The instant her naked breasts touched his bare chest, he knew that was so.

Didn’t care.

The sensation was so erotic, so blissfully attuned to some deeper need that he shrugged aside the warning as easily as he had the shirt. He gathered her to him, sank into her welcoming mouth, aware to his bones of the light touch of her hands on his skin, innocent, tentatively exploring.

Aware of the rush of pleasure her touch evoked, of the answering heat flaring within her.

He didn’t press but let her feel and learn as she wished, his ego pleased beyond belief by her eager desire. He held her close; hands splayed over her naked back, he traced the fine muscles bracketing her spine.

Delicate, supple yet with their own feminine strength, an echo of all she was.

He’d never been with a woman he wanted more, one who promised so completely to sate him. Not just sexually, but at some deeper level, one he didn’t, in his present state, recognize or understand. Whatever it was, the compulsive need she evoked was strong.

Stronger than any lust, any mere desire.

His control had never had to cope with such a feeling.

It cracked, shattered, and he didn’t even know.

Didn’t even have the sense to pull back when her questing fingers wandered lower. When she traced, tantalizingly, in open wonderment, he only groaned.

Startled, she drew her hand away; he grabbed it. His hand locked around hers he guided it back, urged her to learn him as he intended to learn her. Drew back from the kiss and watched her face as she did.

Gloried in her innocence, and even more in her awakening.

His lungs constricted until he was giddy. He continued to watch her, kept his senses focused on her, away from the conflagration she was causing, from the urgent need pulsing through him.

Only when she glanced up beneath her lashes, lips parted, rosy from his kisses, did he move to draw her to him again, to again take her mouth and sweep her deeper into the magic.

Deeper under his spell.

When he finally released her lips, Leonora could barely think. Her skin was on fire; so was his. Everywhere they touched, flames leapt, singed. Her breasts ached, brushed to excruciating sensitivity by the coarse dark hair across his chest.

That chest was a sculpted wonder of hard muscle over heavy bone. Her spread fingers found scars, nicks here and there; the light tan of his face and neck extended over his chest, as if he occasionally worked outside without a shirt. Inside without a shirt he was a wonder, appearing to her senses like a god come to life. She’d only seen male bodies like his in books of ancient sculptures, yet his was alive, real, utterly male. The feel of his skin, the resilience of his muscles, the sheer strength he possessed overwhelmed her.

His lips, his tongue, teased hers, then he lifted his head and brushed a kiss to her temple.

Whispered in the heated dark, “I want to see you. Touch you.”

He drew back just enough to catch her eyes. His were dark pools, compellingly intent.

His strength surrounded her, caged her; his hands stroked her bare skin. She felt them slide to her sides, then tense to press her gown and chemise lower.

“Let me.”

Command and question both. She breathed slowly out, infinitesimally nodded.

He pushed her gown down. Once past the swell of her hips, both gown and chemise fell of their own accord.

The soft silken swoosh was audible in the room.

Darkness had closed in, yet enough light still lingered. Enough for her to study his face as he looked down, as, still holding her within the circle of one arm, with his other hand he traced from her breast to her waist, to her hip, flaring outward, then inward across her upper thigh.

“You are so beautiful.”

The words fell from his lips; he didn’t even seem to notice, as if he hadn’t consciously said them. His features were set, the harsh planes austere, his lips a hard line. There was no softness in his face, no hint of his charm.

All lingering reservations of the rightness of her actions were cindered in that moment. Turned to ashes by the stark emotion in his face.

She didn’t know enough to name it, but whatever that emotion was it was what she wanted, what she needed. She’d lived her life longing to be looked at by a man in just such a way, as if she were more precious, more desirable than his soul.

As if he’d willingly trade his soul for what she knew would happen next.

She reached for him as he reached for her.

Their lips met, and the flames roared.

She would have been frightened if he hadn’t been there, solid and real for her to hold on to, her anchor in the maelstrom that swirled through them, around them.

His hands slid down and around, closed over her bare bottom; he kneaded, and heat raced across her skin. Fever followed, a hot urgent ache that swelled and grew as he evocatively plundered her mouth, as he held her close, lifted her hips against him, and suggestively molded her softness to the rigid line of his erection.

She moaned, hot, hungry and wanting.

Wanton. Eager. Determined.

He hoisted her higher; instinctively she wrapped her arms about his shoulders, her long legs about his hips.

Their kiss turned incendiary.

He broke from it only to demand, “Come. Lie with me.”

She answered with a scorching kiss.

Tristan carried her to the side of the bed, and tumbled them both onto it. They bounced, and he angled over her, pressing her down, wedging one leg between hers.

Their lips locked, melded. He sank into the kiss, letting his wandering senses luxuriate in the heavenly delight of having her under him, naked and wanting. Some primitive, wholly male part of his soul rejoiced.

Wanted more.

He let his hands roam, shaping her breasts, then sliding lower, caressing her hips, then pressing beneath to cup her bottom and squeeze. He nudged her thighs wider, freed one hand, and placed it on her stomach.

Felt the feminine muscles beneath his palm jump, contract.

He slid his fingers lower, tangling in the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Reaching through them, he stroked the soft, sweet flesh they concealed. Felt her shudder.

Easing her thighs wider he cupped her. Sensed the quick intake of her breath. He opened her mouth and kissed her more deeply, then eased back from the kiss, leaving their lips brushing, touching, letting her senses surface sufficiently for her to know and feel.

Their breaths mingled, heated and urgent; from beneath heavy lids, their eyes met, held.

Locked as he shifted his hand and touched her. Stroked, caressed, intimately traced. Her breasts rose and fell; her teeth closed on her lower lip as he opened her. As he teased, glorying in the slick heat of her body, then slowly, deliberately, slid one long finger into her.

Her breathing fractured; her eyes closed. Her body rose beneath his.

“Stay with me.” He stroked slowly, in, out, letting her grow accustomed to his touch, to the sensation.

Her breathing ragged, she forced open her eyes; gradually, her body unclenched.

Slowly, gradually, flowered for him.

He watched it happen, watched the sensual delight rise and sweep her away, watched her eyes darken, felt her fingers tense, nails sinking into his muscles.

Then her breathing broke. Spine bowing, head pressing back, she closed her eyes. “Kiss me.” A desperate plea. “Please—kiss me.” Her voice broke on a gasp as sensation built, coiled, tightened.

“No.” Eyes locked on her face, he pushed her on. “I want to watch you.”

She was fighting for breath, clinging to sanity.

“Lie back and let it happen. Let go.”

He caught a glimpse of brilliant blue from beneath her lashes. He slipped another finger in with the first, thrust deeper, faster.

And she fractured.

He watched her climax take her, listened to the soft cry that fell from her swollen lips, felt her sheath contract, powerful and tight, then relax, aftershocks rippling through the velvet heat.

His fingers still inside her, he leaned down, and kissed her.

Long, deep, giving her all he could, letting her taste his desire, see his wanting, then, step by step, drawing back.

When he withdrew his fingers, stroked them through her wet curls, then lifted his head, her fingers, tangled in the hair at his nape, closed, clutched. She opened her eyes, studied his, his face, read his decision.

He tried to ease back, to let her breathe; to his surprise, she tightened her grip, held him to her.

Held his gaze, then licked her lips. “You owe me a favor.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper; it strengthened with her next words. “Anything, you said. So promise you won’t stop.”

He blinked. “Leonora—”

“No. I want you with me. Don’t stop. Don’t pull away.”

He gritted his teeth. She’d blindsided him. Naked, spread beneath him, her body pliant in aftermath…and she was begging him to take her. “It’s not that I don’t want you—”

She shifted one sleek thigh.

He sucked in a breath.

Groaned. Shut his eyes. Couldn’t shut off his senses. Grimly resolved, he placed his palms on the bed and pushed up, away from her heat.

Opened his eyes.

And stopped.

Hers were swimming.

Tears?

She blinked hard, but didn’t shift her gaze from his. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

Her voice broke on the words.

Something inside him did, too.

His resolve, his certainty, shattered.