"Oh. Thank you."
She crooked a finger. "Why don't you come over here and take a closer look."
He walked to her. "You take my breath away."
He sat, ran his hand over her side, cruising the curves. "You were wearing this the other night?"
"Mmm-hmmm."
"If I'd known, you'd never have made it to the car."
"Really? Why don't you demonstrate what you'd have done, had you but known."
He leaned down, touched his lips to hers for one shimmering moment. Then devoured. Instant need, wild and wicked urgency lashed him, whipping for speed. He swallowed her muffled gasp and demanded more.
Arousal, longing, love rampaged inside him, snarling into a desperate greed for her mouth under his, her body under his. The taste of her, just the first taste, sparked the fire in the blood.
While his mouth conquered, his hands plundered.
Her body exploded under his, arching, writhing as she dragged at his shirt. She pulled it up, nails scraping flesh in her rush, and over his head to heave it away. She rolled with him, her breath sobbing as they wrapped together, as they sought each other. Sought darker, deeper pleasure that slicked the skin, racked the heart.
Touch, taste, possess.
To be wanted like this, needed like this-to want and need in return-seemed impossible to her. It was like being burned alive, feeling every inch, to be aware of every inch of her body while it blazed. While he consumed.
He rolled her over on her back, jerked her hips up. And drove himself into her. She couldn't find the breath to scream.
Stunned, staggered, helpless, she flailed for purchase, and her hands clutched the tangled sheets as she might a lifeline. His clamped over them, wrenched her arms over her head. He plunged into her, again, again. A hard, primal beat that propelled them both to the edge, and over.
When he collapsed on her, their hands remained clasped. While the candlelight flickered over the damp tangle of them, he turned his head. And gave her a kiss of exquisite tenderness.
She lay as she was, steeped in a kind of wonder.
"I was rough," he murmured. "Did I-"
"You know what?" she interrupted, smiling in the flickering dark. "I'm going back to Nordstrom. I'm going to buy out their entire stock of La Perla. Whatever they've got in my size will be mine. I'm never wearing anything else."
"While you're out, maybe you could pick up some vitamins. A whole lot of vitamins. And minerals."
She laughed, rolling to her side as he rolled to his, so they were nose to nose. "You have such quiet eyes. No one would ever know you're an animal in bed."
"You have this body that makes me want it. Are you cold?"
"Not now, possibly never again. Can you stay?"
"Yes."
"Good. I owe you some scrambled eggs."
EMMALINE STOOD WITH HER HANDS ON HER HIPS IN THE MIDDLE of the disaster now known as Mac's bedroom. "I had no idea, no idea that you and Carter were such sex monkeys."
"We are. But I have to cop to doing this all by myself."
"Which begs the question: Why?"
"I'm organizing."
"In this world, organizing generally means putting things in place."
"Which will come. Do you want this purse? I never use this purse."
Emma stepped around and through the hillocks of clothes and accessories to take the brown flap bag. "This color looks like dried poop. Maybe you don't use it because it's ugly."
"It really is. I don't know what I was thinking that day. Toss it in discard. That pile," she added, gesturing.
Moving over, Emma dropped the bag. "You're getting rid of these shoes."
Mac glanced over as Emma examined one of the pair of sky-high lime green pumps. "They kill my feet. I get blisters every time I wear them."
"They're really great shoes."
"I know, but I never wear them because of the blister element." Mac shook her head at the gleam in Emma's eyes. "They won't fit you."
"I know. It's just not fair that Laurel and Parker wear the same size, and you and I are the odd men out. It's injustice." With the shoe still in hand, she turned a little circle. "How do you and Carter have sex in here?"
"We manage. Mostly I've been going over to his place just lately, but that's really because when he sees this he wants to help. You can't have a man involved in closet and dresser organizing. He started counting my shoes."
"They never understand the shoes."
"Speaking of which, put those back in the keep pile-over there. They're too fabulous to toss. I'll wear them when I'm going to sit down a lot."