The Mackades Collection (Books 1-4). Nora Roberts

do. I know you do.” She stopped, rubbing her hands over her arms. “You look at me as though you already know how it’s going to be with us. And I have no control over it.”

      “I figured I was giving you control, laying it out for you.”

      “No. No,” she repeated, flinging up her arms. “I don’t have any control over the way I’m feeling. You have to know that. You know exactly the way you affect people.”

      “We’re not talking about people.”

      “You know exactly the way you affect me.” She almost shouted it before she fisted her hands and fought for composure. “You know I want you. Why wouldn’t I? It’s just as you said, we’re adults who know what we want. And the more I backpedal, the more stupid I feel.”

      His eyes were shadowed in the shifting light. “You’re going to stand there and say these things to me and expect me to do nothing about it?”

      “I expect to be able to make a sane and rational decision. I don’t expect my glands to overwhelm my brain.” She blew out a breath. “Then I look at you and I want to rip your clothes off.”

      He had to laugh. It was the safest way to defuse the bomb ticking inside of him. “Don’t expect me to stop you.” When he stepped forward, she jumped back like a spring. “Just the beer,” he muttered, lifting the bottle. “I need it.” He took a long, deep gulp, but it didn’t do much to put out the fire. “So, what have we got here, Regan? Two unattached, healthy adults who want pretty much the same thing from each other.”

      “Who barely know each other,” she added. “Who’ve barely scratched the surface of any sort of relationship. Who should have more sense than to jump into sex as if it was a swimming pool.”

      “I never bother testing the water.”

      “I do. An inch at a time.” Ordering herself to be calm, she linked her hands again. “It’s important to me to know exactly what I’m getting into, exactly where I’m going.”

      “No detours?”

      “No. When I plan something, I stick to it. That works for me.” She was calmer now, she told herself. Rational now. “I had a lot of time to think, driving to Pennsylvania and back. We need to slow down, take a look at the whole picture.”

      If she was calm, why couldn’t she stop fiddling with her blazer, twisting her rings?

      “It’s like this house,” she continued quickly. “You’ve finished one room, and it’s beautiful, it’s wonderful. But you didn’t start this project without a complete plan in mind for the rest of it. I think intimacy should certainly be as carefully thought out as the renovation of a house.”

      “Makes sense.”

      “Good.” She drew in a breath, released it. “So, we’ll take a few steps back, get a clearer view of things.” Her hand was still unsteady when she reached for her coat. “That’s the sensible, the responsible route to take.”

      “Yeah.” He set down his beer. “Regan?”

      She gripped her coat like a lifeline. “Yes.”

      “Stay.”

      Her fingers went numb. Her breath came out in a long, shuddering sigh. “I thought you’d never ask.”

      With a jittery laugh, she threw herself into his arms.

      Chapter 6

      “This is crazy.” Already breathless, she curled her fingers into his hair to drag his mouth to hers. Everything in her strained into the kiss, the heat of it, the danger, the promise. “I wasn’t going to do this.”

      “That’s okay.” He dragged his lips from hers to race over her face. “I’ll do it.”

      “I’d thought it all through.” When her knees trembled, she gave a quick, helpless laugh. “I had. Everything I just said made perfect sense. This is just chemistry. It’s just superficial attraction.”

      “Yeah.” In one fluid movement, he yanked her blazer down her shoulders, locking her arms, trapping her body to his. Her gasp of alarm stirred his blood. The huge, wary eyes tightened his loins. “Stop thinking.”

      A smile curved his lips as he tugged the bunched material, pressing her against him. He watched her eyes glaze, heard the ragged moan when his mouth fed on hers. Then his lips rushed down over the line of her throat. It was as smooth, as scented, as he’d imagined it. So he feasted.

      Her hands clutched at his hips, her head falling back to offer him whatever he chose to take. All the while the heat coursed through her painfully, forcing her breath out in harsh, ragged moans.

      With a jerk, he freed her arms. Before she could reach out, his hands, his wide, clever hands, streaked under her sweater to mold, to possess.

      Flesh and lace, curves and shudders. He found everything he wanted, and wanted more. His mouth continued its relentless assault, while his fingers tortured her skin, and her skin tortured him.

      With a flick of his wrist, he unsnapped her trousers, then skimmed the tips of his fingers along her quivering belly, under the edge of more lace. She moved against him, pressed urgently against him, her teeth scraping along his neck in greedy bites.

      He could take her now, fast and hot, where they stood. The speed would release this terrible pressure that burned inside him.

      But he wanted more.

      He dragged the sweater over her head, tossed it aside and filled his palms with her breasts. The lace covering was smooth, delicate, and the flesh beneath already flushed and warm with desire. Ruthlessly controlling the pounding need to rush, Rafe watched her face, the flicker of light and shadow over it, while he rubbed his work-roughened thumbs over the points of her breasts.

      “I’ve imagined you like this.”

      “I know.”

      His lips curved again, and his eyes were focused keenly on hers when he nudged a slim strap down her shoulder. “I don’t think you’ve imagined what I’ve thought of doing to you. I don’t think you could. So I’m going to show you.”

      His eyes stayed on hers, watching, measuring, as he skimmed a finger along the valley between her breasts, up over the curve, then back to flick open the center clasp.

      So he saw that lovely sky blue gaze darken with the storm he set off inside her. And he felt it quake, in both of them.

      Her breath caught in her throat when he jerked her off her feet and set his hungry mouth to work. Shocked, she arched back, her hands fumbling in his hair, over his shoulders, tugging desperately at his shirt. His teeth nipped into her, just short of savage, just short of pain. His tongue tormented, and aroused needs too violent to bear.

      Wild, frantic, she clawed at him. Even as she felt herself falling, she tore and ripped at his shirt. She was on her back, on the thin cushion of the sleeping bag, and bucking desperately beneath him.

      Finally she tugged his shirt away, cursing when she found yet another layer separating them. She wanted flesh, craved it with a mindless hunger. The moment he’d dragged the thin undershirt aside, she sank her teeth into his shoulder.

      “Touch me.” Her words were raw and urgent. “I want your hands on me.”

      They were, everywhere at once. Her world became primitive, dangerously exciting, pumped full to bursting with unspeakable sensations. Each rough, impatient caress sent fresh shocks erupting, until her body was nothing but sweaty flesh over sparking nerves.

      Beside her, the fire shot hissing embers against the screen. Inside her, flames leapt and burned.

      She could see him through the haze that blurred her vision. The dark hair, the fierce eyes, the muscles that glistened with sweat in the dance of light. Her moan of protest when his mouth left hers turned to one of giddy pleasure as his lips streaked