He nodded, as if she'd just solved all the mysteries of the universe.

"I wasn't too quick? I mean, I-"

She put her fingers lightly over his mouth.

"You weren't," she said, and the color in her cheeks deepened.

"Good. Good. Because-"

She brushed her lips over his.

"Because," she whispered, "that was-it was-"

He stopped the softly spoken words with a kiss. The glow in her eyes, the delicate feel of her mouth told him all a man could possibly want to know.

A tremor went through her.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing. It's just-it's cool in here."

It was, a little, but he suspected there was more to it than that. Was she already regretting what they'd done? No way was he going to let that happen. He drew her closer and scooped her into his arms.

"I know exactly how to warm you up."

"Zacharias."

No one had called him that in decades. The fact was, n.o.body but his old man had ever used it, and then only in moments of a kind of biblical fury. Zach had long ago stopped responding to it. The few strangers who made the mistake of using it when addressing him never made the mistake twice.

"It's Zach," he'd say coldly. "Zach Castelianos."

But it sounded different, coming from the woman he was carrying through the kitchen. It was like a code, one known only to him and to her.

"Zacharias?"

"Yes, honey."

"Where are we going?"

They'd reached the long hall that led to the stairs. The darkness was absolute, especially now that they'd left the candlelight behind, but Zach knew these rooms as only a man who'd spent much of his life in dark places would.

He broke his stride just long enough to kiss her, to feel her lips part beneath his.

"To bed," he said in a growl he barely recognized as his own, and she made a little hum of pleasure that almost brought him to his knees.

The storm had ended.

There was no roar of thunder, no drumming beat of rain. The rooms they walked through-the steps they climbed-were sheathed in ebony darkness Jaimie wondered why she'd feared darkness.

Darkness was wonderful. Exciting. It meant the heightening of all her other senses. Taste. Touch. Smell.

The salty tang of Zacharias's throat against her mouth. The feel of his hard arms around her. The smell of him, hot and male and dangerous.

Her breath caught.

This was all dangerous.

s.e.x with a man who was little more than a stranger. She wasn't into hookups or whatever you called meeting someone and falling into bed with him. Actually, s.e.x at all could be dangerous. She was an intelligent woman, a woman of the twenty-first century.

Maybe the danger was part of the excitement.

Doing something she'd never done before, never imagined doing before..

Never wanted to do before.

There was no reason for him to know it. No reason for him to know he was the first man she'd been with in a very long time.

Now was all that mattered.

This man, carrying her through the night. Laying her down on his bed...and if her heart beat any faster, surely it would explode.

He drew back. She heard the rustle of fabric and then he was on the bed beside her, gathering her into his arms and, G.o.d, his shirt was gone.

Oh, the feel of him.

Warm skin. Hard muscles. She stroked his shoulders, his biceps, heard the hiss of his breath as she caressed him.

She put her hand between them, ran it down his chest, felt a whorl of silky hair, the tightly defined abs.

He was-he was glorious to touch. To experience. But it wasn't enough.

"Wait." The command was low. s.e.xy. His fingers closed around her wrists and he drew her arms down, slid them, one by one, from the sleeves of her T-shirt, her sweatshirt, eased the shirts over her head and she cried out at the feel of him against her, bared skin against bared skin, her nipples budding as he shifted his weight, brought her beneath him.

She was completely naked.

He was still wearing jeans.

The feel of the soft denim against her belly, her thighs, the feel of Zacharias, in her arms...

"Please," she heard herself whisper.

"Please, what? Tell me what you want."

She tossed her head from side to side. She was burning up. Her skin was hot. Tight. She needed-she needed- "Tell me what you want," he said roughly, and he kissed her. Long. Deep. Hot. "Tell me," he demanded, and when she couldn't, he clasped her hands and drew them high over her head. "Is it this?" he said, his mouth closing on first one nipple and then the other and she gasped as he drew the tender flesh deep into his mouth. "This?" he said, kissing his way down her belly, nipping lightly at her flesh, nuzzling her thighs apart. "This," he whispered, burying his face against her, inhaling her scent, parting her l.a.b.i.a with strokes of his tongue, and Jaimie screamed with rapture as the world came apart.

Zacharias rolled off her. She sobbed, reached for him, and then he was kneeling between her legs, his jeans gone, his body powerful and beautiful as he bent to her, kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her throat, and then he surged forward, penetrated her, filled her, went deep, so deep that for one breathless moment she was afraid she couldn't take all of him within her but she could, yes, she could, yes, yes, yes...

Zach felt her muscles begin to contract.

He had to let go. Had to come. Had to, had to, had to, but not yet, not yet...

Jaimie cried out, arched against him, and he fought for one final bit of control.

"Look at me," he said, and she raised her lashes and he saw what he'd needed to see, her hunger, her need, her admission that she wanted this, wanted him, needed him.

She sobbed his name.

It was that-the wild cry, the sound of his name on her lips-that set him free.

A groan tore from his throat, and he threw back his head and gave himself up to the whirlwind, let it sweep them both away.

She fell asleep in his arms.

He was the one who usually fell asleep right after s.e.x, but not tonight. He was-h.e.l.l, what was he? Physically tired, sure. It had been a long, almost an endless day, but sleep was the last thing he wanted.

What he wanted was to hold Jaimie just this way, in the sheltering curve of his arm, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his heart, her leg thrown over his.

Strands of her hair lay across his face. He closed his eyes, turned his head just enough so the strands rubbed lightly over his mouth.

He liked the feel of it. The scent of it. Of her. That combination of the sea and wildflowers, of the night, of woman and, now, the musk of s.e.x.

She sighed in her sleep, shifted her body; he felt the whisper of her breath on his throat.

She was so soft. So delicate and yet, at the same time, strong. Not surprising. Those same words described her as a person. Soft. Delicate. But strong.

He liked that about her. That inner core of determination, the outer layer of femininity.

Zach yawned.

No, he wasn't tired. He was...relaxed. There were times, after a mission, he'd felt like a coiled spring. Times? Always. He'd come back tightly wound, mind and muscles tense. Over the years, he'd learned how to deal with it. A shower hot enough, long enough to scrub away whatever had happened. Whisky. s.e.x. Well, at the beginning, s.e.x. More and more, the last couple of years, he'd just wanted to be alone.

Tonight, he'd had it all.

A long, hot shower. Whisky. And s.e.x.

Somehow, it felt different. The s.e.x felt different. Jaimie had been wild in his arms-just thinking about it sent a rush of blood to his loins-but there'd been an innocence to her, as well.

Maybe innocence was the wrong word.

He'd had the sense that she'd never given herself to a man the way she'd given herself to him. Fully. Totally. Nothing held back, not her cries, her pleas, her pleasure.

Foolish, of course.

She just enjoyed s.e.x, and there was nothing wrong with that. Why shouldn't a woman get pleasure from it? Why shouldn't she have a talent for making a man feel as if he'd brought her to new peaks?

Zach bit back a groan.

Dammit, he was hard again. So hard that he ached.

He wanted to take her again. Hear her moans again. Feel her legs wrap around his hips. Taste her nipples. Her c.l.i.toris.

He shifted his weight. Just a little. Like, yes, like that. He was on his side. She was on her back. He'd kiss her. Nothing more. He wouldn't wake her, wouldn't try to make love to her; he'd just kiss her. Lightly. His lips on her hair. Her closed eyelids. Her mouth.

Jesus, her mouth.

"Mmm."

It was the softest of whispers. He brushed his lips over hers again. This time, her lips parted.

She tasted like honey.

No wonder he'd taken to calling her Honey. The nickname suited her.

Gently, carefully, he fitted his mouth to hers. Kissed her. Stroked the tip of his tongue across the tender flesh on the inside of her bottom lip.

She sighed again, stirred, draped her arms lazily around his neck.

"Zacharias?"

Amazing, what she could do with his name.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered.

Liar.

Certainly, he'd meant to wake her. This was what he'd wanted. Needed. Her hands, in his hair. Her body, moving as he came over her and gathered her into his arms. Her legs, wrapping around him.

"Oh," she sighed, "oh, oh, ohhh..."

Sliding into her was like going home.

She was ready for him. Wet. Hot. Satin. Little sighs whispering into the black night. The stroke of her foot down his leg, then back up. The moan of pleasure as he began to move within her.

"Zacharias." Her voice broke. "Zacharias. I've never-nothing has ever-ohhh. Ohhh..."

The sob tore from her throat. He felt her muscles tighten around him and he slid his hands lower, cupped her bottom, lifted her into the power of his thrusts.

"Never," she said, "oh, G.o.d, never before..."

"No," he said roughly, "never before. Never like this."

He drove into her one last time, so deep there was no way to know where he ended and she began. She sank her teeth into his bicep; a long, hot shudder rolled through him. He was close, so close-he felt it happening, the tightening in his s.c.r.o.t.u.m, the rush of adrenaline sweeping through his body.

Hang on, he thought, hang on, hang on...