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breath wafted over her lips as he demanded in a low, harsh voice, “Kiss me the way I’m kissing you. Give me your tongue. I want it now; I want you to kiss me the way I know you can.” Almost fiercely, he put his mouth over hers again, and with a little sigh Tessa gave in to the delicious, erotic demand. She kissed him as if he were hers, as if she had every right to him, every right to demand everything from him. With her lips and tongue she claimed him, kissing him deeply, forgetting the need to protect herself. His frank, heated sensuality overcame the barriers of laughter that she used to keep people from becoming too intimate, and tapped into the deep, passionate core of her womanhood. Tessa was a woman with a deep reservoir of love and passion waiting to be given to the one man who would be the love of her life. She knew the worth of her love; she wasn’t about to waste it on a casual, fly-by-night relationship no matter how attractive the man. Always before, she’d been able to keep the necessary mental control to ensure this, but now she felt her control slipping away, felt herself giving him the first taste of the searing magic of her passion.
    His hands left her face; one arm went around her rib cage, locking her to him with a steely strength that made her shiver as she realized how very strong he was. His other hand went to the back of her head and seized ahandful of hair, exerting just enough pressure to hold her head back without hurting her. He lifted his mouth from hers again, and his breathing was ragged, his eyes burning with need.
    Tessa quivered against him, well aware of his need; pressed against him as she was, she could feel every taut line of his body. She knew that she should say something light, something to make him laugh, to break the mood, but she couldn’t seem to think of anything very effective. “Was that what you wanted?” she finally managed, but her voice was so low and whispery with her own need that the words were more of an invitation than the light mockery she’d intended.
    â€œThat was part of it,” he said in rasping admission, and began kissing her again. Her senses noticed the roughness of his voice, and she knew the more aroused he became, the lower and rougher his voice was, until he spoke in little more than a growl. She clung to his heavy shoulders, helplessly giving his mouth everything it sought, the freedom and depth and response of her own mouth. He was teaching her the power of physical desire, making her want him in a way she’d never wanted a man before, so deeply and powerfully that it was becoming desperation.
    In Brett’s experience, the unguarded response she was giving him meant that she was his for the taking. Though his loins were throbbing heavily, his mind was cool as he deliberately put his hand inside the wrap bodice of her dress, cupping the warm silk of her breast in his palm and discovering with delight that the curves of her breasts were lusher than he’d expected, given her almost fragile slenderness. His slightly rough thumbmoved over the velvet nipple, gently turning it into a firm, impudent little nub.
    Tessa jerked away from him.
    Her instinctive action startled her as much as it did him. She blinked in bewilderment, then stared at him as she wasn’t quite certain what had happened. Her eyes were enormous, her face a little pale. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she said a little helplessly.
    Brett ground his teeth in mingled rage and frustration. His entire body ached; his hands twitched, wanting the sweetness of her flesh beneath his fingers again. “Damn you, I ought to—” he began gutturally, then stopped before he said too much, before his male frustration led him to say things he didn’t mean. He meant to see her again, even if tonight wasn’t ending the way he’d planned. He’d have her yet, and he also thought he might be able to get more information