She didn’t stir. He raised a hand, twined his fingers in her hair, let the silky strands slide. He studied her face, innocent in sleep, then bent and kissed her awake.

She roused slowly, warm and sweetly feminine, then she murmured something unintelligible, shifted onto her back, slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him back.

Invitingly.

He drew back, looked into her eyes, darker than night behind the screen of her lashes. Looked at her lips. “Why are you here?”

Full, sensuous, her lips slowly curved. She drew him back down. “You know perfectly well. I want you to teach me-all.”

On the last word, she kissed him, her tongue sliding between his lips to find his and stroke, caress, taunt. Passion rose, spread like wildfire beneath his skin.

His reins started to slide-he caught them. Pulled back, met her gaze.

“You’re sure? Absolutely sure?” When she raised her brows, faintly mocking, he growled, “You’re sure you won’t change your mind come morning?”

Even as the words left his lips, he realized their idiocy; this was Portia-she never changed her mind.

And, God above, he didn’t want her to.

“Never mind-forget that.” He held her gaze. “Just tell me one thing-does this mean you trust me?”

She didn’t answer immediately-she actually thought. Then she nodded. “In this, yes.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank God for that.”

Pulling out of her arms, he stood, yanked his shirt from his breeches, then hauled it off over his head.

10

Portia stared at the muscled expanse of bare chest suddenly on display. Her mouth dried; her logical mind was fighting to pay attention to what he’d asked-why he’d asked… the rest of her mind didn’t care.

This, after all, was what she’d wanted to know. To learn.

The rush of uncertainty, of mild panic when his hands fell to his waistband and he flipped the buttons free, was, she lectured herself, only to be expected. Yet it seemed wise to focus on other things-she was warm and cozy, comfortable… she shifted, acutely conscious of the caress of her chemise against her skin, of the rougher texture of the sheets.

He turned and sat on the bed; it bowed beneath his weight as he wrenched off his boots and let them fall. His face seemed a study in single-minded determination, set in concentration.

A concentration shortly to be focused on…

A shiver slithered down her spine. Her senses leapt when he stood, stripped off his trousers, then turned.

Her eyes locked-not on his. She was conscious of her lips parting, of her eyes growing wider, rounder.

She’d touched, but hadn’t before seen.

The visual was even more impressive than the tactile-at least to her mind. In fact, her mind wasn’t at all sure-

“For God’s sake, stop thinking!”

She blinked; he grabbed the covers and slid beneath. She refocused on his face in the instant he reached for her. Drew her to him.

“Si-”

He kissed her-hard. Arrogantly commanding. Domineering. Instinctively she responded with her own brand of aggression; he immediately gentled-gentled her as she stiffened, shocked by the sheer heat of his skin against hers, of the reality of the heavy, muscled body, tense, naked, and intent, suddenly surrounding her, more than capable of overpowering her.

Despite all, it was a shock-a real, in some ways frightening, shock. In this arena, too, theory was one thing, reality another.

He kept his lips on hers; she couldn’t breathe but through him. She tried to break away, to free her mind enough to think-he wouldn’t allow it. And then, quite abruptly, she was drowning, being dragged inexorably down into a sensual sea.

Above her, angled over her, his legs tangled with hers, his hands spread over her skin, fingers flexing, he held her senses captive, ruthlessly submerged them, held them down until all thought of resistance faded.

Until her mind was filled, not with pleasure, but with anticipation, with yearning. He didn’t let her resurface, but kissed her even more deeply, ravaging her mouth with not even the thinnest veil to screen his intent, his possession. On a gasp, she yielded, not just her mouth, but to the welling need to assuage, to give, to surrender. To appease by offering her body, her self.

And he took. She hadn’t before realized how much he had wanted-quite what he wanted of her. As she glimpsed the reality, a long shudder shook her.

His possession of her mouth eased, but didn’t cease.

He turned his mind to other conquests.

To her breasts. Heated and aching, they swelled beneath his hand. Artful as ever, his fingers teased, kneaded, stroked, caressed. Squeezed.

Heat lanced through her, spread beneath her skin. She moaned, the sound trapped in their kiss; he didn’t stop, didn’t cease his excruciating play.

Only when she arched beneath him and cried out did he release her lips. His hand left her breast; he tugged up her chemise.

“Raise your arms.”

She did, dragging in a huge breath as he drew the chemise up and off. Before she could lower her arms, he caught first one wrist, then the other, shackling them in one fist, anchoring them in the pillows behind her head, lightly bowing her spine.

His chest met her sensitized breasts; she gasped. Fiery delight sliced through her. He bent and took her mouth again, ravenously, then slowly moved his shoulders, back and forth across her, the raspy crinkly hair abrading her breasts, teasing the tight peaks, creating a pleasure that was close to pain.

She was beyond gasping when he finally released her lips to trail hot, openmouthed kisses down the curve of her throat, over the thudding pulse at its base, possessively tracing one collarbone before bending his head and feasting. Trapped as she was, hands above her head, her body bowed, displayed for his delectation, she couldn’t avoid, couldn’t duck the towering wave of awareness that crashed through her-that he ruthlessly sent rushing through her.

It caught her, lifted her up, opened her senses wide. So the reality poured in-the hot wetness of his mouth as he suckled her, the hard heaviness of muscle and bone holding her down, the rampant ridge of his erection pressed to her hip, ready to claim her.

The promise-the certainty-of what was to come overwhelmed her-and she let it.

Stopped fighting. Let him teach her. Show her.

Simon knew when she acquiesced, when she stopped trying to judge-to think. To manage. Her body, nowhere near as strong as his yet with its own supple strength, eased beneath him. A sign he was too much a conqueror not to recognize and relish; he lifted his head, took her lips, her mouth-now his to savor as he wished-and shifted over her.

Let her feel his weight, let her know and learn, as she assuredly needed to. When she tugged, he released her hands, lowered his to her breasts, then slid them lower, tracing her curves, pushing between the sheets and her silken skin to close his hands over the globes of her bottom and angle her hips against him.

She murmured, deep in her throat; inwardly gloating, he caught her senses, dragged them deeper yet into the kiss.

When he released her lips and trailed his down her body, licking, laving, kissing his way to her breasts, she didn’t try to stop him. Her hands lay on his shoulders, fingers clenching then easing as he sampled her bounty; her breathing was ragged, her eyes, when he glanced at her face, were closed. A fine line of concentration lay between her brows.

He licked one tight nipple, curled his tongue about it and drew it into his mouth, then suckled, deep, deeper-until her concentration fractured and she gasped.

Shifting lower, he let his reins slide-knew better than to imagine he could control his baser instincts, not tonight, not with her. He’d wanted her-not just, he could now admit, for the days they’d spent here, but for much, much longer. Her body was a prize his rakish soul had long coveted, even if he hadn’t admitted it.

Tonight she would be his. More-tonight, she would give herself to him completely, without reservation. If they were to have a future, there was no point pretending he was not what he was, that he wouldn’t demand, and command that of her.