"A blunter one." He began washing away the residue of their lovemaking. "But I'm content regardless of the semantics."

"Are you truly?"

She looked small in the large chair, innocent, when his life had been largely bereft of the quality, and a rare poignancy overcame him. "More than ever," he said softly.

"Me too," she said with charming honesty. "Do you think it's just because of the sex?"

More comfortable with talk of sex, he spoke with a familiar drawl. "I don't know about 'just,' but sex is definitely a factor."

"How big a factor? Let me reword that," she said with a smile, her gaze on the object of his washing. "How much of a factor?"

"You tell me."

"Because this is a constant in your life."

"No." His dark gaze surveyed the room. "This is not."

"But sex is."

"Not this kind of sex."

"What kind?"

"The kind you like-constant, exclusive"-he shrugged-"personal."

"Personal?"

"Don't look at me like that. I just meant this is different."

"In contrast to your usual impersonal sex."

"It's no damned secret, if that's what you're implying." He came to stand before her, a fresh bowl of water and a washcloth in his hands. "Get up."

"I can wash myself."

"But I want to."

"That's not necessary." She knew where that would lead, and she was uncomfortably aware of the time.

"I didn't say it was necessary. Humor me."

"I've humored you sufficiently."

"And I you. Now do as you're told."

"Sam, I dislike commands."

"Not always." His smile was impudent.

"Don't remind me," she said with a grimace, "when I've spent so many years developing my independence."

"You can't always be independent."

"Easy for you to say. You don't take orders at all."

His dark brows rose in perfect arches. "Excuse me."

"Well… those weren't precisely orders."

"They sure sounded like it to me. I believe your exact words on more than one occasion last night were-"

"I concede, I concede," she interposed quickly. "Thank you, by the way."

"I'm sure I'll be amply repaid with-shall we say-a degree of ready compliance…"

"I shouldn't."

"I shouldn't have last night, but I did."

"You weren't suffering."

"I can guarantee you won't either." He gestured with the bowl. "Up, darling."

"I want you to know, I'm doing this against my will." She came to her feet with a small, pouty moue.

"Now, if only I had a conscience," he said with a cheeky grin, "a comment like that might elicit some guilt."

"You're impossible." She smiled. "But very, very sexy. Although that shouldn't give you any leverage."

"You talk too much," he announced, pulling her forward, sinking to his knees before her.

"Maybe this won't be too difficult after all," she observed, a mischievous light in her eyes. "You on your knees conjure a number of pleasant possibilities."

"There's a certain cachet to submission, I agree," he said blandly.

"I dislike the word submission."

He smiled. "I apologize." Inserting a hand between her legs, he eased them apart in a decidedly unapologetic way.

There was no point in being contentious over such a simple task, but when the damp cloth touched her sensitive cleft, she steeled herself to withstand the delectable sensation. She had no intention of submitting as Sam had so insolently suggested. But as he parted her swollen flesh and delicately slid the cool cloth over her throbbing tissue, she had to forcibly suppress her gasp. "This won't take long," he said as though he'd not seen her moment of constraint.

He shouldn't be kneeling at her feet, naked and aroused and much too close, when she should be thinking about leaving. But he was like forbidden fruit-intemperate, profligate, infinitely seductive. Instead of resisting temptation, she was literally trembling for him.

Undisturbed by moral issues, innately single-minded when it came to sex, Sam was aware of her arousal, taking note of her breathing, of the small rigidity in her spine. He took his time rinsing and squeezing out the cloth before brushing the cool linen over her inner thighs, deliberately prolonging the procedure, then finally touching her where she most wanted to be touched. Despite her efforts to resist, her body wouldn't cooperate-a pearly fluid diffused the pinkness of her labia. She was wet with desire.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked, discarding the cloth, inserting one finger into the slickness of her vagina, gently stroking the sensitive flesh. "You're always ready for fucking." Reaching up, he stroked one of her nipples with his other hand, gripped it lightly, and tugged on it until she was forced to look at him. "Tell me, what am I going to do with you when all you want to do is fuck?"

She wouldn't answer save for the fevered look in her eyes, his touch inside and out kindling her ready sexual appetite.

"Just say the word and I'll give you cock," he whispered.

She glanced at his upthrust penis, turgid with pulsing veins, and drew in a sharp breath.

"You like it, don't you." Releasing her, he held his erection away from his body and ran the wetness from his finger around the swollen, gleaming head.

Only the sound of her agitated breathing broke the silence.

It was a contest of wills or willpower-mutual and perhaps more evenly matched than not, for the notorious Ranelagh had finally met a woman he couldn't ignore.

Headstrong, unfamiliar with restraint, he gave in to impulse first. Abruptly shoving the bowl aside, he surged to his feet and grasped Alex by the shoulders. Twirling her around, he placed her hands on the chair arms and pushed her over so her pink bottom was raised conveniently high-his for the taking.

Heedless of all but urgency, oblivious to issues of submission or command, he peremptorily entered her.

The swift, plunging invasion drew a shocked gasp of affront. "Damn you," she spat out, struggling to rise. "I hate you."

"Sure you do, and I hate fucking you too," he growled, holding her down with a firm grip, ramming in so hard, she was propelled forward by the force.

Abruptly grasping her hips, he jerked her back, the brute, unguarded impact buffeting their senses into a momentary breathlessness. When his brain began functioning again, he gruffly muttered, "Jesus, you feel… good."

"You're a bloody brute…" But the rancor was modulated by a heated undertone.

"And I should cut and run while I can." The powerful muscles of his legs flexed, but he didn't leave. He held her motionless instead and deftly rotated his hips so they both felt a seething delirium in the pleasure centers of their minds.

"I don't know what to do," she breathed, half angry, conflicted, ravenous.

"Stay with me," he whispered, bending to kiss the velvety softness of her neck, the controversy of their mutual obsession muted by tumultuous sensation, the rhythm of their bodies exquisitely matched.

He continued to hold her captive, but she no longer decried her submission because carnal lust blurred her edgy discontent and orgasmic excess brought her to the verge of fainting. When he carried her back to the bed after a time and gently set her down, he settled lightly above her, overwhelmed by rare emotion. "Just one more time?" he breathed, feeling unquenchable.

"No… no… no."

"You always say no." He slid inside her, felt her welcoming flesh give way, and shut his eyes.

Lavish, soul-stirring ardor engulfed her. She was out of her depth, she realized, so far out of her depth she could no longer clearly distinguish the perimeters of the real world. It frightened her to be so enslaved to a man's touch. Could one become addicted to this glorious lust… to Ranelagh's inexhaustible stamina? Could she become servile to her inordinate need for orgasms?

But Sam moved just then in a particularly persuasive way, in a rare and refined demonstration of ultimate penetration, and raw, acute feeling washed over her in powerful waves, inundating apprehension.


Moments later, when she was able to breathe again, when she'd forcibly gathered her senses into a measure of order, she whispered, "I can't keep doing this-every day, every night-I'm feeling… out of control."

"I like… the way I feel." Lying beside her, his arms were flung over his head, his eyes half shut.

"We should take a small hiatus…"

"No."

At the curtness of his tone, she turned her head on the pillow and looked at him. "No?"

"No, not now. No, not tomorrow. No, not next week." His eyes opened fully, he turned his head, held her gaze, and smiled. "And I mean that in the nicest way."

"Now, if only you had the power to enforce those pronouncements."

"I don't think it takes power." His voice was whisper soft. "Do you?"

She couldn't help but smile. "I concede on that count, my fine stud. However," she said with a new determination, well aware how predaceous his allure and how weak her defenses, "I can't just allow myself to be swept along on a tidal wave of lust. I have a very busy life." Her voice was brisk, as if her tone might bolster her resolve. "A life, I might add, composed of a multitude of activities other than making love."

"Why not take a hiatus from that instead of the other way around," he suggested calmly.

"I wish I could."

"Then, do it."

"It's not that easy."

"Of course it is. You're in charge of your own life."

"Sam, really, consider. I can't simply stay in bed with you until… when? Such a time as you become bored with me?"

"Is that what you're driving at? You don't bore me in the least. In fact, I'm perilously aware of my attraction to you. You have my full attention, darling. My word on it."