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all.”
    He muttered a curse word. Or a prayer. “Not a smart thing to say if you want a guy to stop, Kel.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œNo. So don’t say it to any other guys. Ever. Okay?”
    Well, hell. He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Next thing, he was walking her backward down the dark hall, stopping once to yank his shirt over his head, then to heel off his other shoe. Eventually they bounced off enough walls to pass the bathroom, past all the rooms she’d seen before, into one that she definitely hadn’t. Still, even in the dark she knew it was his bedroom. It smelled like his soap. Like the fresh air blowing in the cracked window, like…like him.
    Like an exotic, sexy, unbearably masculine man. A fantasy man.
    A lover.
    She didn’t get naked easily. There’d only been Jason for her, and it had taken him four years to talk her out of all her clothes. Her procrastinating hadn’t been about morality so much as prudishness. She liked her clothes on. She didn’t like messiness.
    All in all, she’d long figured out that she just didn’t have that big a sex drive. Everybody couldn’t, after all. She thought sex was important—like meat and potatoes. A staple of life. Needed. A serious thing.
    But certainly nothing on a par with cyclones and tsunamis.
    Yet that seemed to be how it was with Will. All explosive risk and wicked need and unbelievably soft romance.
    He kissed a slow path all the way down to her toes, then trailed back up again, lingering between her thighs—and embarrassing the devil out of her. He gave her no time to work up a royal prudish fit, which she’d always been very good at.
    The feather bed was all rumpled and warm, like him. Beneath, the mattress was hard as a board—maybe it even was a board—but thankfully there were all those soft covers to melt into. Or possibly that was Will she was melting into.
    â€œMaybe you better hold on to the headboard, Kel. I think this could get a little wild.”
    â€œUm. Did I mention ahead of time that I only do good-girl sex?”
    â€œI don’t think you mentioned that today yet, no.”
    A breeze fluttered in the dark room, chilling her overheated skin when he flipped her on top of him. They weren’t joined yet, but she could feel how it was going to be. Scary. Delicious. “You get a thrill on roller-coaster rides?” she murmured.
    â€œNope. But I’m going to get a thrill when I ride you. You ready?” He raised an arm, fumbled in the bedside drawer.
    â€œCondom?” she asked. And got the first serious tone from him she’d heard in hours.
    â€œYou don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
    â€œHey, don’t insult me.”
    A flash of a smile in the dark. And that was it…the last time she had a coherent thought.
    A zillion sensations bombarded her senses. The sterling shadows on the wall, the profile of him riding her, the strength and bold, primal sexuality of him. How she felt…beguiled…spun into a whispery web of touch and taste and need. The texture of their skin, shiny as wet varnish, silky with sweat. Her lungs gasping for breath. The howl of a siren outside. A flash of lights inside, deep inside her, when this crazy, lofty, silver-sharp climax took her over, took her under.
    When it was over, he fell back, pulling her half on top of him as if refusing to be separated even for an instant. She lay there, slaked, eyes closed, still trying to catch her breath. She felt him pulling up the covers, the stroke of his hand on her back, the cuff of his knuckle when he tucked the sheet around her neck, sealing all the airholes. He murmured something silly and throaty and low, like, “Who knew?”
    As if he never expected she’d be such a red-hot mama.
    Before dropping off to sleep, she remembered thinking, Damn, I was. I really was.
    At least with him.
    Â 
    S WEET , WARM RAIN DRIZZLED down the windows.