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"Chase." Julienne whispered his name, because he filled her universe. She had been dead inside for months. Scared. Unsure of how she was going to face life. Now she knew. If she had the guts to reach for what she wanted.

And she understood she was the one who must do the reaching. Because he'd said he wasn't going to push her into anything she didn't want. And he meant to keep that promise.

When she couldn't stand the uncertainty any longer, she raised her face toward his. Still, he held himself rigid.

Last night she had told him she wanted to kiss him. What she'd really wanted was to make love with him. But she'd been afraid to act on her desire. She wasn't going to let fear stand in her way again.

With a heady feeling of power, she took a step closer and brushed her lips against his. It was only the barest contact, but all the good things she'd felt the night before came swirling back over her like a shower of stars raining down from a black velvet sky.

Slowly she experimented with the pleasure of it, rubbing her mouth back and forth against his, increasing the pressure, nibbling, taking his lip between her teeth, then easing up.

"Do I have to do all the work?" she asked, her mouth millimeters from his.

"No," he answered in a strangled voice, just before his mouth took command and his arms tightened around her.

The kiss went from warm to white-hot in the space of a heartbeat. He angled his head, his mouth skilled and hungry, so that her knees weakened — she needed to anchor her hands against his shoulders.

When he silently asked her to open her lips, she did his bidding — then shivered with delight as his tongue swept into her mouth, stroking, arousing.

This was what she'd craved from him all along, she thought with the last shreds of coherence her brain possessed, the two of them caught in the eye of a storm, so that the only hope of survival lay in clinging together. At the same time, a tiny grain of fear wavered at the edge of her consciousness.

She had asked for this. She wanted this. But the idea of giving up control was still daunting.

He must have sensed her uncertainty, because he raised his head.

"Chère," he murmured gently, "I asked you to tell me if I was going too fast for you. I mean it."

"You're not."

"I think I am. I think we'd better slow down a little."

He stepped back so that several inches of space separated them. With his body heat gone, a chill swept over her, and she cupped her hands convulsively around her shoulders.

"Chase — don't stop."

He had been looking at her. Now his eyes were fixed on some point outside the window.

As she watched, his expression changed from passionate to angry.

"Chase, what is it?"

Instead of answering her, he swore.…

To be continued...



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