His blood went instantly to boil. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Somebody's got to." Taking a good, firm grip, she fused her mouth to his until the heat burning through her engulfed him like a flash fire.

His hands gripped like vises on the edge of the sink behind her, his body pressing against hers. And then she was moving against him, sliding, rocking, turning him to iron while her mouth took big, hungry gulps.

"Jared, touch me." Desperate, she yanked his hand free, closed it over her breast, where her heart was pounding like steel on an anvil. "Touch me. Touch me," she repeated, even as his hands streaked under her shirt and filled with her.

She was like some dark, forbidden dream, warm limbs straining against him, sliding, tight denim against tight denim, in painful friction. The flesh in his greedy hands was firm and full and hot. He pressed his mouth to her throat. He could have sunk his teeth into it, such was his sudden, outrageous hunger.

He knew that if he didn't have her now, tonight, he'd be insane by morning.

When he pulled back, dizzy with appetite, she moaned. "For God's sake, are you trying to make me crazy?"

He stared, fighting for his breath as she fought for hers. Though his hands were at his sides now, he could feel her on his fingertips.

"That was the first part of the plan," he said as he took a deep gulp of air, then added, "I'm finished with the first part."

"Hallelujah."

He could almost have laughed. "Bryan's staying at Connor's?"

"Yes." Impatient, edgy, she grabbed his hands. ''Come upstairs.''

"No."

Her smile was slow and willing. "All right." But when she lifted her arms, happy to take him where they were, he caught her hands.

"No."

"Jared, don't make me hurt you."

He could laugh. "I'm hoping you will. Get a blanket."

"A blanket?"

"I want you in the woods." He turned her hand over in his, caught her wrist in his teeth. "I've always wanted you in the woods."

"I'll get a blanket," she managed, and nearly tripped over her own feet in her rush.

She had herself under control again as they walked together under the arching canopy of trees tender with spring, under the dazzle of stars and the glow of a three-quarter moon. She'd meant to seduce him tonight, to draw him slowly, cleverly in. To surprise him.

She hadn't meant to eat him alive.

Then he stopped where the ground was soft and flipped the blanket down. And she was very much afraid she wouldn't be able to stop herself.

"Tell me something, Lawyer MacKade."

He looked over the blanket at her where she stood, hip shot out, chin angled, eyes full of power and sex. He'd have chewed through glass to get to her. "What's that?"

"Is your health insurance up-to-date?"

His teeth flashed white. "You don't scare me."

"Honey, you won't be able to get your tongue around your own name when I'm finished with you."

She lunged, agile as a trick pony, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands fisted in his hair. He swung her around once, so that his body would cushion hers when they fell laughing to the blanket.

It knocked the breath out of him, and gave her first advantage.

Her hands were everywhere at once, tugging the shirt over his head, running down his chest to yank at the snap of his jeans. And, to his giddy amazement, her mouth was chasing after them.

"Hold it." In self-defense, he rolled on top of her. "Keep that up, and this'll last about twenty seconds." He kept her pinned until his libido could remember it wasn't sixteen anymore. "I've been saving up for you, Savannah." He lowered his head, and the kiss was staggeringly deep.

The sound she made was a feral purr that shuddered into his mouth and out the soles of his feet. While his lips devoured hers, he gave his hands the pleasure of learning that long, lush body.

Firm and smooth, it moved under his touch sinuously, inviting him to linger. She smelled like the woods—dark, mysterious, full of secrets and hidden pleasures. The taste of that mouth feeding avidly on his was full of spice and heat.

Her hands were working on his back, tensing his muscles, nails nipping into his flesh to urge him to press harder, grip tighter. To take, and take, and take. Her breath came in low, throaty moans so erotic he knew he would hear them again in his sleep.

When he reared back, she arched and crossed her arms over her body. With her eyes on his face, she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside.

She saw the fresh, wild desire bolt into his eyes, and reveled in it. In her youth, her body had been a curse—some had said her downfall. But now, watching the man she loved look at her for the first time, it filled her with a sense of soaring pride.

"It should be illegal." His voice was hoarse and thick. "Looking like you."

He didn't touch her, not yet. Fascinated, he un-snapped her jeans, drew them down and away. His oath was reverent. Then his hands skimmed up, from ankle to knee, to thigh and hip, over the muscled stomach that quivered unexpectedly.

"You're the most terrifyingly beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Her smile was slow, confident. She sat up, hooked an arm around his neck and brought his ready mouth to hers. Her murmur was approving as he explored her, inch by slow, delicious inch. She thought he had wonderful hands, firm, and just rough enough. Her eyes fluttered closed, dreamily, when he used his . thumb to torment the tip of her breast.

She could wallow in the lovely feel of flesh sliding on flesh, of the light breeze whispering, the hot blanket beneath. There were owls hooting in the trees, ghosts walking in the air.

Never in her life had she known the magic and the generosity of love. She knew only that she would give him anything here. Whatever he asked. Whatever he wanted.

When he twisted her hair around his fist, pulled her head back, she was prepared for anything. But he only pressed his lips to her shoulder, rubbed them gently over the curve.

And she trembled like a startled doe.

"Surprised?" Darkly pleased, he lifted his head and looked into her confused, clouded eyes. "You have beautiful shoulders." This time he laved his tongue over them. One by one. Her breath caught on two indrawn gasps. "Sensitive shoulders. They look like they should be carved in marble, but they're soft."

He nipped lightly at her collarbone, and would have sworn it melted. Enthralled with the discovery, he exploited it, lifting her into his lap, so that he cradled her, rather than the ground.

When she was limp. When he knew she was utterly open, he quickly, and with concentrated skill, ripped her ruthlessly to a peak.

She cried out, bucking hard, then pouring into his hand.

Love and pleasure burned through her. Unbearable heat. She turned to him, turned on him, in a wild frenzy of hands and lips. Later, he would think that they had both gone completely mad. But, for the moment, what they did to and for each other was all that made sense.

She made him hiss out her name, and the sound of it sang through her like music. When his heart pounded like thunder under her mouth, she knew it was for her, and only for her. The taste of salty sweat on his skin bewitched her.

He lifted her as though she weighed nothing. She opened, arched, took him deep, so deep that her hands reached out to grip his, from the sheer joy of it. She who cried only when there was no one to see, no one to hear, let the tears fall.

She rocked, matching his rhythm, matching the savage, fearless beat of her own pulse. Endlessly, endlessly, with the stars raining over them and the moonlight slicing through the tender leaves, they took each other.

He was nearly blind from the beauty of her face, electrified from what her body brought to his. He thought he felt something break inside him, around his heart. Then, like some ancient goddess summoning her forces, she lifted her arms high. Gleaming in the Stardust, her body went taut, and tightened around him like a velvet fist, and tore him over the edge.

Chapter Eight

Savannah awoke with a moan and flung her arm over her eyes to shield them from the blast of sunlight. Her body felt as though she'd ridden a wild bronc over rocky ground.

And then she remembered she'd pretty much done just that.

Her lips curved as the night reeled through her mind. She had thought she knew what it was like to want—a home, a life, a man. She'd been certain she'd experienced every kind of hunger—for food, for shelter, for love. But nothing she had felt before matched what had churned through her for Jared MacKade.

There had been men in her life before—some had passed through, some had stirred her blood. But she had never needed one. And that, she realized, was both the risk and the wonder of this.

There would never be another man. He was the first, and he would be the last, to take her heart.

As both mind and body woke, she heard the song of the birds, the far-off yip of Shane's dogs. She felt the strength of the sun beaming through the spring leaves, and the chill of the early breeze. With her eyes still shielded, she stretched lazily, feeling like a cat waiting to be stroked.

"You have a tattoo."

She made a long, contented sound, flung her arm over her head, and at last opened her eyes.

He was sitting beside her. His hair was tousled from sleep and her hands, his eyes were heavy and focused thoughtfully on an area high on her right thigh. She wondered if there was any other woman in the world lucky enough to wake to such a sight.

"You look good in the morning," she murmured, reaching out to stroke him. "Naked and rumpled."

He wasn't sure how long he'd watched her sleep. But he did know that when he tugged the blanket away from her, to pleasure himself with a long study of her body in the sunlight, he'd discovered the colorful little bird on her thigh.