“Me too,” she said into his sweater, wishing that she didn’t want him so badly. That he wasn’t so beautiful and strong and perfect. That she didn’t have to lose her independence every single time he smiled at her.

If she hadn’t had a month to recognize how powerfully she craved him, if she hadn’t realized in Missoula that sex with just any man wasn’t enough, if she didn’t know that a month from now, or a week or even less than that, she might never see him again, she might have had more pride. Instead, she raised her face to him. “I’ll unlace your boots, but let’s not stay here long. If that’s all right with you,” she added, so deferentially he quickly scanned her face to see if she was taunting him.

Then she slid down onto her knees, which effectively answered that question.

“Ten, fifteen minutes,” he said. “How’s that?”

It was her turn to study his face.

Their eyes met.

“I just want to fuck you, baby,” he said gently. “I don’t want to fight. And look,” he added with a sigh, lifting her to her feet. “I can undress myself.” He ran his palms over her mounded, lace-covered breasts, slowly smiled. “But keep that on.”

“Control freak.” But she was smiling too, because she was astonishingly happy when he smiled like that, when she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“Yeah. No shit.”

“I might want to undress you though.” She held his gaze, touched the soft cashmere sweater. “Maybe I won’t let you undress yourself.”

He smiled. “Go for it, baby. Either way I win.”

“We can argue about who wins the most later,” she said, feeling purely forgiven and recklessly happy. She slid her hands under his sweater, up his ripped abs and taut rib cage, past his hard muscular pecs. Then he helped her pull the sweater off because she couldn’t reach high enough even after he’d dipped his head.

He stood perfectly still after that, with the exception of his erection, which had a mind of its own. And he watched with pleasure as she knelt at his feet, unlaced his boots, tapped first one ankle then the other, and slipped them off. He raised his feet again so she could take off his socks. And he sucked in his breath when her hand brushed his dick as she slid his jeans and boxers down his hips.

She lifted her gaze, smiled at him. “I really wish we were home.”

She’d said home. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this good. “Same here,” he said. “We won’t stay long.” Then he took her hand, led her to the chaise that overlooked the courtyard, sat, and pulled her down so she straddled his legs, adjusted his palms over the taut lace covering her creamy breasts, and said, “Tell me when you’ve had enough. Then it’s my turn and we’re out of here.”

She placed her hands over his and said in a very small voice because she was beginning to tremble, “How long do we have to stay at the party?”

“An hour at the most… less,” he said when he saw her pout. “I promised Nicole a chess game and if the game’s over in ten minutes, she’ll know it’s bogus. Come watch me.”

“I suppose I can’t be completely selfish.” Leaning in, she took his face in her hands and kissed him because he was ridiculously beautiful and she couldn’t resist.

He smiled when she sat back, wanting to give her the world when she kissed him like that. “Except for your orgasms,” he said, knowing he could give her that right now. “You can be selfish there, baby.”

“You’re so sweet.”

He laughed. “Let me get that in writing for the next argument.” Placing his hands on her waist, he gently raised her, his twitching dick pretty much done with talking. And when she slowly lowered herself down his stiff cock, when they felt the fucking earth move, when they shut their eyes against the stark, raw, incredulous pleasure, they both wondered how one person could so completely and utterly change the world.

Once she was brim full and he was maxed out, and the warm, sumptuous pressure was sliding up their spines like velvet heat, he grabbed her bottom, flexed his fingers, held her firmly in place, and rolled his hips upward hard.

She gasped. “Again.” A breathy, suffocated, muted sound.

Only audible to the man who was watching her like a hawk, feeling her quicken around him, knowing her hotheaded impatience. “Sure, baby.”

Harder that time because he really wasn’t sweet.

Her sharp cry added inches to his dick.

She was shaking.

“Too much?” he whispered, moving his hands up her back, gently stroking the dip of her spine. “Rest a minute?”

She dragged in a breath, nodded, and he lowered his head and kissed her lips, softly, softly, soothing her jittery nerves. Then he bent his knees to offer her a support, eased her back, and traced her compressed nipples through the confining lace in slow, circular motions, his fingers exerting enough pressure for her to flinch.

He stopped. “Does it hurt?”

“Not very much.”

He breathed in hard. “Jesus Christ, Katherine.” His words emerged in a strangled rush of air, edgy, a white-knuckled voice. “No one else can have you.” He rested his thumbs on her nipples. “What do you think of that?”

She looked up at him from under her lashes, the green of her eyes equatorial. “I don’t want anyone else, Dominic.”

He’d never heard his name spoken so beautifully. With challenge in every whispered syllable. And an undertone of possession as unfettered and unconditional as his.