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known from the first bite, that dark chocolate would be my downfall.
    But he touched my chin, and I felt his mouth hover at the edge of my lips. There was a question there. And when I didn’t move, he did.
    His tongue ran a long caress against my lower lip. His hands slid upward, over the skin of my bared shoulders – a lab coat being far too hot in the old-fashioned space.
    “Not now,” I began, knowing his actions were probably motivated by alcohol and an overload of emotion. “Wait until –”
    His fingers rounded my shoulders and played with the curve of my neck. “No, right now, Ms. Brothers. Right now, when I’m doing my damnedest to escape some bloody unpleasant memories.” His mouth had worked its way to my ear, and he began nuzzling my neck, his teeth and tongue sharp and unexpectedly intimate.
    I didn’t like the basis of his argument, knowing whenever I’d tried them, things like this never worked. Only somehow my Angelic-conscience had succumbed to death the second Brad’s hands started playing doctor.
    I ran my fingers through his hair. It was thick and wavy, sinuous through my fingers’ touch. I tilted his head back, running my thumbs down his strong cheekbones. His ears were perfectly shaped, the tops slightly obscured by the mess I’d made of his hair.
    I was standing between his legs now, and he slid his palms along the indent of my spine, over the curve of my ass and down to my thighs. He pulled my right leg up and over his corded thigh. I’d found his ear by then, my teeth rough on the salty edge of it. He growled something about liking me in heels and a skirt and pressed himself against the juncture of my legs.
    I bit him – harder than I intended – and gasped at the curl of warmth radiating out from our point of friction. “Sorry,” I whispered, my forehead cool against his temple.
    “Nothing for it,” he said, sliding my body to better fit him. His thighs were incredibly strong, and my skirt stretched and slid upward as I straddled him. There was an atomic heat building between us. Building inside me. His hands were back in my hair, along my neck, running in persuasive lines over my every curve.
    Then he stopped talking and fucked my mouth with his tongue. It wasn’t as much a kiss, as a siege. His fingers rippled and circled my skin, making me all too conscious of each line and nerve. There were paths of white-hot fire breaking out beneath my cotton blouse. Burning through the silk of my bra straight through to my aching nipples.
    I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to leave my clothes on or off. There was a teasing torture to the layers of fabric separating us that left me breathlessly intoxicated. My hands roamed away from his hair and tugged the shirt from his shoulders. I ran the back of one hand over his chest, marveling at the silky steel beneath a light dusting of dark hair. When the nail of my thumb skated over his nipple, his groan of pleasure buzzed along my tongue. His fingers were instant and quick, working the lowest buttons of my blouse upward.
    I arched against his Italian murmurings, flushed and undone by the feel of his mouth along my throat. I answered his few questions, and we came to the unspoken conclusion that my being on the pill and both of us being tested with SIS frequency meant we didn’t have to slow our torrent of lust. He burned a crooked path of soft bites and slow, incredibly sexy kisses across my throat and downward to the place where my heart threatened to break out. Soft strains of guitar music were drifting out of the waiting room’s speakers, and I found we were unconsciously mirroring the sultry beat.
    I ran my hands down the concrete mass of his ribcage and abdomen, until I found the space between his untucked shirt and jeans; I disengaged the button and slid a hand over the soft trail of hair onto the iron of his cock. He cursed and thrust into my hand, even as he gripped my blouse, tearing the remaining buttons away as he removed it from