“Right.” For some reason he felt as if he’d just opened the door to a very hungry she-wolf. Her eyes were different. Greener, sharper. Predatory. His blood began to pump, quickly, helplessly. “I’ll just . . . close these curtains.”

“Leave them.”

“Ripley.” His laugh was a little strangled. “We’re pretty isolated, but nonetheless, with the lights on—”

“Leave them.” She yanked her sweater off in one quick move. “If you like that shirt, you’d better strip it off, and now. Otherwise, it’s toast.”

“You know”—he let out a breath, tried to work up an easy smile—“you’re scaring me.”

“Good. Be afraid.”

She leaped at him, knocking him back on the bed. Hunching over him like a sleek cat. She made some primitive sound in her throat as she bared her teeth. Then set them on his neck.

“Christ!” He went hard as rock.

“I want it fast,” she panted, tearing open his shirt. “And rough. And now.”

He reached for her, but she fisted her hands in his hair, yanked, then ravished his mouth. The sheer heat of her seared through him, scorching the nerves, stealing the breath, boiling the blood. He spiraled down into the dark where pain and pleasure were twins, equally vital, equally irresistible. In response, the animal inside him lunged, straining at the end of its tether. Snapping it. His body reared up beneath hers, and his hands were hard and bruising as they tore, and took. He yanked her hair, dragging her head back to expose her throat for his teeth. It wasn’t desperation that filled him. But appetite.

They rolled over the bed, fighting for more flesh, more heat.

She was alive with need, and all of it feral. Energy pumped through her, and all of it savage. Her nails raked at him, her teeth nipped. And when his fingers drove into her, her cry was one of fierce and greedy triumph.

Higher, was all she could think. Faster. She wanted peak after violent peak. Lights danced in her mind, a blinding silver shower. And the storm that fueled them, fueled her.

She slithered over him like a snake, straddled him. And filled herself. It was like being consumed. Devoured whole. She closed over him like a fist, trapping him in hot, wet heat, holding him there by the power of her own climax. Staggered, he watched it rip through her, watched her body, pearled with sweat, bow back. And shudder, shudder. And she began to move. Lightning fast. Her hair fell forward, a tangle of dense brown, as she leaned down, chewed restlessly on his bottom lip.

He pistoned himself into her, hard, fast strokes while his hands gripped her hips like a vise. Then she leaned back, rode him ruthlessly to the barbed edge of peak.

“Not yet. Not yet,” she panted.

Even as his vision blurred, as his system strained toward that blessed release, she lifted her arms above her head, as she had done when she’d called her power. He felt the shock of it, like a red-tipped arrow through the haze of mad pleasure. Clean, sharp, and stunning as it pierced through her, and into him. He lay like a dead man, but it didn’t seem to matter. Dying for such an experience didn’t seem too high a price to pay right at the moment.

He felt as though he’d been hulled out. Every care, every worry, every spare thought carved away to be replaced by pure sensation.

He might not be able to walk or speak or think again, but those were minor inconveniences. He was going to pass out of this world a very happy man.

Ripley made a little purring sound. Aha, he thought vaguely. He could still hear. That was a nice bonus. Then her mouth closed over his. His body could still register sensation. Better and better.

“Mac?”

He opened his mouth. Some sound came out. It wasn’t words, but there were a great many forms of verbal communication. He’d make do.

“Mac?” she said again, and slid her hand down his body, closed her fingers over him. Oh, yeah, he was definitely able to feel sensation.

“Uh-huh.” He cleared his throat, managed to open one eye. He wasn’t blind, after all. Another plus.

“Yeah. I wasn’t asleep.” His voice was rusty, but there. And he realized his throat was desperate with thirst. “I was having a near-death experience. It wasn’t bad.”

“Now that you’re back from beyond . . .” She slithered up his body again, and rendered him speechless when he saw she still had that gleam in her eye. “Again.”

“Hey, well.” He had some trouble breathing when her lips trailed down his chest. “You’re going to have to give me a little time to recover, you know. Maybe a month.”

She laughed, and the wicked sound of it rippled over his skin. “In that case, you’re just going to have to lie there and take it.”

Her mouth kept going. He melted into the bed. “Well, if I have to, I have to.”

Ripley knew she was in trouble. She’d never shared power with a man before. Never felt the need or desire to do so. With Mac, it had been a kind of compulsion, a deep, drowning need to extend that intimacy, link that part of her with him.

There was no longer any doubt that she was in love with him, or any hope that she could rationalize it away.

Traditionally, Todds waited a long time to fall in love, and when they did it came hard and fast, and it was forever. It looked as if she was upholding the family name.

But she didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

Right at the moment, she couldn’t seem to care.

As for Mac, he felt slightly drunk and saw no reason to fight the sensation. The wind had started to rise. The sound of it shivering against the windows only made the cottage cozier. It was as if they were the only two people on the island. As far as he was concerned, it could stay that way.

“What was that stuff you wanted to tell me?”

“Hmm.” He continued to play with her hair and thought he could happily stay under those tangled sheets with her for the rest of his life. “It can wait.”

“Why? I’m here, you’re here. I’m thirsty.” She sat up, scooped her hair back. “Didn’t you say something about wine?”

“Probably. You sure you’re up for wine and conversation?”

She angled her head. “It’s that, or you’ll have to get up for something else.”

As lowering as it was to admit it, he was certain if she jumped him again, he would never live through it.

“I’ll get the wine.”