“Zack…”

“You know I’m not going to let you go without kissing you, Rachel.” To tease them both, he skimmed his lips over her jaw. “Especially when I only have to touch you to know all the want’s not on my side.”

“This is never going to work,” she murmured, but her arms were already sliding around him.

“Sure it will. We just put our lips together, and what happens happens.”

This time she knew what to expect, and braced. It made no difference at all. The same heat, the same rush, the same power. The same reckless, unrelenting need. Had she said it was too much? No, it wasn’t enough. She was afraid she could never get enough. How could she have lived her entire life without knowing what it was to be truly needy?

“I’m not getting involved this way,” she murmured against his mouth. “Not with you. Not with anyone.”

“Okay. Fine.” Ruthlessly, he dragged her head back and plundered. A flash fire erupted between them until he felt singed down to the bone. He all but whimpered when she nipped impatiently at his lower lip. Images began to cartwheel in his head—him scooping her up and carrying her inside, falling with her into a big, soft bed. Making love with her on some white, deserted beach, with the sun beating down on her naked, golden skin. Waves pounding against the shore as she cried out his name.

“Hey, buddy.”

The voice behind him was nothing more than an irritating buzzing in his head. Zack would cheerfully have ignored it, but he felt the slight prick of a knife at his back. Keeping Rachel behind him, he turned and looked into the pale, sooty-eyed face of the mugger.

“How about I let you keep the babe, and you hand over your wallet? Hers, too.” The mugger turned the knife so that the backwash of the streetlight caught the steel. “And let’s make it fast.”

Blocking Rachel with his body, Zack reached in his back pocket. He could hear Rachel’s unsteady breathing as she unzipped her bag. It wasn’t impulse, but instinct. The moment the mugger’s eyes shifted, Zack lunged.

With a scream in her throat and the Mace in her hand, Rachel watched them struggle. She saw the knife flash, heard the awful crunch of fist against bone before the blade clattered to the sidewalk. Then the mugger was racing off into the dark, and she and Zack were as alone as they’d been seconds before.

He turned back to her. She noted that he wasn’t even breathing hard, and that the gleam in his eyes had only sharpened. “Where were we?”

“You idiot.” The words were little more than a whisper as she fought to get them out over the lump of fear in her throat. “Don’t you know any better than to jump someone holding a knife? He could have killed you.”

“I didn’t feel like losing my wallet.” He glanced down at the can in her hand. “What’s that?”

“Mace.” Disgusted by the fact she hadn’t even popped off the safety top, she dropped it back in her purse. “I’d have given him a faceful if you hadn’t gotten in the way.”

“Next time I’ll step aside and let you handle it.” He frowned down at the trickle of blood on his wrist and swore without much heat. “I guess he nicked me.”

She went pale as water. “You’re bleeding.”

“I thought it was his.” Annoyed more than hurt, he poked a finger through the rip in the arm of his sweater. “I got this on Corfu, my last time through. Damn it.” Eyes narrowed, he stared down the street, wondering if he had a chance of catching up with the mugger and taking the price of the sweater, if not its sentimental value, out of his hide.

“Let me see.” Her fingers trembled as she pushed the sleeve up to examine the long, shallow slash. “Idiot!” she said again, and began to fumble in her purse for her keys. “You’ll have to come inside and let me fix it. I can’t believe you did something so stupid.”

“It was the principle,” he began, but she cut him off with a stream of Ukrainian as she stabbed her key at the lock.

“English,” he said, pressing a hand to his stomach as it began to knot. “Use English. You don’t know what it does to me when you talk in Russian.”

“It’s not Russian.” Snatching his good arm, she pulled him inside. “You were just showing off, that’s all. Oh, it’s just like a man.” Still pulling him, she stalked into the elevator.

“Sorry.” He was fighting off a grin, trying to look humble. “I don’t know what got into me.” He certainly wasn’t going to admit he’d had worse scratches shaving.

“Testosterone,” she said between her teeth. “You can’t help it.” She kept her hand on him until she’d gotten them inside her apartment. “Sit,” she ordered, and dashed into the bathroom.

He sat, making himself at home by propping his feet on her coffee table. “Maybe I should have a brandy,” he called out. “In case I’m going into shock.”

She hurried back out with bandages and a small bowl of soapy water. “Do you feel sick?” Scared all over again, she pressed a hand to his brow. “Are you dizzy?”

“Let’s see.” Always willing to take advantage of an opportunity, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her mouth to his. “Yeah,” he said when he let her go. “You could say I’m feeling a little light-headed.”

“Fool.” She slapped his hand aside, then sat down to clean the wound. “This could have been serious.”

“It was serious,” he told her. “I hate having someone poke me in the back with a knife when I’m kissing a woman. Honey, if you don’t stop shaking, I’m going to have to get you a brandy.”

“I’m not shaking—or if I am, it’s just because I’m mad.” She tossed her hair back and glared at him. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

To pay him back for the smirk, she dumped iodine over the wound. When he swore, it was her turn to smile. “Baby,” she said accusingly, but then took pity on him and blew the heat away. “Now hold still while I put a bandage on it.”

He watched her work. It was very pleasant to feel her fingers on his skin. It seemed only natural that he should lean over to nibble at her ear.

Fire streaked straight up her spine. “Don’t.” Shifting out of reach, she pulled his sleeve down over the fresh bandage. “We’re not going to pick things up now. Not here.” Because if they did, she knew there would be no backing off.