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It was the words he wasn’t saying, didn’t know how to say; she felt frightened suddenly. As if he were talking about something that was irretrievably lost already… Fiercely, his lips settled on hers again, stifling the words she needed to say, and in spite of herself she felt a quiver of longing run through her like quicksilver. He was part of the night, her Kyle, part of every sensual dream she had ever had. Suddenly, it only made sense to reach out, to cleave to him, to try to bridge the distance between them at a level more basic than talk.
    His eyes burned down to hers in the darkness in a way that made her tremble inside. He shifted still closer, pinning her with the solid weight of his thigh as the feather-light touch of his fingers skimmed over the delicate line of her collarbone. Then his head bent, his teeth nipping at her soft neck with a roughness that teased, his palm sweeping down the length of her, taking in breast and stomach and thigh. He knew her well. The contrast of rough and soft, gentle and fierce, ignited the most primitive needs, unleashed the kaleidoscope of fantasies secreted within her. Her mind spun in sweet, fierce splendor as she reached for him.
    His hand clasped hers before she could touch him. “Let me. Just let me,” he murmured. In a light hold, he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. His lips parted hers, his tongue stealing inside first to taste and savor, then to drain her special private flavor. She felt her blood race, a delicious sense of helplessness flooding through her that was potently erotic. His free hand teased at that forced submissiveness, pirating down slowly to knead one pillow-soft breast until it swelled and the peak firmed and hardened for him, pouting when his palm deserted it to move down her ribs, then lower.
    The late hour, the long day of work, the tension he’d worn all day like an extra layer of clothes…he was in no hurry. For long moments, he seemed mesmerized by the play of moonlight on her skin, by the hollows and shadows the night created. Then his palm smoothed over the flat satin of her stomach and down to her thigh, so slowly that a whispery shudder seemed to take over her whole body. She longed to touch as well as be touched. She could feel his arousal throbbing against her thigh, could hear the change in his breathing. To share was to love, and he’d taught her all about that; passivity no longer pleased her. Desperately, she wanted to give as well as take, and her hands twisted…
    His wrist tightened on them. “This one’s for you…”
    “No,” she whispered. “For us. Please, Kyle…”
    Again his mouth covered hers, drowning her words and her senses. Petal-soft, his fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his touch as tantalizingly light as his kiss was possessively firm. His lips gradually relinquished hers, only to trail lazy kisses down her throat and neck. Restlessly, she tossed her head from side to side as his mouth settled hungrily on one breast. His tongue lapped over and over until the nipple peaked and ached; she could feel her hands curl into fists above her head. “Kyle…”
    He hushed her in velvet whispers. As his lips feasted at her breasts, his free hand sought the silky down of her womanhood. The more responsive she was, the more slowly he explored, savoring every possible inch of flesh as if this were the first time, the last time…as if her pleasure were the only thing that mattered. She drew in her breath when his lips touched her thighs. She felt insanely vulnerable, his plundering tongue against her flesh a shocking rough-smooth sensation that laid open a need that came from her soul. She heard a feverish moan in her throat. He whispered endearments to her…
    Finally, he shifted, locking their bodies together before she could even draw breath. His warmth was suddenly everywhere, surrounding her; his powerful rhythm—a rhythm designed to block out mind and heartache and time—was