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wondering. There was nothing more she could do other than close her eyes and experience. She'd never known anyone to take such care with a kiss
    and his lips had yet to touch
    —
    hers. The tip of his tongue outlined and tested the fullness of her mouth so softly, so slowly. All sensation, all arousal, was centered there. How could she have known a mouth could feel so much? How could she have known a kiss that wasn't a kiss would make her incapable of moving?
    Then he captured her bottom lip between his teeth and her breath started to shudder. He nibbled, then drew it inside his mouth to suck until she felt the answering, unrelenting tug deep inside her. There was a rhythm, he was guiding her to it, and Shelby had forgotten to resist. His thumb was running up then down over the vein in her wrist; his fingertips skimmed the base of her neck. The points of pleasure spread out until her whole body hummed with them. Still his lips hadn't pressed onto her. She moaned, a low, throaty sound that was as much of demand as surrender. Then they were mouth to mouth, spinning from arousal to passion at the instant of contact. He'd known her mouth would taste like this
    hot and eager. He'd known her body
    —
    would be like this against his
    soft and strong. Had that been why he'd woken thinking
    —
    of her? Had that been why he'd found himself standing outside her shop as afternoon was waning into evening? For the first time in his life,
    Alan found that the reasons didn't matter. They were pressed close, and that was enough for him.
    Her hair carried that undefinable scent he remembered. He dove his hands into it as if he would have the fragrance seep into his pores. It drove him deeper. Her tongue met his, seeking, searching, until her taste was all the tastes he'd ever coveted. The pillows rustled with soft whispers as he pressed her between them and himself. She hadn't expected this kind of raw, consuming passion from him. Style she would
    —
    have expected style and a seduction with all the traditional trimmings. Those she could have resisted or evaded. But there was no resisting a need that had so quickly found and tapped her own. There was no evading a passion that had already captured her. She ran her hands up his naked back and moaned as the feel of him lit new fires. This was something too firm to be molded, too hard to be changed. The man had styled himself as he had chosen. Shelby knew it instinctively and felt desire rise for this reason alone. But with desire came the knowledge that she was growing too soft, too pliant; came the fear that he might have already changed her shape with a kiss.
    "Alan." She gathered her forces for resistance when every pore, every cell, was crying out for her to submit. "Enough," she managed against his mouth.
    "Not nearly," he corrected, trapping her close when she would have struggled away. He was taking her deep again, where she had no control over the moment, or the outcome of it.
    "Alan." She drew back far enough to see his face. "I want you to stop." Her breathing wasn't steady, her eyes were dark as smoke, but the resistance in her body was very real. Alan felt a hot flash of anger, which he expertly controlled, and a sharp stab of desire, which he had more trouble with.
    "All right." He loosened his hold. "Why?"
    It was rare for her to have to order herself to do something as natural as relax. Even after she had, there was a light band of tension at the base of her neck. "You kiss very well," she said with forced casualness.
    "For a politician?"
    Shelby let out a little hiss of breath and rose. Damn him for knowing just what rib to punch
    and for his skill in punching without raising a sweat. Pompous, Shelby told
    —
    herself. Pompous, smug, and selfabsorbed.
    The apartment was nearly dark. She flicked on a light, surprised that so much time had passed when everything had seemed to happen so quickly. "Alan

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    "
    …
    hands together as she