Hadn’t expected to be left gasping, wits reeling, pulse pounding, reduced to elemental need with just a kiss.

She angled her head, pressed the kiss deeper, and he shuddered. She spread her thighs, gripped his hips with her knees, and something inside him quaked. Then his cravat loosened; he felt her hands slide down, working between them, felt his shirt give-felt her hand slide in, fingers spreading, palm gliding over his upper chest.

And down as far as she could reach.

He’d been caressed by courtesans expert in their art; no touch had ever rocked him as hers did. It nearly brought him to his knees.

Never, not ever before, had any woman met him like this. Challenged him like this. Relinquishing any thought of sophisticated play, of hours spent introducing her to all he’d learned in the years he’d been away, he staggered to the bed and fell across it.

Later.

He rolled to pin her beneath him, and succeeded. In position, at least. As for the rest…in a blinding flash of insight he realized where they’d gone, where she’d taken him. Straight into blind lust, just like the last time.

He wasn’t in control, and neither was she.

Their mouths remained welded, hot and urgent-there was no chance of either of them ending that kiss, not anytime soon, not until they had something else to cling to. Like each other.

Her hands were everywhere, tugging at his clothes; they rolled and tussled as with her help he shed them in a frenzy, one bit here, one flying there. He toed off, then kicked off his boots. At last she broke from the kiss, but only to help him strip off his breeches. Then her hands were on him, sliding up his flanks, along his hips.

It was the innocence in her touch, almost a sense of wonder, that gave him pause, that was just uncertain enough to jerk him back to some semblance of sanity.

He smothered a curse against the silk of her hair, then rolled again and brought her atop him. The sudden change to a position that was new to her momentarily stopped her. He framed her face, pulled her down to him, and covered her lips, dragged her back into their incendiary kiss. He knew what he had to do, knew he had to do it now, before she shattered his control again.

As he knew absolutely beyond doubt she would, and soon.

Just the thought…

He had to get his hands on her, now, this minute. Her lawn nightgown had ridden up to her knees, but was inextricably tangled between their legs. The front placket only opened to her breasts; seizing one half in each hand, he yanked-and heard it rip. Frantically, he kept ripping, down and down; through the kiss, through the eager pressure of her lips, the wanton dance of her tongue over his, the almost desperate flexing of her fingers on his chest, she urged him on. Then she shook her arms free and the halves fell away, and were forgotten.

He gripped her waist, felt her skin bare beneath his hands, held her as he plunged deep into her mouth, returning her fire, then he ran his palms up, over her breasts, shuddered as he leaned back and closed his hands.

And kneaded. Not gently but with the same urgency that coursed through their veins. With the same devouring need with which she spread her fingers and desperately clutched.

At last, she broke the kiss, flung her head back, her glorious hair spilling like a living veil down her back, strands sliding over her shoulders, caressing her as he did, as she whimpered and shifted under his hands.

Begging for more.

He rose up on one elbow and gave her what she wanted. Pressed a kiss into the hollow beneath her ear, then traced down. Over the taut line of her throat, over the swell of her breast, full and swollen cupped in his hand, to the furled nipple he was rolling between his fingers.

He took it into his mouth, and she gasped. He suckled, and she moaned.

Penny heard the sound, and could only wonder that he could draw such a confession of surrender from her. Wonder she could manage; thinking was beyond her. Her mind was awash with sensation, her body thrumming with need, every particle of her awareness engaged in this, with him, her very soul bathing in their heat.

She was straddling his lower chest, his ribs solid between her thighs, his naked chest and shoulders displayed before her, a fascination revealed as he suckled strongly at her breast, sending lightning streaking down her veins to condense in pulsing heat deep within her.

His hands roved everywhere. Hard and demanding, caressing, claiming, exploring, urgently learning. He’d always been bold; now hunger added another dimension, a more flagrantly possessive edge to his touch. Heat flared wherever his palms traced, fire danced where his fingers grazed.

Remembered feeling flooded her, an internal sensation of molten emptiness that opened inside her even before he slid a hand between her widespread thighs and touched her swollen flesh. Closing her eyes, she spread her hands over the powerful muscles of his shoulders, slid them over and around, holding tight as he stroked, then caressed, then probed.

His mouth was hot and wet and demanding, leaving flames dancing under the skin of her aching breasts, leaving dampness the air cooled to create a startling contrast, heightening the sensation of fire and burning heat. A heat that was alive, that beat in her veins in a compulsive tattoo, escalating with every heartbeat, spreading beneath her skin and greedily, hungrily, demanding more. More from her. More from him.

She could barely breathe, but oh, she could feel. Every touch, every lick of desire’s fiery lash, every knowing touch he pressed on her.

With lips and tongue he tortured the throbbing peak of one breast; the second his hand possessed, kneading, tweaking, blatantly claiming. Between her thighs, his other hand worked, long fingers buried in the slickness he’d drawn forth, forcefully penetrating, pressing deep.

And it wasn’t enough; she dropped her head back with a gasp that was half sob, sank her nails into his back in an incoherent plea.

He reacted, rose beneath her and flipped her over, reburied his hand between her thighs as he leaned over her and took her mouth. In a kiss so devastating it stole the last of her breath, so desperate it echoed her own desire, so driven it reassured her as nothing else could-he was with her, wanting her, needing her and all that was to come every bit as much as she.

With him, she’d never felt alone in her need, never vulnerable because of it. It was and always had been something that affected them both-a madness they both endured, and both had to slake.

He pressed her into the bed, his long hard body settling partially over hers. She expected him to spread her thighs with his, expected him to enter her; she was already tensing, memories hovering at the edge of her mind, when he tore his mouth from hers, and she realized he had other plans.

His lips briefly traced her throat, then slid lower to once again torment her breasts. To feed, it seemed, the urgency that racked her, that seemed to well up and spill through her, speeding her heartbeat until the thudding compulsion thundered through her veins, tightening her nerves…

She arched beneath him, why she didn’t know, her hands desperately clutching his shoulders, sliding into his hair as he left her breasts and moved lower. To press hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses over her midriff, over her waist, down across the taut, quivering skin of her stomach.

He grasped her knee, opened her wide.

The candles were still burning. Lungs starved, breasts rising and falling rapidly, she forced her lids up enough to look, enough to take in the harsh planes of his face, etched with blatant desire as he looked down at her.

He’d slid far enough down the bed that his shoulders were between her thighs. She waited, breath bated, for him to shift back up, to-

He bent his head and set his mouth to her. Pressed his lips to her already throbbing flesh, sucked lightly.

Shock lanced through her. Her heart stood still.

Then she felt his tongue, and she nearly died.

“Charles!” She bucked, but he held her easily. She reached down and tugged at his hair, to no avail. There was no way she could dislodge him, no way she could prevent him…from dragging her under.

His mouth moved on her, and a wave of sensation breached her guards, grabbed her, captured her. Pulled her under a roiling, tumultuous tide built of fire and flames and sharp, searing heat, of desperate intimacy and welling need.

She couldn’t breathe enough to gasp, moaned instead, and, eyes falling shut, closed her fists in his hair.

The fiery tension mounted, escalated, coiled tight. And still he pressed her, not gently but ruthlessly, relentlessly, as desperate, as driven, as she. As urgently needy. His lips moved on her, evocative, provocative, his tongue traced, caressed, then slowly swirled…probed, and entered her.

She fractured, broke apart.

He called it touching heaven; to her it was more like touching the sun. Heat flared, brighter than a starburst; tension locked her heart, her lungs, her nerves, her every awareness, held all immobile for that blessed instant before the heat imploded and shattered, sending shards of glory flying under her skin, then washing in a wave over and through her.

Leaving her at peace.

But not him.

Blindly, she reached for him, and he came to her. Spreading her thighs wide, settling between, his heavy body angled over hers as he reached down between them, opened her, and pressed in.

Her hands clenched on his upper arms in mindless anticipation of pain. She started to tense against his invasion-wanted to, but her lax muscles refused to cooperate.

He didn’t go any farther, but settled more fully atop her; she felt his hand smooth back her hair, then cradle her face. “Not this time, mon ange.”

Then he kissed her. Filled her mouth, distracted her for the instant in which his spine flexed, and he thrust powerfully into her. Not quick and hard as she’d expected, but slowly, steadily-inexorably. Even as the reality of what he was doing impinged, that he was stretching her, filling her, and wasn’t going to stop-that she didn’t, even then, want him to stop-she was held captive.

By him. By the sheer sensual pleasure of the feel of him, hard, rigid, hot as forged steel, heavy and foreign yet immeasurably welcome as he slid farther, deeper, pressing so slowly into her despite the muscles that jumped in his arms, despite the cording of the tendons in his neck as he fought against the demons she’d met years before.

She felt her body give and take him in, and gloried in the slick, silken glide. She felt him sink home, filling her impossibly full, felt the engorged head of his staff abut her womb.

Charles inwardly gasped, held still, then felt her, very gently, tentatively, contract around him, and nearly lost what little control he still possessed. Her sheath was scalding hot, tight as the proverbial nun’s, and he’d stretched her fully, intentionally seizing the single moment of sanity remaining to him to sink into her to the hilt.

It was a moment he’d promised himself, not consciously but in his wildest dreams, for the past decade. Now it was here, and felt even better than his fervid imagination had painted it.

She was relaxed, heated and open beneath him, the cradle of her sleek body soft and accepting, but with that tempting feminine strength still lurking, investing her spine and the taut muscles of her thighs and the hands that moved lightly on his shoulders.

He wanted, ached, needed to engage with that feminine counter to his own driving need, but he had to hold back, hold still, for just a minute more…

With a supreme effort, he pulled back from the kiss and lifted his head enough to look into her face. “Are you all right?”

Her lids lifted just a fraction; her eyes met his.

Then her lips slowly curved, and his control quaked.

“Yes.” She raised her head and closed the gap between their lips. Kissed him like the siren she truly was.

Drew back to whisper against his lips. “Now ride me. Please.”

“With pleasure.” The words were so guttural, it was just as well he’d spoken in English. He caught her eyes. “But only if you ride with me.”

Her lids lifted more, her eyes widened.

He didn’t wait for her to ask, but kissed her, and showed her.

Showed her how much more there was to experience. To enjoy. Better than any other, he knew what would draw her, entice her, and bind her to him. He deployed every ounce of his expertise to ensure he captured her, that at this level at least, the success of his wooing of her was a foregone conclusion.