“No,” I pulled back from him and stared into his eyes again. “I’m fine. I’m just fine.” But doubt clouded his handsome features.

“But if that happens again—”

“It won’t. I took care of what I could think of in the paperwork. Except I didn’t think about fingers in my hair.” I shuddered at the memory of it.

He paused. “Did someone hurt you? Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about it. I hoped he took the shake of my head to mean that someone hadn’t hurt me—hadn’t wound his hands into my hair, tearing chunks from my scalp as he forced his erection down my throat. I shivered again.

He gently pulled me toward him again, as if expecting me to bolt over the rail at any moment. “Whoever did it deserves to have the shit beat out of him.”

I leaned into him and his strong arms came around me, pulling me tightly to him. I was instantly soothed, but my heart was beating an even harsher staccato, pressed up against his sternum. His body felt so hard and powerful next to mine. The smooth material of his jacket caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine now. Thanks,” I said, my voice sounding as if it came from a far-off place. From that dreamland I’d drifted to all throughout the previous day. Then I lifted my head and looked into his face and I asked him for the one thing I’d wanted all evening. “Will you kiss me?” I asked in a tiny voice.

Without hesitation, his mouth descended slowly on mine, our lips meeting half the distance between us, both heads pressing in for an urgent taste of the other. His touch was gentle, at first, lips firm but closed. But I wanted more—I wanted a kiss like the one he’d left me with that day in my apartment.

My tongue darted out to outline his lips. He expelled a sudden breath and lowered an arm to the small of my back, hooking my waist closer to him. He opened his mouth to my tongue. I deepened the exploration until he met me with his. Another tight gasp from deep within his chest and I was cinched so tightly to him that I detected every contour and ridge of the muscles beneath his shirt. I tilted my head back, eager for more. I locked my hands atop his shoulders, holding him to me.

And suddenly the control was no longer mine. One hand settled at the back of my neck, careful not to twine in my hair while he laid me open with nothing more than his tongue and lips. His tongue delved into my mouth and I couldn’t breathe, dizzy with desire. I wanted to whisper his name but I couldn’t say anything with the contact so intimate, so deep. And this night it would be deeper still. Fear trembled in my belly. I was actually going to go to bed with a man. This beautiful man.

His mouth left mine, traveling along my jaw to take my earlobe between his lips. His caresses were white-hot and ice-cold at once. Everything in the center of me curled into a tangled tension, crying for release.

His teeth grazed my earlobe and I whispered his name. His mouth and tongue blazed a trail across my neck, my throat. Each touch made my body jump. I arched my breasts into his chest. A deep groan emanated from the bottom of his chest, the first vocal acknowledgement of his arousal.

“Let’s go inside,” I said, emboldened, my center feeling as if it was on fire and he the only one in the vicinity holding an extinguisher. The boldness was an act. Inside I was shaky and not a little terrified of what this night would be like.

Adam stepped back and took my hand to lead me inside. A rush of warm air surrounded me as we stepped into the bedroom. I thought he would pull me toward the bed, but he stopped beside the couch against the wall. He removed my wrap from my shoulders, slinging it over the back. Then he unbuttoned his coat and did the same. But his eyes never left mine and mine never left his, which glowed like coals under a bonfire.

I was in no doubt now, if I ever had been, really, that he wanted me. That it was as powerful and as ferocious a want as the one singing through my own veins. Before he said another word, I turned toward the bed while I still had the courage. “No,” he said, stopping me. “Not yet.”

I turned back to him and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down with him onto the sofa. I landed in his lap and he was kissing me again—ferociously pressing his mouth to mine, my neck, my throat…and then lower. When he pulled his face away, he looked up at me, his eyes glazed with desire and his features flushed. He lifted a hand to my shoulder, stroking softly along my upper arm.

“Your skin is so soft,” he said, his fingers gliding over me as if he’d never touched a woman before.

“Vitamin E,” I said lamely when I didn’t know what else to say. What does one say when the man who is about to sleep with you lavishes you with compliments? “Thank you” seems kind of stupid.