“Dammit, Simone.” He caught her before she fell. His arms slid around her waist. Her fingers found his shoulders, his neck, threaded into the curls at his nape. Then his body was plastered to hers, his head angling down, his mouth closing over hers in a kiss that stole her breath.

She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to worry about an hour from now or tomorrow or next week. She only wanted him. Her fingers tightened in his hair. Her mouth turned greedy against his. She brushed her tongue over his, again and again, feeling the flames of desire building inside her. Feeling the cracks in her heart slowly mend with every brush and lick and nip and stroke.

He pushed her back against the door until the solid wood pressed up against her spine and his body plastered against her front. He angled his head the other way, kissed her deeper. One hand fisted in her hair, the other slid down her side, under her sweater, brushing the bare skin of her belly.

Every nerve ending came to life. Every inch of skin tingled. She lifted her chin so she could taste more of him, pushed her chest out in invitation so he would touch her. His hand streaked up her rib cage, sending tingles everywhere, then closed over her breast, squeezing through the soft satin of her bra while he continued to feast on her mouth.

Just when she was about to scream that it wasn’t enough, he jerked away from her, grasped her sweater at the hem, and yanked it over her head. Cool air washed over her skin, but it was replaced by his warm, solid, muscular chest pushing into hers all over again.

His mouth attacked hers with a fierceness she’d never experienced from him. Warm. Wet. So damn erotic. As if he were starved. As if he were possessed. As if he couldn’t get enough. His hands rushed down her back, over her ass, then under. She felt the heat of his groin, heard the brush of denim against denim as she kissed him, and then he was pulling her away from the door, lifting her in his arms, carrying her…she didn’t care where, so long as he didn’t stop.

Her palms grazed the scruff on his cheeks, her fingers toyed with the silky soft locks of his chestnut hair. He hitched her to his side, somehow freed one hand and unclasped her bra. Air whooshed over her bare back, and then her spine hit the mattress. He yanked her bra free. Startled, she looked up and caught his blazing gaze just before he lowered his head and laved his tongue over her right nipple. Electrical vibrations rocked her body, but in that one look, her pulse thundered and every hesitation she’d had about telling him she loved him disappeared into the ether.

“Mitch…”

“Don’t tell me to stop,” he said against her breast.

“I wasn’t. I won’t. Just…” She grasped his head, lifted her torso from the mattress, tugged his face back to hers, and kissed him, hard. He growled deep in his throat, his hands turning greedy, his fingers fumbling with the button on her jeans. At her hip, she felt his erection, already thick and hard, pressing against her. Her hands rushed down his sides, to the denim at his hips. Tangling her tongue with his, she pushed at his waistband, desperate to free him, to feel him, to make him hers once more.

She never should have walked away from him. She’d been stupid to think she ever could. Losing him had hurt a thousand times worse than losing Steve ever had, and now she knew why. Because he was the one. He was hers. He was everything that had been missing in her life for far too long.

“Mitch…” She nipped at his bottom lip, sucked it between her own, tasting him and a desperation that ignited a searing burn in her core. “I need…”

“What?” His hand slipped inside her jeans. “What do you need?”

His fingers found her sex, traced the line of her slit, drew her wetness up, then circled her clit until she saw stars.

“Oh God.” She pulled her mouth from his, closed her eyes, opened her legs to give him more room.

His teeth nipped at her jaw. He kissed his way across her throat. Pressed his lips against the soft, sensitive spot behind her ear until she shivered. His fingers continued to circle and swirl, then slid lower, until one thick digit pressed inside. “Tell me what you need.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She was a burning inferno on the edge of combustion.

She turned her face back to his and lifted toward his mouth. “You. Just you. Now.”

His hands turned wild. He pulled away from her lips and stripped her of her jeans in one swift move. Gasping at the rush of cool air washing over her body, she pressed her palms against the mattress and tried to look up. But all she could see was him—blazing eyes, flushed cheeks, quivering muscles straining, all for her.

She wanted to tell him what he meant to her. Wanted him to know this wasn’t just sex, that it was more, that he was more. But she couldn’t find the words. And then he was there, pushing between her legs, lowering his hard body to hers, capturing her mouth with his own and robbing her of all ability to think as the thick head of his cock found her opening and he pressed deep inside.

Her eyes rolled back. Pleasure radiated outward from her center. She gripped his shoulders, lifted her hips so he could slide deeper, and groaned at the exquisite feel.

He thrust deep, retreated, thrust again.

Simone dragged her hands down his back, lifted her hips, and grasped his firm ass in her palms. “Oh…

She was in heaven. In hell. She needed to let go. Didn’t ever want it to end. Lifting her mouth back to his, she flicked her tongue against his as he plunged deep, gave herself over to him with every rock and glide, hoping he could feel with her desperation what she couldn’t express with her words.

He hit that perfect spot. Sweat slicked his skin, dripped onto hers. The slap of flesh echoed through the room, mixing with their moans and the wet slide of their mouths fusing together.

The blaze inside her built to a roaring inferno. She lifted her hips, encouraging him to drive deeper, harder, to make longer strokes. He picked up her cues, knew her body so well, knew exactly what she needed and how to get her there.

He fisted the comforter in one hand, braced his other against the mattress near her head. Her fingers dug into his hips as he filled her again and again, as she moaned, as he kissed her with his rough, greedy mouth until she couldn’t take any more.

White light blinded her. The orgasm tore through her pelvis and exploded in every cell. She wrenched her mouth from his and cried out, unable to think, unable to move, unable to do anything but feel.

Him. Just him. Not pain, not loss, not heartache. Just a shimmering bliss she’d always felt only with him.

His body stiffened, grew tight and hot and hard. Then every muscle strained, and he groaned long and deep in his throat, consumed by his own release. And his climax sent a second current of pleasure arcing through Simone’s entire body. This one wasn’t quite as intense as the first, but just as mind-numbing and so utterly sweet, her entire body shook with satisfaction.

He collapsed against her, a sweaty, slick mess of man she couldn’t get enough of. She closed her arms around him and pulled him close. Her hands slid into his hair, and she twirled the silky locks around her fingers, not wanting to think, not wanting to plan, just wanting to go on feeling…nothing but this.

His hot breath fell across her overheated skin, making her flesh prickle. Several heartbeats passed in silence before he said, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

The first semi-smile she’d felt in days tugged at her mouth. Hurt? He had to be kidding. “No. Definitely not.”

He pushed up on one hand and looked down at her. But instead of the sated, relaxed, playful guy he always was after sex, his eyes were hard, his jaw was tight, and the way he was studying her made her feel like he was double-checking that fact as if he didn’t believe her.

A slow chill replaced the warmth she’d just been feeling. He pushed off her without a word, the bed dipping with his movements, then disappeared into the bathroom.

Simone’s heart beat hard as she stared up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what had just happened. She’d gone from content to unsure in a matter of seconds. Outside, a light snow began to fall, but it didn’t lend a dreamy quality to the room. If anything, it made her feel even colder, and she shivered.

She replayed the last few moments in her mind. Sure Mitch had been angry, but they’d had emotionally-charged make-up sex several times after an argument, and he’d never once cut her after with that cold, assessing, almost detached look she’d seen in his eyes just now.

Then her mind flashed back to his words. “What we had wasn’t love; it was just good sex and nothing more.” Words he’d said before she’d thrown herself at him and all but begged him to make love to her.

Except…that wasn’t making love. Not with the way he’d rolled off her as fast as he could. That was sex, just like he’d said.

She sat up quickly, reached for her underwear from the floor, and tugged it on. She didn’t bother with her bra—her hands were shaking too much to get it clasped—just yanked on her sweater and looked for her pants.

The door to the bathroom opened as she was pulling her shirt down. “What are you doing?” Mitch asked.

There was a hint of surprise in his voice, but she wasn’t letting it stop her. Her fingers closed around the denim, and she lifted her jeans from the floor where he’d tossed them only minutes ago. “Getting dressed.”

She shook the jeans out in front of her, ready to step into them, but his hand captured one leg and pulled them from her hand. “You’re running again?”

“I’m not running.”

“Sure looks like it to me.”

She reached for her pants, but he held them out of her reach. Exasperated, she turned to face him. “What’s the big deal? You’re not exactly acting like you want me to stay.”

“You decided that in what, two minutes? While I was in the bathroom?”

“I don’t have to have a master’s degree in geology like you to predict when a landslide’s about to happen.” She reached for her pants again, but he twisted them behind his back. “Mitch, you’re being childish.”

“Sorta like you streaking out the door as soon as my back is turned.”

Her jaw clenched. She drew a deep breath to keep from lashing out, but it did little to settle her nerves. Dammit, she didn’t know what the hell to do. Or say. Everything she said or did lately just made things worse. “Mitch—”

“What if I said I wanted you to stay?”

The air grew thick around her. Slowly, because she didn’t want to read too much into his words, she looked up. Irritation still lingered in his gaze, but there was something else in his green eyes. A softness. A worry. A confusion she felt in the bottom of her soul and which she was still trying to work out in her own head. “Is that what you’re saying?”

He pressed his lips together and slowly lowered her pants to his side. He was wearing nothing but loose gray sweats, his muscular chest reflecting the little light coming from the windows, and though it was foolish, her heart skipped a beat as she waited for his answer.

“I want you to stay. If you want to stay, that is.”

Warmth bloomed all through her chest. He still didn’t seem completely sure, but he was right. She had been running. And she needed to stop doing that. If by staying she could try to bridge this gap between them and somehow even convince him to disappear for a while, then swallowing her pride—and her fear—was worth it. “Then…I want to stay.”

A whisper of relief crossed his features, and seeing it made her pulse beat even faster. He dropped her jeans on a nearby chair, moved for the bed, and pulled the covers back.

More self-conscious than she’d ever felt before, she tugged the sweater down and carefully slid between the sheets. She moved over to her side of the bed, but he climbed in next to her, pulled the covers up, then lifted an arm over her head and tugged her close to the warmth of his body.

Her hand pressed against his chest. The soft fabric of his sweats brushed her bare legs as his thigh pushed between both of hers. She closed her eyes on reflex as his heat seeped through her sweater and into her skin. He smelled of him, of her, of sex, and her body responded with a host of tingles that started in her limbs and raced to her core.

“Mitch, we still need to talk about—”

“I’m tired, Simone.” His voice was weary but soft. And in the darkness, he held her close, not letting her move away. “Let’s just sleep now. We can talk about everything tomorrow.”