His gaze rested on her face for a long moment, then he said, “My apologies. I should have asked before I spoke—do you expect any trouble with your staff?”

She blinked. “You mean because of…” She let her words trail away, uncomfortable with their direction.

He refused to mince words. “Because despite the fact I avoided using the term, a threat clearly exists toward this household, and, consequently, there has to be a certain if unspecified danger. Household staff aren’t partial to getting caught in any cross fire.”

She smiled at the military allusion. “In this case, you needn’t worry. Cook, Fitchett, and Jenkins have been with us for longer than even I can remember—they won’t give notice. They’re part of the family.”

He looked at her—studied her—then inclined his head and rose.

Quickly, she rose, too. In the distance, she heard the front door shut; she paused, waiting, then the sound of Adriana’s light footsteps on the stairs came clearly to her ears.

And Tony’s. One glance at him—at the black eyes that were watching her—was enough to assure her of that. But he made no move, simply watched her.

There was a great deal she wanted, indeed felt compelled to say. Quite aside from her rescue, aside from his revelations, his taking the lead in dealing with the matter, here, within her household, had given her time to calm, to reassess and catch her mental breath. She felt infinitely more confident, more assured, than she had two hours earlier. Her latent panic had disappeared; she could face the immediate future sure in her ability to cope.

He didn’t move, just watched, waited.

She drew breath, lifted her chin, and closed the distance between them. She stopped directly before him—or would have, but he reached out and smoothly drew her on, into his arms. Her heart leapt; her senses stirred, came alive. His arms settled about her, a loose cradle; her hands coming to rest on his chest, she looked into his face.

A face that gave little away; she couldn’t guess what he was thinking.

“I wanted to thank you.” Without his intervention, she couldn’t imagine what might have happened, how matters might have developed.

He said nothing; instead, he slowly raised a brow. His black gaze touched hers, then swept down to her lips.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. She didn’t stop to consider, to assess the wisdom of her response. Drawing in a quick breath, she gripped his arms, stretched up against him, and touched her lips to his.

It was an invitation rather than a kiss; when he didn’t immediately respond, she eased back.

His arms tightened, locking her more definitely to him. Her lashes fluttered up; his dark gaze met hers for an instant, then he bent his head.

His lips touched her cheek, a light, insubstantial caress. He paused, then closed again; this time, his lips found the corner of hers, and slowly teased.

As he drew back, just an inch, she turned her head, fleetingly met his eyes. Then she raised one hand, laid her palm along his cheek, and guided his lips to hers.

He closed them over hers and took what she offered. Her mouth, herself. He drew her deeper into his arms, parted her lips, and sank deeper into the kiss. Into the explicit exchange she now knew well.

She responded, more than willing. It seemed very right that she should thank him this way, that she should give and appease the hunger she sensed in him, that elusive desire she exulted in evoking, equally exulted in sating.

As far as she dared.

The warning sounded in her mind—there could not be that many milestones left in the long road they’d agreed to travel. All but instantly, that small voice of caution was drowned out by the memory of his assurance that instead they would dally longer, more intensely, more intimately at every stage.

His mouth feasted on hers; his hands roamed, pleasuring her while feasting on her curves. He molded her to him, explicitly rocked the hard ridge of his erection against her.

Heat erupted inside her, spread through her veins, suffused beneath her skin. Raising her hands, she framed his face, then ran her fingers back, spearing them through his hair. She opened her mouth wider beneath his, with her tongue boldly taunted, deliberately incited him to take, and take more. Never had she felt so alive, so blatantly desirable.

So wanted.

They were standing locked together in her family’s parlor; she was sure he wouldn’t forget. Felt sure she could leave the decision on what was appropriate to him.

She knew, in her heart, in her soul, that he wouldn’t let her down.

Tony had no intention of doing so, yet the demands of the moment were many. A wild and primitive emotion was burgeoning within him; he didn’t recognize it, but he knew what it demanded.

Her. Not just her giving but his taking. A claiming, yet… this, he accepted, was neither the time nor place.

Not yet, not here. Soon, yes, but tonight…

He didn’t question the instincts that told him what to do; he’d been their captive for too many years. Experience analyzed, instructed, informed; he fell in with its directives.

Breaking from the kiss, he murmured, unsurprised his tone was low, almost harsh, “Jenkins?”

Courtesy of their kisses, she was close to breathless. “Upstairs. He locks up the front of the house early, all except the front door.”

Thank God. He kissed her again, ravenously, arms locking her against him, lifting her as he backed her toward the chaise. Stopping before it, he lifted his head and let her slide down until her feet touched the floor. “So we’re alone?”

“Um-hmm.” Her hand pressed under his collar and curled around his nape; she lifted her lips to his.

“Good.” He took them, kissed her hungrily, in no way disguising his need. She met him, flagrantly urged him on—didn’t so much as catch her breath when he eased her gown over her shoulders, then pushed it down to pool about her feet.

Still he held her to the kiss. Shifting to trap her between the chaise and him, he closed his hands about her breasts. Through the fine silk of her chemise, he teased the sensitive mounds, stroked and kneaded until they were full, until her breathing was tight, threatening to fracture.

Swiftly, he undid the ribbon ties and eased the fine fabric down; it fell in folds about her waist. Deciding his control didn’t need further strain, he left the flimsy garment there. It was so fine, it was barely a sop to modesty, but having her completely naked on the chaise beneath him might be that one step too far.

At the first touch of his hands on her bare breasts, she murmured incoherently, the words trapped between their lips, and pressed closer.

He held her, for long moments simply savored the sensations—of her mouth freely offered, all his, of her tongue slowly tangling, caressing his, of the way she softened as he explored, claiming at will, then artfully stoking her fires. A deep pleasure coursed through him, part victory, part desire, at the tactile confirmation his hands reported; he had her in his arms all but naked, her breasts bare, pressed to his chest, her hips, the cradle in which he ached to lie, screened by nothing more than a thin barrier of silk.

Now she was his, it was time to feast.

His hands shifted over her body, then he lifted her, knelt on the chaise and laid her on the damask, following her down so their lips didn’t part, settling beside her, his longer, harder frame trapping hers on the cushions. One hand rising to cradle her face, he plunged once more into her mouth.

Plunged them both back into the building flames.

Alicia went willingly, eager to know, to experience whatever and wherever he led. She knew it was dangerous, yet when he finally lifted his head and released her lips, and she struggled to breathe, to fill her starved lungs, there was no thought in her mind of drawing back.

Not when he looked at her with desire, hot and glowing, behind his black eyes. His gaze had dropped to her breasts; they were swollen and aching. Nerves tightening, she waited for his touch, waited for the burning delight of his mouth, for the sharp, addictive pleasure.

His gaze flicked up to meet hers, briefly locked, then his lips curved, knowing and sure. He looked down, bent his head, and gave her all she’d wanted, all her tight nerves craved, the intoxicating play of lips and tongue, the hot, wet suction of his mouth.

He orchestrated the whole until her gasps filled the room, until her fingers were clenched on his skull, her body bowing under the hand he’d splayed across her midriff.

A deep rumble of satisfaction reached her; he shifted lower, leaning over her. One hand still massaged her breasts, stroking, tweaking, caressing as his lips trailed down between, down over the centerline of her body. With one finger he drew the silk folds of her chemise aside, so he could continue his line of openmouthed kisses to her navel.

Raising his head slightly, he circled the indentation with one fingertip, then lowered his head and boldly probed with his tongue, an echo of their kisses, of the plunder, the claiming.

Dazed, her limp fingers retensing on his skull, she watched him minister to her body as if it was a thing worthy of his worship.

Finally lifting his head, his eyes met hers; they were dark and fathomless, hot yet unreadable. Watching her, he shifted, parted her legs and settled between, ran his hand up her thigh, sliding it under the layer of silk to lay it over her stomach, hard possessive palm to her hot, soft skin.

She couldn’t take her eyes from his, from the intent, burning look burnished in the black, didn’t dare shift her gaze even when she felt his hand move, felt his fingertips brush her curls, then slide further to caress her as he had before.

Her breath strangled, her lungs slowly seizing as he artfully, deliberately explored, then stroked, caressed, finally probed. One large finger slid a little way in, just enough to tantalize, to freeze her mind, and send her frenzied senses searching. Reaching.

He caressed and her body came to life, muscles tensing, flickering, her hips lifting in anticipation. Slowly, he slid one long finger into her, pressed steadily deeper, deeper.

Her lungs locked; her hips lifted, but he held her down, moving lower, his shoulders sliding from her weakened grasp.

He looked down, watched as he worked his hand between her spread thighs, as he worked his finger within her, then he glanced up at her face, with his thumb circled that critical spot he’d discovered before, simultaneously reaching deeper still.

On a moan, she closed her eyes, let her head fall back. This had to be wicked; it was too glorious to be right.

A wave of sheer sensual delight swept through her, caught her wits, trapped her mind in sensations. Wild, wanton, indescribable pleasure flooded her; this time, he seemed content to let the wave lap at her, lap at her, rather than build.

The deliberate, flagrantly intimate repetitive penetration encouraged her to wallow in the warmth, to let her body simply enjoy every moment.

She was hardly relaxed, yet with every minute the landscape grew more familiar, less threatening. The urgency hadn’t infected her yet, but she knew it would. Before it did…

She managed to catch her breath and look down at him. Reach for him, with her fingers brush his shoulders. He looked up; his eyes were so black she could read nothing of his thoughts, but his face was a graven mask etched with a desire she comprehended instinctively.

“You…” She moistened her dry lips. “I’m the one who’s grateful. I want to give to you, not…”

Her gesture encompassed her body, thrumming with warmth and pleasure, and him, now propped between her knees, one shoulder cushioned against one of her thighs.

His hot black gaze didn’t flicker. He glanced briefly down to where his hand steadily pandered to her senses, then he looked up and met her eyes.

“Then lie back, close your eyes, and let me take this, at least.” His thumb swirled about the tight nub nestled within the now slick and swollen folds.

She tensed, but he held her with his eyes.

His words reached her, gravelly, low, primitively dark. “If you can’t be mine yet, give me this instead. Let me claim this much.”

Caught in his eyes, captured by the sheer need she could feel pouring from him, she tried to think, couldn’t—didn’t care. “Take—whatever you wish.” Caution reared. “But…”

His gaze seemed almost blank. “Just one more step.” He shifted further back. “Do as I asked—lie back and close your eyes.”