The Missing Heir(48)

                He brought his palm to her cheek, and the warmth of the contact seemed to flow through her entire body. Her breasts tingled and she parted her lips, subconsciously inching toward him.

                His free arm slipped around her waist, and he slowly dipped his head to meet hers. “Is this just a kiss good-night?”

                “I don’t know.” She grasped the sleeves of his shirt, anchoring herself.

                “Fair enough.” His soft lips captured hers.

                His kiss was everything she remembered and more. It was more than his lips, more than his tongue, more than his taste. Every pore on her body drank in his essence. Her heart rate increased. Her blood heated. She pressed herself against him, nipples beading against his hard chest, thighs molding to his, hands twining around his neck, into his hair then back again, tracing the planes and angles of his face.

                She wanted to memorize his skin. She wanted to touch him everywhere, imprint every contour onto her brain.

                Arousal swiftly pushed away reason.

                Needing to get closer still, she worked her hands between them, struggling in the tight space to release the buttons on his shirt. In answer, his hands slid down her back, across her waist, cupping her rear, pulling her tight against his body, letting her know how strongly he desired her.

                She stripped off her sweater. Her tank top followed. And she was before him in a white lacy bra.

                He drew back and his pupils dilated, his breathing labored. He swore under his breath, then stripped off his shirt and backed her tight against the cool wall. He lifted her there, bringing her legs around his waist.

                He flicked the catch on her bra, pulling it from between them, and they were skin to skin. She was in heaven.

                His voice was a rumble against her mouth. “Amber?”

                It was a struggle to speak. “Yes?”

                “This is more than just a good-night kiss.”

                “Yes,” she rasped. “Yes.”

                He worked his way down her neck, kissing the curve of her shoulder, then the swell of her breast. His lips fastened onto her nipple, and her body bucked, fingertips curling hard into his muscular shoulders. He switched sides, and her head tipped back, legs going tight around him.

                “Which way?” he asked.

                “Left,” she rasped. “My left. End of the hall.”

                He scooped her into his arms and paced to the bedroom door, pushing it open and crossing to the big bed.

                There he tossed back the covers and set her down. In a split second, he was with her, covering her body with his, kissing her deeply, his hands roaming her skin.

                She went on an exploration of her own, following the hard definition of his shoulders and biceps, to his pecs and his washboard stomach. She unsnapped his jeans. He immediately did the same.

                Then he pulled back to look into her eyes.

                Without a word, he dragged down her zipper.

                She followed suit, the backs of her knuckles grazing him as she went.

                He sucked in a tight breath, eyes as dark as coal while they watched her.

                She tugged down his jeans, and he kicked them off.