Wiggling out of Zane’s hands, she jumped down from the countertop. Maybe if the cracked linoleum could swallow her whole, she could get out of this situation without making it any worse. She grasped her glass from the countertop, took a fortifying gulp and kept her back to Zane.
‘Do you mind if we take a rain check?’ At least until the turn of the next millennium. ‘I’m not really in the mood any more.’
Instead of his taking the hint all she heard was a low chuckle. And then his thumb cruised under her hairline. ‘You really want to give him all the power? Even now?’
She swung round, dislodging his thumb—which unfortunately did nothing to dispel the sizzle of sensation. ‘This has nothing to do with him.’
‘Uh-huh.’ A sceptical eyebrow rose up his forehead. ‘Then why don’t you prove it?’
‘And how exactly do you propose I do that?’
He braced his hands on the countertop, caging her in, and making her breathing accelerate. ‘It’s real simple, Iona. Stop blaming yourself—and get back on the horse.’
‘You’re not serious?’ She propped her forearms against his chest, wanting to be outraged at the offer—but the surge of sensation as his hands came around her waist and he nudged her closer made it kind of hard to muster the required indignation.
‘Try me.’ The smile in his bright sapphire eyes twinkled with mischief.
‘What? So you’re offering your services, now.’ She paused for effect. ‘As my personal stallion?’
Instead of his looking affronted or even abashed, the smile only got naughtier—the slow twist of his lips as disarming as it was amused. ‘Stallion might be overselling myself a bit. But, hey, I can go with that analogy if you want. I’m not as picky as you.’
A laugh choked out without warning as her eyes dipped to his pants and she spotted something that made her think stallion would not be overselling him one bit. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘Well, hell, Iona.’ He edged closer, his hands firm on her hips, the impressive erection nudging her belly as he smiled. ‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’
The full-bodi
ed laugh bubbled out, breaking the tension. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but she didn’t feel self-conscious any more, or guilty. She felt relaxed and sexy, desire pumping through her like a heady drug.
‘Here’s the way it plays for me,’ he said, angling his head to nibble kisses under her chin. ‘We take it slow. And we focus on pleasure. Your pleasure.’ He lapped her collarbone with his tongue. ‘No conditions. And no talking allowed.’
‘Why no talking?’ she asked, trying not to let her mind snag on the rough cadence of the word pleasure. And the riotous sensations shivering up her neck.
‘Because you talk too much.’
‘You are so cheeky.’
‘Guilty as charged.’ He chuckled, his fingers edging under the strap of her dress to send sensation skittering across her shoulder blade. ‘So no talking, except to tell me what you like and what you don’t like.’
‘Considering there are supposed to be no conditions,’ she teased, ‘there seems to be an awful lot of them.’
He hoisted her into his arms. ‘Put your legs round my waist,’ he demanded, strong hands gripping her bottom.
‘See, there’s another one!’ she said, clasping her arms round his shoulders as her legs hooked his waist.
‘Stop being so damn literal,’ he said on a rueful laugh as he carried her into the shoebox-sized bedroom.
‘And yet another condition, already,’ she said, amusement loosening the flood of heat.
‘Enough, woman,’ he announced, surprising a laugh out of her as he dumped her on the bed. ‘I forgot this bedroom’s smaller than my closet,’ he added, glancing round the room. ‘Next time we do this at my place.’
The offhand mention of a next time had warmth wrapping around her chest, followed by the pinch of regret. There wouldn’t be a next time. This was strictly a one-night fling. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking this meant more than it did. She wasn’t that needy, insecure girl any more.
He stripped off his shirt, kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed beside her. Her vision blurred, dazed by the glorious display of muscles and sinews and bronzed skin in the moonlight. He looked magnificent, the masculine perfection of his chest almost as arresting as that incredible face. She placed her open hand on his sternum, explored the dark nipples nestled in the sprinkle of hair, and then let it drift down to the ridges of his six-pack.
He quivered beneath her palm and his hand covered hers, halting the descent. Her gaze rose, and she marvelled at the cleft in his chin defined by the hint of stubble, the dramatic slash of his cheekbones—the dark intensity of those sapphire eyes.
Thank you, God.