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of her high, firm breasts. And that wonderful scent that clung to her like a field of herbs and flowers. She was so exquisite that he could barely breathe. Yet he felt her uncertainty. She was as tense as when the soldiers were searching for them nearby.
    "Don't be afraid of me," he murmured. Then he lowered his lips to hers. He was so hungry for her that he wanted to ravage her mouth, but he kept the kiss light and gentle as he explored her sweetness, rubbing his lips back and forth, then settling clown for firmer contact.
    She sighed out his name, and he struggled not to frighten her away because he understood that she was poised to flee if he made the wrong move.
    It would be a mistake to hold her tightly. So he only draped his arms around her. The contact was light. Still, he grew so hard that he couldn't draw the line between pleasure and pain. In that moment, he knew that he must have her. But not yet. Not until she was as ready as he.
    She seemed to know little about kissing. And he enjoyed teaching her, nibbling at her mouth, using the tip of his tongue to stroke the seam of her lips, gauging her response before increasing the pressure:.
    Finally, he couldn't resist taking her lower lip between his teeth.
    "Don't."
    He stopped at once, and she lowered her head, resting her cheek against his shoulder again. He wanted to go farther, but he knew on some deep, instinctive level that she would turn and run from him. But he couldn't keep his hands off of her, so he stroked them lightly along her ribs, feeling her shiver.
    He trembled, too. Sex had always been fun—and casual for him. He understood the charisma of the werewolf. The sexual attraction. Women sensed the edge of danger under the civilized exterior, and that turned them on. Not that he had pursued women with the wild enthusiasm of his brother Lance. But no woman he had ever gone after had turned him down. Still, it had all been a game, because he'd known instinctively that the relationship with the partners he bedded would never deepen.
    This was different. More urgent. More real. More important.
    "What do you want?" she asked in a barely audible voice.
    "All of you."
    "I… can't."
    "I'll prove to you that I'm the right man—the man you can trust," he promised, because it seemed that was his only option. If she didn't trust him, that would be the end of it.
    At the thought of endings, his heart lurched inside his chest. He wanted to take her by the shoulders, fix his gaze on hers and tell her that the two of them belonged together. He wanted to explain that he had been waiting for her all his life.
    The words stayed locked in his throat. Words wouldn't work with her. Only deeds.
    The right deeds.
    He ached to kiss her again—and take the kiss from sweet to mind-blowing. But he was wise enough to hold back.
    Later, he would put his stamp on her. She was his mate. Or she would be—when he finally made love to her.
    For now, he contented himself with weaving his fingers through her silky hair, stroking his hands over her bare back, nuzzling his lips against the side of her cheek. Breathing in her sweetness. Marveling at the softness of her skin.
    He found it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. The contact made him tremble inside with a powerful urgency that was more than sexual.
    He wanted to explain that she was his. But he realized that the claim would send her running. So he kept the knowledge to himself.
    His hand dipped to her waist, stroking the indentation, memorizing her shape so that he could find her with his eyes closed. He wanted to slip lower and cup her bottom so that he could pull her more tightly against his erection. He wanted her to feel the power she had over him. But he managed to stop himself.
    It was still early in the mating game, however he couldn't stop himself from raising one hand and gently cupping her breast. When he felt the nipple bead, he stroked her gently. There was no rush. They had time to get to know each other better before