Up Close And Personal. Lynn Raye Harris

He made a noise of approval when he found the lacy top of her panties. Fire streaked through her. And want, so much want.

      She thought she would die if he didn’t touch her.

      But he did, finding her swiftly, his fingers clever and sure as they stroked her while a long moan vibrated in her throat.

      “Veronica,” he groaned against her breast. “So sensitive, so responsive.”

      She couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell him it was all because of him, because she trusted him. Wildly, she thought that she hardly knew him—and yet she knew enough. He was a good man, a strong man. He was reliable, even if he was ephemeral.

      He was exactly what she needed when she needed it.

      She would not think about tomorrow.

      It didn’t take long for her to reach the pinnacle; her body tightened so painfully—then flew free as she gasped his name.

      His fingers stilled.

      And then he was removing her bottoms, tossing them aside and pushing her legs apart. She thought he would unzip his trousers, would plunge into her body and join them together finally—but he did no such thing. Instead, he slid down until his mouth—that clever, beautiful mouth—hovered above her most sensitive spot. She could hardly breathe in anticipation of what came next.

      She was not disappointed. His tongue slid over her, again and again, nibbling, sucking, flicking, while she grasped handfuls of the bedding and thrust her hips upward.

      This time when she came apart, stars exploded behind her eyes. Her breath was sucked from her body as her back arched off the bed. She was absolutely helpless beneath the onslaught of pleasure.

      He didn’t stop there. He took her to the top again, then pushed her over the edge until she was ready to beg him to stop, to let her breathe, to let her recollect her senses and reorder them again.

      It was simply too much. It was primal and raw, and as much as she wanted to stop, she also wanted to go on. She wanted to reach the next peak, and the next. But she wanted to soar with him instead of alone.

      He must have felt something of her desire, because he kissed his way up her body again—her torso, her breasts, her shoulder … oh, that shoulder!—and back to her lips, capturing them for a long, lingering kiss.

      Then he surprised her when he rolled to the side and tucked her against him. Confused, she pushed herself up with one hand splayed against his glorious chest. He was so dark in the night, so powerful and protective. She shivered in anticipated delight.

      “We aren’t finished yet,” she said.

      His laugh was strangled. “Yes, but I’ve realized I have no protection. This is not what I came here for tonight.”

      She leaned down and kissed him. “I’m on the pill,” she said against his lips. “I had to take it after … well, after I needed my hormones to stabilize. They were all over the place for a while.”

      His fingers came up and stroked along her cheek. It was a sweet gesture, so simple and honest. She loved it.

      “You slay me, Veronica,” he said. “And you deserve far better than I can give you. I’m humbled that you trust me, but you’ve just convinced me that I can’t take advantage of your vulnerability.”

      She pulled away and sat up. She was completely naked, but she didn’t care. Let him look. If it made him uncomfortable, so much the better. Frustration was a hot stew in her belly. And disbelief. Could he really be serious?

      “You’re the most arrogant man I’ve ever met, Raj Vala. And I’ve met some arrogant ones, believe me. What makes you think for one instant that I don’t know what I want? That I can’t make my own decisions? That I’m somehow blinded by your fabulousness and not in control of my own mind?”

      “I didn’t mean—”

      “You did,” she said firmly. “Because you’re so wonderful, of course, and no woman can resist you. Therefore, it’s up to you to be noble and deny my poor, weak female mind what it thinks it wants.”

      “You aren’t thinking,” he growled, “or you wouldn’t want this. In the morning, you would regret it.”

      “That’s my problem, isn’t it?” she snapped, anger and sexual frustration building to a peak inside her. “You’re here to protect me from an outside threat, not from myself.”

      “I want you, make no mistake. And if I were a bastard like Andre Girard—or any of those other men you’ve taken to your bed—I’d seize what you’re offering me and to hell with your peace of mind.”

      “Fine,” she said, scrambling from the bed and whirling to face him. She was absolutely on fire with anger. And humiliation. She’d thrown herself at him, and he’d turned her down flat. After making sure she had an orgasm or two—alone. It was ridiculous, but she felt so worthless right now.

      “Clearly, you know what’s best for me. Now get out and let me sleep.”

      He was so still and quiet that she didn’t think he would respond, but a few seconds later he exploded off the bed, grabbing his torn shirt and coming to loom over her. “You’ll thank me tomorrow,” he snarled.

      She started to snap back at him, but something stopped her. Sometimes you had to pull the thorn from the tiger’s paw, right?

      She put a palm on his chest, slid it up to his jaw. He shuddered beneath her touch, a great golden cat on the edge of control. Boldly, she reached for him, cupped her other hand around the bulge in his trousers.

      “Veronica …”

      “I’m a grown woman, Raj. I know what I want.” She took a step closer to him then, her bare breasts coming into contact with his naked chest. “I need this,” she told him. “Yes, you’re the first after my loss, but that’s why it has to be you. I do trust you, and I’m afraid I’ll never find the courage again if you don’t—” She sucked in a breath, her voice on the edge of breaking. It took her a few moments to regain control. “If you don’t make love to me. Please, Raj.”

      He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. She could see the column of his throat move as he swallowed. “God, you’re killing me,” he groaned.

      She pressed her lips to his breastbone, gloried in the silken feel of his skin beneath her mouth. He didn’t stop her. Deliberately, she unsnapped his trousers. Pushed them down his hips until they slid the rest of the way on their own.

      Finally, finally, she could cup him in her hand, nothing between them. He was so hard, like marble. So soft, like silk. She stroked him, squeezing softly.

      “You win,” he said on a sharp intake of breath. “You win.”

      And then he hooked a hand behind her knees and swept her into his arms. Carried her to the bed and lay her across it. Automatically, her legs went around his hips as he followed her down. Her body throbbed for want of him. He cupped a breast in his hand, tweaked her nipple as he kissed her again.

      Then she felt him. Slowly, inexorably, he slid into her body. It burned, and she suddenly gasped with the pain of it.

      He stopped moving. “Am I hurting you?”

      She realized she was gripping both his biceps in her hands, her nails digging into him. Tears pressed at the back of her lids and she swallowed them down.

      “It’s been a long time,” she said. “It’s, um, more difficult than I’d thought it would be.”

      He swore softly. Started to withdraw.

      “No,” she cried out, tightening her legs around him. “I need you, Raj. I need you.”

      His breath sucked in, as if he were in pain, too. Which, she thought, he probably was, though it was a far different pain from what she was experiencing.

      “We’ll take it slowly,”