The Next Santini Bride. Maureen Child

across her skin and smiled to himself when she trembled in his grasp.

      He tore his mouth from hers, and while she struggled to draw air into heaving lungs, he bent his head to kiss the curve of her neck. To taste the warmth of her skin, to tantalize her as she did him.

      “Oh, my,” she said on a short sigh, and tipped her head to one side, “that feels so—”

      “Good,” he finished for her.

      “Beyond good,” she assured him and leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his chest.

      “I want to feel you,” he said, letting his hands slide to the zipper at the back of her dress.

      “Oh, yeah,” she muttered, “that’d be good.”

      He smiled and tugged at the zipper, letting his fingertips trail along the line of exposed flesh as he went.

      She shivered, and he groaned. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and that fact fed the fires. Nothing stood between him and the feel of her breasts in his palms. The zipper went down, down, to just above the curve of her butt. Smooth skin called out for his touch and he obliged. Running his palms up and down her back, he worked the dress off and let it drop to a pool at her feet.

      Angela stepped out of the fabric and kicked it aside.

      The chill air in the room crawled over her body, and she hardly felt it. Her blood was boiling, and that was enough to keep her warm. She watched him watch her, and for the first time in years, worried about the lacy pattern of stretch marks across her not-entirely flat belly.

      She wasn’t exactly a cover model, after all. But when he lifted his hands and cupped her breasts, she stopped thinking. Who could care about stretch marks when his thumbs were stroking her already-pebbled nipples?

      Angela rocked on her heels and closed her eyes. Sensation after sensation poured through her. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she was awash in the glory of feeling. It had been so long, so terribly long since her body had known the touch of a man.

      She opened her eyes again and looked up into his heated gaze. Apparently, the same hunger tearing through her had a grip on him, too. Boldly, she reached up and fumbled with the brass buttons on his uniform tunic. Licking her lips, breathing hard, she worked at them until the Dress-Blue jacket was unbuttoned, unbelted, hanging open. She laid the flat of her hands against his white T-shirt-covered chest and felt the slam of his heartbeat against her palm.

      Then he growled…actually growled…and yanked her to him. In seconds the rest of their clothes were gone, tossed aside, and she was held flush against his warm, naked, outrageously muscled body.

      His hands swept up and down her back, then up and around to caress her breasts again. Every square inch of her body was electrified. Every nerve pushed to its breaking point. Desperate need coiled within her, building, growing, blossoming until she thought she might be consumed by it—and still she wanted more.

      Dropping to the floor, he cushioned her head with his forearm and let his right hand slide down her length to the apex of her thighs. She held her breath, arched her back and lifted her hips in anticipation. His fingers dipped into her warmth, and her body exploded.

      “Dan!” she cried, and clutched at him as a wild rush of tremors coursed through her. One after the other, tumbling into each other, never giving her a chance to catch her breath, the tiny explosions went on and on.

      He held her tightly as the unexpectedly fierce climax claimed her. She rocked her hips against his hand, buried her face in the crook of his neck and rode the wave of sensation that carried her into a place she hardly remembered.

      And when it was finally over and the last tremor shivered through her, she looked up at him. Good heavens, they’d hardly begun and she’d already finished. How mortifying was that? In a ragged voice she said, “It’s been a long time. I’m sorry that happened so quickly.”

      He shook his head and smiled before leaning down to brush a kiss across her mouth. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”

      Then he reached behind him for his trousers and fumbled one-handed for the pocket. Pulling out a foil-wrapped condom, he looked down at her. “I could use a little help with this, since I’ve only got the one free hand.”

      Keeping her gaze locked with his, she reached for it, tore it open, then slowly sheathed him. His eyes closed at her touch, and he moved closer. Angela wrapped her fingers around him, caressing him with smooth determined strokes. He arched into her and in seconds, her breath was coming fast, need coiled again inside her and she shifted into him, urging him to cover her. To fill her.

      “Enough!” he muttered thickly, suddenly and moved to position himself between her thighs. Angela stared up at him as his fingers toyed with her tender flesh, smoothing, touching, exploring. She twisted and writhed in his grasp, giving herself up to the amazing things happening to her. In the glow of the foyer light, she watched his eyes darken and narrow with want and need, and she planted her feet firmly on the smooth wood floor and lifted her hips to welcome his first hard thrust.

      She gasped at the intrusion, and a moment later felt her body adjust to his presence. Again and again he moved within her, setting a wild, fierce rhythm that she rushed to meet. She lifted her legs to lock them around his hips, pulling him tighter against her and deeper within her. Each time he withdrew, she wanted to moan the loss of him, and each time he rejoined their bodies, she wanted to shout at the glorious rightness of it.

      He leaned over her, bracing his weight on his palms. Locking his gaze with hers, he set a soul-shattering pace that ended in a climax so powerful, so incredible, all Angela could do was hold on and hope she survived long enough to enjoy the afterglow.

      And when she heard him groan tightly, she wrapped her arms around him and cushioned his fall.

      Minutes…or maybe hours…flew by before either of them had the strength to move. Dan finally shifted to one side of her, pulling her with him, drawing her head onto his shoulder.

      “That was,” she said, and heard the hollowness in her own voice, “amazing.”

      He chuckled, and the sound rumbled through his chest. “Amazing is a pretty good word for it,” he admitted, letting his hand slide up and down her arm.

      “Well,” she said, still enjoying the ripples of satisfaction trembling through her body. “I guess we could get up off the floor, huh?”

      “What’s the hurry?”

      She tipped her head back on his shoulder and looked into hungry green eyes. “Hurry?” she whispered, then cleared her throat and tried again. “No hurry, but…well, we are finished and—”

      “Finished?” he asked with a shake of his head, “We’re just getting started.”

      “We are?” Oh, Lord, her heart was sure to pound right out of her chest any minute.

      “Oh, yeah,” Dan said, and shifted slightly to raise up on one arm. Trailing his fingertips along her body, from breast to hip, he smiled at the row of goose bumps that danced in his wake. “This time we take it slow.”

      “This time?” she repeated. Heck, she hadn’t recovered from the first time yet. Or the second mind-numbing climax. She had just spontaneously combusted all over her mother’s shining wood floor.

      Oh, she would never dust in here in peace again.

      “This time,” he said again, and rolled her onto her stomach before she could argue with him.

      The cool wood planks beneath her lent another erotic touch to the moment. Spread-eagled on the foyer floor was not an image she’d ever had of herself. Yet here she lay, naked and eager for round two.

      Then she felt his mouth at the base of her spine. His lips and tongue moved on her flesh and Angela shivered, clenching and unclenching her fists on nothingness, futilely looking for something to hold on to.

      He spoke, and his breath brushed against her skin.