He sucked on her fingers, one by one, then traced a damp circle on her palm. Her fingers curled in and stroked his cheek. She braced herself by placing her free hand on his chest.

He moved his mouth to the pad of skin at the base of her thumb. He nibbled there, making her catch her breath. Then he slipped lower, to her wrist. He could feel the rapid fluttering of her heart as blood flowed through her delicate veins.

When he released her hand, she swayed. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she was facing the bed with her back to him. The room was silent, yet he could hear music. It was similar to what they’d danced to at the restaurant. As if their physical dance was a mere continuation of what had gone before.

He gathered her hair in his hands, savoring the silky feel against his skin. He buried his face in the curls, inhaling the scent of her, then he tucked it all over one shoulder. As he slowly lowered the zipper, he leaned forward and kissed the side of her neck. She tilted her head to give him more room.

When the dress was unfastened, he pushed it down her arms, then over her hips. It pooled at her feet. With a quick kick, she tossed it to the side.

He rested his hands on her waist and studied her back. She was tall for a woman, with a medium bone structure. From here he could see the muscles she worked so hard to build and maintain.

They rippled as a shudder raced through her. He supposed there were some men who wouldn’t find them feminine. Some people would experience her strength and be intimidated.

He reveled in her abilities. They were as much a part of her as the color of her eyes and the taste of her mouth. He alone knew the price she paid to be strong. He respected her determination, admired her dedication and ached for her pain. To him she was the perfect woman.

Contrasting with the honed body was a silky black wisp of lingerie. He pushed one of the shoulder straps down, then wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. When she leaned against him, he rested his head against hers.

“You looked great tonight,” he murmured.

“Thanks.”

“All those other men wanted you.”

She laughed quietly. “I think all is a slight exaggeration.”

“Almost all.”

“I might even believe that. I guess I have the dress to thank for that.”

“It wasn’t the dress, it was you.”

She gave a snort of disbelief. “Then why haven’t they been falling all over themselves for the past thirty years?”

“Because you haven’t had the right attitude. It wasn’t what you wore, it was how you wore it.”

“It was the dress.”

He turned his head and pressed his mouth against the sensitive skin below her ear. “I can see I’m going to have to find some way to convince you of the truth.”

She reached her arms up behind her and touched his head. “I might prove to be a stubborn subject, but don’t give up.”

“I can be as stubborn as you.”

“No one’s that stubborn,” she said.

She wove her fingers through his hair. Her position raised her breasts as if she were offering them to him. He cupped them in his palms and teased the taut peaks.

There was a contrast of textures and colors. Her pale breasts, the black lingerie, his tanned hands. The smooth skin of her breasts, the perfectly formed nubs of her nipples, the silk cupping her curves, the harder pads of his fingers.

He nibbled on her neck, then drew her earlobe into his mouth. Her fingers tunneled deeper, and she tightened her hold on his head. Using just his index fingers, he stroked the undersides of her breasts, feeling both the smooth fabric and her heat.

He pushed down the other strap. She dropped her arms, and the teddy fell to her waist. Now he could see, as well as touch. The creamy curves invited him to explore. He covered her with his hands, squeezing gently, watching her pale, plump breasts spill out of his grasp. He circled his palms over her nipples, moving quickly and lightly until her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath.

He turned her toward him and, as he did so, he sank to his knees. He raised his hands and continued to stroke her breasts while he nipped at her belly, her hipbone and the top of her thigh. He moved closer and gently bit the mound at the apex of her thighs. She sagged slightly, then braced her hands on his shoulders.

He glanced up. She watched him. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, half revealing, half concealing her breasts. His fingers continued to toy with her nipples. He enjoyed feeling the tight skin and the erotic stroking of her hair against the backs of his hands. Within him blood heated as the need grew more insistent.

He dropped his hands to her buttocks and squeezed hard. She arched against him. He bit her again, frustrated that he couldn’t see her and taste her there.

When he released her, she sank to the edge of the bed. He reached for her teddy and drew it off in one long motion, then pulled off her panty hose.

She was bare before him.

She half sat up, her weight resting on her elbows. Her eyes were the color of smoke, her lips pink and parted. She gave him a sultry smile that made him want to rip off his clothes and take her right there.

Instead, he settled between her thighs and used his fingers to part the delicate folds of skin that concealed her most sensitive place.

She was already swollen and ready. At the first touch of his tongue, she nearly came off the bed. Her knees drew back, exposing more of her to him. He cupped her hips, urging her to move in time with his strokes.

She tasted sweet. He circled that tiny point, then brushed it with the flat part of his tongue. She whimpered. Despite his need, despite the urge to plunge inside of her and find his own release, he focused on her and what he was doing to make her writhe on the bed.

It wasn’t going to take long. He could tell from her increased breathing and the heat radiating from her skin. He could tell from her tensed muscles and a connection between them that defied explanation.

She tossed her head restlessly, murmuring sounds that might have been his name or pleas for him to continue. If he hadn’t been otherwise occupied, he would have told her he had no intention of stopping until she’d reached fulfillment.

He concentrated on that small part of her body. He lavished it with attention, he adored it and circled it and forced her to the edge of surrender. Then he flicked faster, easing her into paradise, stroking her long legs as they trembled uncontrollably, continuing to please her until her gasps became whimpers and she was at last still.

It took them both a couple of seconds to catch their breath. Her feet settled on the floor. He bent over and kissed her belly. She sat up and pulled him to her. While they kissed, she reached for the buttons on his shirt.

Minutes later he was naked, stretched out on the bed. She knelt over him, brushing her mouth against his before moving lower to his neck, then his chest. His eyes drifted closed as he absorbed the sensations she created. The heat, the tingling, the passion-thickened blood coursing through him.

His erection throbbed in time with his heartbeat. One of her hands strayed down toward his thighs. He thrust his hips toward her. She held him gently, exploring him with delicate fingertips before grasping him and starting an up-and-down motion designed to drive him mad.

The pleasure between his thighs was so intense, it took him a minute to figure out what she was doing with her mouth. She moved across his chest in a seemingly random pattern, kissing one spot before moving on to another. A splash of hot moisture hit his skin.

“Jamie?”

She didn’t respond. The hand between his legs slipped lower to cup him. He almost gave in to the pleasure and relaxed, but something teased at the back of his mind.

She moved to another spot on his chest, and he felt another splash.

He reached out and touched her under her chin. She ducked her head away. He raised himself into a sitting position and tugged on the end of her hair. She was finally forced to look at him.

Her face was still flushed and her lips were parted, but this time it wasn’t from pleasure. Tears swam in her eyes. They slipped past her lower lashes and spilled onto her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused by her reaction to their lovemaking. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Everything is fine. Really.”

“Why are you crying?”

She shook her head. “I can’t explain. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She bit her lower lip. “I can’t.” Her voice was a whisper.

He stroked her cheek. He hated seeing her like this. “Please, Jamie. Tell me. I want to know what’s hurt you. I want to make it better.”

She touched a mark on his chest. He glanced down. It was an old scar. Another tear slipped free. She brushed it away, then placed her damp finger against the scar.

“I wish I could make that go away. I want to make them all go away. I know what they are. I know what they felt like. This one-” she pointed to a slender line by his ribs “-this is from a knife. There’s a burn mark on your back. This is a bullet wound.” She placed her hand on his thigh.

He stared into her eyes and wondered what he’d done to deserve her in his life. Why did she think he was worth even one of her tears? Other women had commented on his scars. They’d asked where he got them, if they still hurt. Sometimes he told the truth, and sometimes he lied. But Jamie didn’t have to ask. She knew.

She knew that a knife wound didn’t hurt at all. A sharp blade slipped through flesh as if it were thick cream. She knew how much blood there was, how the shock was the worst of it until you woke up in the hospital. Then it hurt like a son of a bitch. She knew that the pain of a bullet didn’t come from the metal piercing flesh, but from the powder burn. She knew that bleeding from the inside wasn’t especially frightening because you became disoriented quickly. She knew about staring at exposed flesh and watching the blood pump out in time with your heartbeat.