And then, as if a blast of divine inspiration was breathed into her, she knew. “You’re not fighting anything?” She lifted a brow, tapping her finger ever so gently above the heavy beat of his heart, nudging his hip subtly. “So, prove it, cowboy. Because, see, here’s the deal. I’ve got this…this thing where I can’t stop thinking about you. Thinking about kissing you again on that spectacular mouth of yours.”

“You think my mouth is spectacular?” His chin jerked back.

And how cute was that? The man was unaware of just how absolutely delicious he was in every way, shape, and form.

“I do.” She nodded. “And if you must know, it’s been screwing with my head for about four years now. So, if you’re not up for sex or something close to sex, despite that giant length of wood you slung out there in the front yard,” now his fabulous lips pulled down at the corners, “then at least do me the favor of kissing me. I mean really kissing me, full-on tongueage. That way I can get you out of my system.”

There. Deal made. And now the proverbial ball was in Mac’s court…

She worried that maybe she’d read him wrong again when he swallowed thickly and took a step back, but then something changed in his eyes. His expression became less…hunted—okay, so that wasn’t very flattering—and turned a bit more contemplative. Speculative, even.

She held her breath. One second. Two.

“Just the one kiss?” He slid her a sidelong glance. “Then you’ll stop harassin’ me? Stop propositionin’ me?”

She took offense to the “harassment” part of that, but whatever. Now was not the time to quibble over semantics. “Yes,” she said and hoped she wasn’t struck down by a bolt of lightning on the spot for lying straight through her teeth. “One kiss. That’s all.”

The seconds stretched out again. One. Two. Three…

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay?” She slowly puffed the oxygen from her lungs, trying not to smile from ear-to-ear.

“Yes.” He nodded. A swath of dark hair fell across his brow. “Go ahead.” His voice was so wonderfully low and gravelly. “Kiss me.”

“Uh…” She thought the plan had been for him to kiss her. But again, no time to quibble. “Okay.” She nodded, wondering just how best to do this for maximum effect. And then, apparently, she was still filled with that breath of divine inspiration because she knew. She’d tell him each step before doing it. Build the tension. So when she did finally do it, he’d be so worked up that he’d forget the deal was for one kiss only. Double booyah!

“So, first I’m…I’m just going to step into you,” she whispered. “Just press myself up against you.”

“Sounds like,” again with the Adam’s apple bob, “a decent start.”

“And then I’m going to slowly sssslide,” she said, drawing out the word, “my arms around your neck.”

“Okay, then.” He nodded jerkily.

“And then I’m going to reach up on my tiptoes and—”

Before she could finish, he grabbed her waist, pulled her to him with such force that her breath caught, and slammed his mouth over the top of hers.

Oh…heavens…

There were those lips, so unexpectedly soft. Though, the pressure he applied was all man. All about the plundering and conquering. All about proving that he was now the one in control. Which, truthfully, was fine by her. Because, really, who was she to argue with him about running the show? Especially when he was doing it so well?

She opened her mouth to the slick press of his tongue, moaning at the taste of him. At some point he’d chewed on a stick of spearmint gum and his breath was fresh and delicious. Talk about toes curling into the carpet. Then, when his tongue delved and retreated, delved and retreated in languid exploration of her mouth, she forgot all about her toes or the carpet or anything else for that matter, because her muscles turned to liquid. They just dissolved into mush at the onslaught of lust roaring through her veins. She fancied it was only the fortitude of her bones that kept her from sliding horizontal.

Mmm, horizontal…

That sounded pretty good. Damn good, as a matter of fact and she got distracted from thoughts of wrestling him back toward the bed because, right then, he did something magical. He softly caught her tongue between his teeth, simultaneously sucking and flicking the tip with his own before once more plunging into her mouth.

Holy hell, the man can kiss. Not that she was all that surpri—

Whoa. What?

Just as quickly as the kiss began, it ended. One minute his tongue was rubbing languorously against hers, his big, warm hands spanning her waist, his hard chest cushioning her aching breasts. The next minute he was just…gone. G.O.N.E. Having broken the seal of their lips and taken a step back.

“How was that?” he asked, panting slightly.

“Uhhh.” She coughed, pressing a hand to her spinning head. “Good,” she managed to croak. “It was good.”

“All out of your system?”

She lifted her eyes to his face, gratified to find it flushed with desire. Not even attempting to be sly, she let her gaze slide down to his fly. And, sure enough, there it was. Mr. Woody. And, really, who was he trying to kid?

“Out of my system?” she asked incredulously. “Are you insane?”

Without a second thought, she slammed into him, pushing him back until he stumbled over his biker boots. The instant his back hit the wall, she was up on her tiptoes, ravaging his delectable mouth with everything she had.

Now who’s doing the plundering and conquering, huh?

* * *

Damned if Mac wasn’t kissing Delilah right back…

He couldn’t believe it. And there was a large part of his brain that was screaming, What the fuck, dude? It was supposed to be one kiss! Just one kiss!

Yessir, a large part of his brain was screaming exactly that. Over and over. But the rest of him? Well the rest of him was yelling something else entirely. Something that started with “oh” and ended with “yeah” and had a “hell” thrown in somewhere in the middle.

Which could mean only one thing. He was dumber than dirt. Dumber than a barrel of hair. If brains were leather, his wouldn’t be able to saddle a flea…

Shit. And he knew there was a reason this was all so very dangerous. He knew there was something he should be remembering right now. Something important. But the way she was moving against him made it impossible to latch onto a single thought. She was so sinuous, so…goddamned sexy. Like a cat. Like a cat with boobs. Great, glorious, gorgeous boobs—excuse the alliteration. But damn. He could wax poetic about those things for hours on end, compose sonnets to their majesty, write plays exalting their grandeur and—

“Mac,” she breathed against his lips, pressing her hips into him softly, suggestively. And when she felt the steely length of his erection pounding against the metal teeth of his zipper, like a honeymooning couple in Texas, she took things over-the-border, thrusting her pelvis forward to rub against him in the most mind-numbing way.

Mind-numbing. Yessir. That was the only way to describe it. Because in that instant, even the fleeting, insubstantial thoughts in his head clenched right along with his nuts. He was no longer in control. He was a beast bent on rutting. Bent on ravaging this woman who’d been driving him crazy for four long years.

He was so hard he hurt. He wanted to pull those tight-ass jeans from her long, silky legs, yank aside the crotch of her panties, and thrust himself into her wet heat in order to satisfy the ache.

Someone growled. Was it him? He couldn’t be certain.

What he could be certain of was that it was him who grabbed her waist and spun her around, pressing her back into the wall and shoving his thigh up high and tight between her legs.

Oh, Lord have mercy, sultry…

He could feel her heat even through the double layer of denim. She was so steamy she damn near set him on fire. His dick pounded in appreciation and in a simultaneous bid for freedom from the close confines of his jeans.

“Delilah,” he whispered her name, unable to help himself. Unable to stop the hand that skimmed up the edge of that ball-swelling T-shirt as her deliciously agile tongue darted into the depths of his mouth.

The woman was a witch. She’d cast some sort of spell over him with her killer curves and cat-eyed stare, with her soft mouth and mewling little sounds of encouragement. Not that he needed any encouragement, really. Because he was already skating his hand up the smooth skin of her side, reveling in the goose bumps that met his touch, coming to a sudden stop when his thumb brushed the underside of one gorgeous breast.

Delilah tore her mouth away. Mac watched her, watched those beautiful eyes of hers roll back in her head when he cupped her, weighed her. He growled—yeah, that had probably been him earlier, too—in masculine approval as he rubbed his thumb over the crest of her.

Her nipple was tightly furled. He could feel it through the satin of her unadorned pink bra. It pressed against him in wanton abandon. And when he pinched it ever so lightly between his thumb and forefinger, her breath hitched and her eyes flew open. Her irises had darkened a shade in passion, going from fern green to forest green, and the sight was enough to spur him on.

Pulling the cup of her bra down, he lowered his chin and just…looked.

“My God,” he whispered, realizing he sounded a bit like a penitent but unable to help himself. He wasn’t a religious man. The only deity he’d ever really known was a .45 caliber bullet in a smooth working piece. But one look at her and he became a believer. Because only God could craft something so beautiful. So completely, unequivocally perfect.

She was lush and round, her skin milky white except where her veins showed through, faint and light blue. Her half-dollar-sized nipples with their little pencil-eraser-shaped tips were almost the exact same color as her hair. Dark with a deep blush of fiery red.

“Kiss me, Mac,” she breathed, watching him drink in the sight of her. Her hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

Kiss her. She wasn’t asking him to kiss her on the mouth. And as much as he loved kissing her on the mouth—yeah, loved, and he’d have to worry about that later—right then he wanted nothing more than to duck down and suckle her silly. Suckle her until she writhed against him. Suckle her until she begged him to take her.

Again, it occurred to him that there was some reason he shouldn’t be doing this. Some reason… But he couldn’t catch the fleeting thought. Especially not when saliva pooled hot on his tongue at the same time blood pooled deep in his testicles. His entire body throbbed with every thudding heartbeat, but most of the ache was centered in his cock. He couldn’t help himself. He rubbed his burning length against her, against the sultriness of her, trying without success to combat the pain.

“Mac,” she pleaded again, wrapping her ankle behind his knee, grinding into him even as he pressed into her. “Kiss me. Please.”

And that was all it took. That breathy please falling from the lips of a woman who was usually too proud to beg.

Cursing beneath his breath, he used his forearm to scrape away the stacks of hunting and fishing magazines littering the top of the oak dresser pushed against the wall beside them. He grabbed her hips, hoisting her onto the piece of furniture—her legs immediately wrapped around his waist, just as he’d hoped they would—and dipped his chin to suck the hard bud of her nipple into his mouth.

Sweeter than stolen honey…

That’s how she tasted. Her skin was baby soft against his lips, the tip of her breast hot and firm against his tongue. He laved it, flicked it, groaning when she tossed her head back, the ends of her damp hair tickling the bare skin of his arm. She pressed him closer, digging her fingers into his scalp at the same time she dug her heels beneath his butt. The stitches on his side pulled tight. But the pinch of pain was barely registered, because…

Fragrant as a pie supper…

That’s how she smelled. That spicy-sweetness filling his nose was unique to her. He didn’t know if it was perfume or lotion. But whatever it was, it reminded him of apple cider and vanilla ice cream. Of everything wonderfully all American and deliciously bad for you.