?"
                  The satisfaction she felt was quickly squashed when he hauled her to him, one insinuated between hers and pressing against the damp heat between her legs. Her hands clamped on to his shoulders for the sole purpose of support.
                  His gaze lasered into hers. He kissed her again, his mouth covering hers with ruthless purpose. Controlled deliberation. A warning to back off. Now.
                  It triggered something wild and angry inside her. Reacting on pure instinct, she slid one hand into his thick dark hair, curled the other around his strong, warm nape.
                  For a moment, he stiffened. Then his restraint snapped. His hands tunnelled into her hair, gripping her head as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming every part of her. She couldn't think, didn't want to.
                  It had been so long. He felt so good. Hard, hot male against her, his kiss seducing the strength from her legs. Her hands splayed across his back, pressing closer.
                  He pulled away, his breathing ragged, the muscles in his neck taut and straining. Surprise flickered in his eyes, then disappeared. "Get your things," he rasped. "Let's finish this at my place."
                  She nodded, barely aware of moving down the hallway and into her room. With sweat-slicked palms, she dragged an overnight bag from the top of her closet and threw in a change of clothes, underwear. Heartbeat thundering against her ribs, she managed to remember her toothbrush and makeup.
                  Away from him, she could think. Yes, she needed to be away from him,