He swirled his tongue around a nipple, then lifted his head to watch it contract even more. He did it again and again, before finally sucking her into his mouth.

She couldn't help it; she cried out and thrust against him. And he merely started over with her other breast while his hand slid down her belly His fingers slipped toward her moist curls. Her body responded to the sharp, burning electrical current, her every nerve leaped with anticipation, driving need…

His hand dipped a fraction lower, but not nearly low enough.

"Jack." She wrapped her fingers around his erection, and got even more excited when he swore roughly. Then his mouth had claimed hers again, hungrily, greedily.

But still he didn't take her, still he held back.

"I'm not hurting," she promised, panting from his kisses, his touches. "Don't hold back."

"I don't intend to." He set a big hand on her knee, urged her legs even further apart, then lowered himself between her thighs. With his shoulders wedging her legs open, she was fully exposed to him. He ducked his head.

For a moment, she was too shocked at the unexpected move to do more than let out a squeak, and then in the next moment she was a slave to his tongue. The fingers of her good hand slid into his hair, fisted. The sounds that tore from her throat might have shocked her in their neediness if she could think, but she couldn't. She could only react.

And when her climax came, it dazed her, pummeled her. She was gasping for breath, her skin shining with perspiration, hair clinging to her neck and face. A wreck. A total wreck.

And loving it.

His skin was damp, too, and he levered himself up, face tight, eyes on hers, arm quaking faintly where he held himself rigid over her as he slipped on the condom. She watched, unable to tear her eyes off his hands as they glided the sheath down the most impressive erection she'd ever seen. She'd thought the whole event was pretty much over for her after her own orgasm, but then Jack guided himself home and sank into her to the hilt.

It was a tight fit. Eyes closed, face contorted in a mask of immense pleasure, he gripped her hips and rolled his, making them both gasp at the way her wet flesh gripped him.

With his name on her lips, she held on to him, digging her fingers into his biceps, having never before experienced anything as intense, as overwhelmingly earth-shattering in her life.

Jack kept up with the unerring, slow grinding of his hips, forward and back, forward and back, each thrust bringing her to a new height. Giving herself completely over to it, to him, Sam fought to keep her glazed eyes open and on his, but it was an effort.

Tilting up her hips, Jack sank more fully into her, each subsequent slow withdrawal followed by a desperately craved thrust. Whether it was her panting his name, or his own driving need, he gradually increased the tempo, until unbelievably, she could feel herself spiraling again, shuddering with her second orgasm. As she fell, he rasped out her name and followed her over the edge.


* * *

Jack came to his senses with great effort. Lifting his weight off of Sam, he was surprised when she murmured a soft no and pulled him back down on top of her.

"I'm too heavy." But he stayed an extra minute anyway, brushing a kiss at her temple, and then, when he managed to hoist up his body again, dropped another gently, just between her lovely breasts.

When he came back from the bathroom, she was exactly where he'd left her, eyes closed, a small smile playing around her lips. That it widened when he approached the bed told him what he wanted to know, what he'd hoped to know.

She still wanted him.

She lifted her arms and, not realizing he'd been standing there holding his breath, he let it out and climbed back on the bed.

Pulling the blankets up over them, he lay on his side facing her and hauled her close. She tipped up her head and sought his mouth. With a groan, he sank into the kiss that was every bit as hot and sweet and deep as what they'd just shared. "Sam," he gasped when her hand wandered down his chest, past his belly to wrap around the part of him that was ready for her again. "You need-"

"This," she said simply, and pressed against him, fitting there so perfectly that his response was far more than physical.

That shocked him for a moment, the realization at how right this felt, how much he liked having her in his bed.

It shouldn't have made sense. He hadn't wanted a woman in his life, had thought he didn't have room for one, but this all seemed right.

Since that was as terrifying as dragging her out of the fire, he shoved it aside and dived into what she was offering. He kissed her until she was panting softly, writhing against him again, until he didn't know where she ended and he began. The little sounds in the back of her throat were an unbearable turn-on; so was the way she tore free and demanded, "Another condom," then climbed over him to get it out of the drawer herself.

She tried to open the packet, but couldn't seem to manage with her bandaged hand, so he took it from her. As he ripped the package, she shot him a smile that sent his thoughts reeling. God, he wanted to please her, make her forget, make her his.

But then with her good hand, she pushed him onto his back on the bed.

"Sam-"

"I'll be careful," she promised, then straddled his hips, looking down at him with darkly slumberous eyes. "Very careful."

He groaned, his hands coming up to her hips, then skimming to her breasts, which he plumped up, loving the way her nipples reacted to his touch as she slowly sank down on him.

She bent low, kissing him, her hair brushing his face, his chest, her body soft and wet for him. Bowled over, he could only hold on. "My God, Sam…"

"I know. It's beautiful. You're beautiful," she said, and then she began to move, slowly, entwining the fingers of her good hand in his, up by his head.

Helplessly, he rocked his hips, and she gasped at the depth he reached inside her.

There was no holding back-he was hers.

Just as, for this moment at least, she was his. Lust might have powered this act, but lust couldn't sustain it alone. His growing, unnamed feelings for her did that.

Flushed, skin damp and glowing, she tossed her head back in pure abandonment.

Pleasured as he'd never been before, he pushed up high inside her. Stroke for stroke his hips met hers, the friction and tension building to unbearable heights, and then she cried out again, lost. And he was lost, too, just from watching her. Hell, he'd been lost in her since that very first night, so much so that he couldn't have held back if he tried. So he didn't, and pulling her down on him, held her tight as he followed her into that oblivion she'd wanted, knowing it was only there, in his deepest thoughts, that he could really make her his for keeps.

13

Sam lay in the dark. She was cushioned by Jack's bed and his body, which was wrapped around her. The clock glowing by the bed said twelve-fifteen.

She felt as if she'd lived five years since the fire, but it had only been a few hours. She knew Jack had waited, awake in the dark, stroking her softly, until she'd drifted off, before finally allowing himself to fall asleep.

She'd faked it. Sleep, that is. There'd been no reason to fake anything else with the man, certainly not anything in the sexual department. She'd already known he could be crazily enthusiastic when it came to basketball, or learning new things, or Heather's charity-and now she knew he was as wildly passionate in bed as well.

Jack Knight had treated her body like a temple, worshipping her into a limp noodle. Even with the crushing sadness and despondence of losing Wild Cherries, she knew that she'd shared something different with Jack. Something deeper.

Soul deeper.

That would probably terrify her later. But for now, she could only see the flames, feel the smoke choking her lungs and remember what her home had looked like as they'd driven away.

Throat tight, she slipped out of bed. She grabbed whatever piece of clothing she could find on the floor, which turned out to be Jack's shirt, and slipped into it, then found her way to the massive kitchen and the phone on the wall. Sitting on a bar stool, she lifted the receiver and dialed Red's number.

He didn't answer, so she left a message. "I messed up really good this time. Nothing as simple as a call to the principal or a trip to the police station is going to get me out of this one." Her voice thickened. "I burned your place down, Red. I know you won't be surprised, I was bound to screw up sooner or later." Her voice cracked and she bit down on her lower lip. "I'm so sorry. I'll meet you there in the morning."

She hung up and stared at the phone, her vision blurry. Damn it, she wasn't going to cry now. She dialed again. "Lorissa."

"'Lo," came her friend's sleepy voice.

"I'm sorry to wake you…"

"Sam? Hey, hon, what's up?" Muffling the receiver, Lorissa murmured something out of range, and Sam heard Cole's low reply. Lorissa came back on the phone with an apologetic laugh. "I'm sorry. You caught me in the middle of-"

"Wild Cherries is gone."

Lorissa stopped laughing and the sleepiness disappeared from her voice. After all they'd each been through in their lives, separately and together, neither of them ever joked about things like this, ever. Sam heard her say, "Cole, baby, I need a moment." Then she was back. "What do you mean gone?"

"Burned. To the ground. Or at least I think it is. It was looking pretty shaky when I saw it last."

"Oh my God. Where are you, are you okay, what happened-?"