Fighting for control, he buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent. It was lemon and rose, the freshness of a spring breeze and something more exotic. The desire to experience life, to make everything about her as beautiful as she was, overwhelmed him. Anthony’s chest tightened and he took a shuddering breath. She was intoxicating and she was in his arms. All his.

Until he wed. Every St. John principle he’d ever learned came rushing to the fore and it was with exquisite agony that he attempted to recall his traitorous body to order. He couldn’t do this. Not to himself. Not to Anna. Not unless she agreed to allow him to become her protector.

He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. “Anna, you have to—”

She kissed him. Not the tentative, feather-soft kisses of an ingénue, but with blinding white passion. Every thought Anthony possessed was consumed in a single flame and he kissed her back, drinking from her as if he were dying of thirst.

He teased and taunted her with his tongue even as his hand went back to her exposed legs. Without breaking the kiss, he ran his fingers up her thigh and then gently parted the slit of her silk drawers. She gasped sharply when he slipped his hand inside, his fingers finding her most secret part, but Anthony did not abate. Instead he trailed his mouth down her throat and increased the pressure of his fingers.

She moaned, shifting restlessly on the edge of the desk. Gently but firmly he caressed her, capturing her mouth with his and drawing her to him. She slowly relaxed even as she became hotter, wetter with need, her hands clutching his shirt in desperate wonder.

He increased his ministrations, feeling her swell with heat. She moaned hotly, then stiffened, “Anthony!” she gasped.

He lifted his head so that he could watch her, see the flood of wonder in her pale eyes. She clutched at his shirt as she climaxed, and pressed her face against his neck. Anthony held her close as the tremor subsided, wrapping his arms tightly about her, gritting his teeth against his own burgeoning passion.

He’d never wanted a woman this badly before, and never an innocent. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Anna’s silken hair, fighting to contain the remnants of his control. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t take her on his desk. No, at their first union she would have every comfort available. Every pleasure he could think of. He was a St. John, damn it. And he would do his best to take care of Anna from this day forward.

Slowly, as Anna’s breathing returned to normal, the raging heat that roared through Anthony subsided as well.

He took a last, shuddering breath, then stepped away. Anna looked up at him, her mouth kiss-swollen, her pale skin glowing with the flush of passion. God, but she was beautiful. Beautiful and innocent. Anthony realized how close he’d come to ravishing a complete innocent, and one who was his own sister’s best friend. The thoughts cooled the last remaining touch of ardor from his blood.