Diana Palmer Texan Lovers. Diana Palmer

was above him, looking down into his dark, dancing eyes.

      “That’s better,” he murmured. “Do you feel less threatened on top?”

      She colored faintly, and he laughed. Then he drew her mouth down over his and opened it, and the laughter stopped.

      She felt his hands moving her, lifting her. She was beside him, then over him, and he had her hips, bringing them down completely over his.

      “Don’t do that,” he whispered when he felt her tautness. “Just lie still and let me feel your body over mine.”

      She felt shaky. She trembled as his tongue began to probe gently around her lips and past them, teasing its way into the sweet darkness of her mouth.

      She caught her breath, and he heard it. His dark eyes opened, looking up at her.

      “They call it a soul kiss,” he said softly. “It’s intimate and wildly arousing and very, very suggestive. Let me kiss you that way.”

      She felt her legs tremble where they touched his. “You…you’re already wildly aroused,” she whispered unsteadily.

      “I’m going to make you that way, too,” he murmured. He turned her slowly so that she was on her back. His long, powerful leg insinuated itself between hers.

      She stiffened as she felt his big, muscular body spread over hers, pushing her down into the mattress. His masculinity was blatant now. The intimacy was shocking, and the sensations it caused were a little frightening.

      He saw her fear, and his hands slid into her hair, caressing as he let his weight down on her slender body, his elbows catching a little of it as he moved.

      “I won’t hurt you,” he said softly. “Lie very still for me, Abby. I want to show you what passion is.”

      “I already know…oh!” She clenched her teeth. Her nails bit into the fine fabric of his jacket, and her eyes widened in shock when he moved against her. She felt him in a way that turned her face blood red with embarrassed knowledge, and a tiny cry forced its way out of her throat.

      His mouth covered hers. His tongue teased, probed, withdrew, probed again and began a taunting invasion that was every bit as intimate as his huge, softly moving body on hers. She moaned. She grasped him. She bit at his firm, chiseled lower lip. Her tongue shyly grasped him. She bit at his firm, chiseled lower lip. Her tongue shyly encountered his and began to fence with it. She began to shudder, and so did he, and just when she was going under for the third time he slid away from her and gathered her against his side, holding her cheek to his shoulder while the trembling grew.

      “Calhoun.” Her voice broke.

      “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’ll make it bearable.”

      His big hands found her jacket and eased it off. He unfastened the sweater where it buttoned over one shoulder, and levered it up lazily, unfastening the hooks of her lacy bra and tugging the whole of her upper covering over her head and moved it aside.

      She started to cover herself, but his mouth was suddenly on her breasts, and what he did to them was too sweet, too addictive to protest.

      She gave in, arching toward his mouth, drowning in his ardor. He knew exactly what to do, how to arouse her to a fever pitch. She let him, welcomed him, her body fluid in his hands, her voice softly inciting him.

      He sat up for just a minute, long enough to strip off his jacket and shirt. Then he was poised over her, vibrantly male with his hair-roughened chest bare and muscular, his eyes glittering with desire as they caressed her own bareness.

      “I can’t stop you,” she whispered shakily, tears stinging her eyes as she watched him come to her. “I don’t want to stop you.”

      “I want to hold you like this,” he whispered, levering his chest over her bare, aroused breasts, rubbing softly against her body. “Isn’t it sweet, Abby? Skin against skin. Breast to breast in the darkness, mouth to aching mouth…Kiss me, sweetheart. Open your mouth and kiss me until you can’t bear the wanting any longer.”

      She did. Her arms held him, trembling, her body welcomed the crush of his. The mattress moved under them and the air washed over her body while his mouth fed on hers, seduced hers, intimate and ardent and tender.

      His mouth lifted seconds later, and he looked into her eyes in the faint light from the hall. “I don’t think I can stop,” he whispered, his voice oddly husky.

      “I don’t want you to stop,” she moaned. “Oh, Calhoun, please, please…please!”

      His mouth slid down to her breast, taking it inside. His hand went to the fastening of her skirt and loosened it. His lean fingers slid onto the soft skin of her belly, pressing there, savoring the soft skin.

      “The…risk,” she whispered shakily.

      “Of a child?” he murmured against her breasts. He nuzzled her soft skin with his cheek, his eyes closed, the scent of her all around him, in his blood. His hand slid under her hips, lifting them hungrily into the hard contours of his own, holding her there with undisguised passion. “For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the consequences, Abby.”

      His mouth was over hers again, and she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him. Her mind was on fire, her body was burning. Her legs moved helplessly against his. She wanted him. She wanted all of him. She moaned as she tried to get closer, to absorb him, possess him. She felt savage and wild. She wanted to join with him, to be a part of the massive, muscular body that was slowly driving her mad.

      Her arms reached up, her fingers tangled in his thick blond hair as she moved her hips sensually under his in movements that made him cry out.

      “Abby—!” he bit off, shuddering.

      “I love you,” she sobbed.

      His mouth was over hers, and he began to remove her skirt with unsteady hands. It was going to happen. Here, now, she was going to know him in every way there was.

      But in the middle of her feverish pleas, there was the sudden, unexpected pealing of the doorbell.

      He paused, his body racked by shudders. “Oh, my God,” he said, choking.

      “Don’t answer it,” she whispered tearfully.

      He lifted his head, pushing back sweaty hair. He was gasping for breath, his body vibrating with frustrated need, driving urgency. He shuddered. “I can’t get up,” he whispered with a hollow laugh. He pushed away from her and lay on his stomach, groaning, his lean hands speared into the pillow, crushing it.

      Abby didn’t know what to do. She knew better than to touch him. She lay there, not moving, sanity coming back slowly. She concentrated on trying to breathe while her heartbeat shook her.

      The doorbell kept ringing. After a moment, Calhoun managed to sit up. He looked a little foggy as he got to his feet, but he was breathing almost normally.

      “Are you all right?” she whispered shyly.

      “I’m all right,” he said softly. “Are you?”

      At least he wasn’t angry. “Yes,” she replied, her tone equally soft.

      He took a steadying breath and got to the door. Unexpectedly he switched on the light and turned to look at her, his eyes narrow, full of possession and something violent, dark, hungry.

      Her breasts were mauve and peach, exquisitely formed, taut with arousal. Where he’d pulled her skirt down, he could see the graceful curve of her hips below her small waist.

      “God, I could die looking at you,” he said huskily. “I’ve never seen a woman so perfect.”

      She flushed, but the intensity of his delight in her was overwhelming. She sat up slowly, watching his gaze move to the firm thrust of her breasts, and she felt herself go hot with pride and pleasure.

      He looked up then, catching the light in her eyes.