“Because,” she said, bumpy with shivers of cold and fear. “I want you.”

He almost laughed, and was fully aware of how ironic it would be if he did. After all, she’d done the same thing to him-twice. He didn’t laugh, not out of any particular sense of chivalry or nobility, but because, even in the bad light, he could see the fear and vulnerability in her face. It had about the same effect on his anger that the Nissan’s defroster was having on the fogged-up windshield.

“You want me?” he said roughly. A pulse began to scrabble behind his belt buckle. “Hell, I want you, too-I told you that. That’s not what this is about, is it?”

She didn’t answer; her face appeared frozen, her eyes fathomless pools. He realized that he’d never wanted anything so much as to have her close to him at that moment, wrapped up in his arms, naked, legs entangled, breaths comingled, and to drive the chill from her body with the raging heat in his. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, a wave of desire so intense it was like a sickness; his head swam with dizziness. Struggling with it was like fighting to remain conscious.

With thickened tongue, he said, “You were right, you know-what you said in there-you do deserve a whole lot more than I can give you. For right now, for sure. Maybe not ever. I don’t know. That’s the problem-I just don’t know. I can’t give you any promises.”

“I’m not asking for any.”

He drew a breath that sounded like a sigh and said under his breath, “What do you think I am? I’d have to be a real sonuvabitch, you know that? To stay…”

And it occurred to Jane for the first time that maybe she was the one who was being unfair, that maybe she was asking too much of him. She thought about stepping away from the car door, letting him go. But her body wouldn’t obey her.

“I should drive away right now,” he muttered, his scowl fierce and furious. “I should-”

I should let him go. Panic zapped through her like a current of electricity, weakening her knees. If I do, I’ll never see him again. Desperately, she clung to the door, wondering how she’d ever manage to stand if he drove away and left her there. Wondering how she’d survive if he did. And how would I stop him, she thought, if he’s determined to go? Shoot out his tires with my Roy Rogers cap pistol? I won’t beg-I won’t!

“Ah, dammit.” He lanced her with an accusing stare and growled, “You’re gonna freeze to death-either get in here or go back in the damn house!”

Instantly, as if he’d said a magic word, she let go of the door. He pulled it shut while she darted around the front of the Nissan, flitting like a moth through the headlights. A moment later the passenger-side door opened, letting in a rush of cold air and her sweet, familiar scent. She settled into the seat and the door slammed with a quiet thunk, and together they sat listening to the rush and growl of the heater, and their own uneven breathing.

“This is ridiculous,” Hawk muttered after a moment. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she agreed, breathless, “it’s much warmer in the house.”

He shook his head, laughing soundlessly, and looked sideways at her. Her presence, her being…her smell, her warmth, all that she was…swamped his senses. His stomach growled audibly.

“And, there’s soup,” she added pointedly.

“Carlysle,” he growled, “what in the hell am I gonna do with you?”

Neither of them spoke. There was no sound in the car, even the heater’s gale seemed to Hawk to have become part of the rush and surge of his own life forces; he could hear them echoing inside his head. And the answer to his question lay teetering between them like a live grenade…

Later, he wondered if it was something she’d done-the faintest of sounds, the most infinitesimal movement, perhaps-that triggered it. He couldn’t think how else to account for what happened-the sudden shift inside him, the almost audible click as if someone had thrown a switch, and a whole complex set of gears had settled smoothly into place. He had a vague awareness of changed rhythms and altered perspectives, a half-fearful sense that the changes might be both profound and permanent, and then he was reaching for her, his hand going like a homing missile to the back of her neck, and his fingers were pushing roughly through her hair as he pulled her to him.

This time there was no kidding himself that the kiss would be some kind of diversion, something fun to pass the time, a game. Before his lips had even touched hers he knew that this was going to compare with the frolic in the moving van about the way his Walther 9-millimeter compared to Jane’s Roy Rogers cap pistol. This was the real thing. Dangerous. Devastating. He knew that going in. What he wasn’t prepared for was the jolt. It was like getting hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. Like taking a slug in a bullet-proof vest, right over the heart.

I’d forgotten. Jane thought. Forgotten how good this feels. Forgotten? No…she wondered now if indeed she’d ever known.

She was sure she hadn’t known about the ache. About pleasure so intense, so exquisite, so poignant it hurt. Never, not even as a naive girl imagining herself wildly, heedlessly in love, had she known such sweet, unbearable joy. Her heart scrambled into her throat, squeezing from it a gasp that was instantly swallowed up in his mouth. She whimpered his name, and he took that, too, hungrily, greedily, as if he was famished, and could never, ever be filled.

Oh, but he was gentle, too…giving, but not forcing; taking, never demanding…almost, she thought, as if he were guiding her in the steps of a dance. The most beautiful, breathtakingly wonderful dance. A dance through heaven…and beyond. So this is what it feels like, she thought. Flying…

Her mouth tasted like a drug, a magic potion, pure sin…something with the power to make him forget completely how wrong it was, or that he’d ever tried to resist its spell. Now he could only think about how good it was, and how long it had been since he’d felt like this, and how could he manage to get even closer to her, preferably inside her, and how soon. His heart was pounding, trying to punch a way out of his chest; he had a fire raging in his belly and a volcano in his loins, and a thirst he couldn’t seem to quench. Whatever it was she had-potion, drug or sin-he thought he could have drowned in it and died happy.

It had to end, of course, because there simply wasn’t room for it to go anywhere. Though for a time, Hawk tried his best to ignore that fact. He filled his hands with her-her hair, her shoulders, her neck-even let them find their way under the loose tunic she wore to the smooth, soft skin and the unexpected fullness of breasts beneath, urging her closer…closer.

And she tried…oh, she tried. Her back arched, her rib cage lifted and her belly pulled taut with yearning. But it was no use. The force was irresistible, but there were too many immovable objects-a console and a cellular-phone box, for starters-between them.

Finally, with a gasp of pure frustration, Hawk pulled his mouth away from hers and skimmed it instead down the side of her throat to the hollow at its base. There he rested, while her pulse jerked against his lips and her fingers tangled in his hair, and tried to restore some kind of order to his thoughts.

Order? There was only one thought in his head. Where?

Okay, maybe two. The second being, How soon?

Working his way back up the cords of her neck, he found her mouth again, found it soft, pliant, unreasonably sensual. Discovering that he was now in extreme, and rather adolescent, discomfort, he was even considering the back seat, God help him, when she said, moving her lips tantalizingly over his, “What is it…about cars, anyway?”

Hawk had to either groan or laugh. He did both, and into her mouth murmured, “I think I’m too old for this.”

Her laughter was shaken and bumpy. “Well, I know I am.”

But her mouth was there, open and inviting beneath his. He sank into it one more time…and once more…and yet again.

“Tom.” It was high and frightened, almost a whimper.

But he was too far gone with passion now for tenderness. He kissed her again, ruthlessly, until her neck muscles let go and her head fell back against the seat, and he heard her give a helpless little moan of surrender. He pushed his hand under the tunic, found a nipple already hard and sensitized and rolled it between his thumb and fingertips until her breath shuddered and her body trembled.

He found her responses to him-her trembling, her whimpers, her helpless surrender-exciting beyond belief. A primitive thing, he knew-a dark and, to the best of his knowledge, heretofore unexplored part of himself, but irresistible as the call of a wild wolf to its mate.

Her chest rose and fell like a bellows. His wandering fingers brushed her soft belly and he exulted when it quivered and tightened beneath his touch. Deft as a surgeon, sure now of his goal and his purpose, he slipped his hand beneath the elastic of the leggings she wore, burrowed his fingers through the springy cushion of hair and took possession of the most intimate and closely guarded part of her. And with that claiming, knew that there would be no going back.

Without his urging, she shifted, and he drove his fingers deeper, parting her, searching for her body’s most sensitive places. With his own body he felt the jolt of desire that rocked her when he found it. He took her desperate cries into his own mouth, and forgetting where he was for the moment, tried again to turn, struggling to bring their bodies into still more intimate alignment.

The steering wheel punched him in the vicinity of a kidney. A groan, more of frustration than pain, rumbled through his chest and into his throat. As far as he could figure, there was only one way to avoid that damn steering wheel, and if he did that he didn’t even want to think about where the gearshift was going to hit him.