“I want to see the rest,” he managed and tugged down the zipper.

A breeze teased her hair as she stood in the shifting moonlight. She’d worn it for him, had chosen it from her drawer that morning with the image in her mind of his face as he saw her in it. It was a short, deliberate seduction of silk and lace that clung to curves.

Dazzled by it, he skimmed a hand up her thigh and felt the tip of her stocking give way to warm flesh. And his mouth watered.

“It’s God’s grace I didn’t know what you had on under that little suit.” His voice was thick and ragged at the edges. “I’d never have made it through Mass.”

She’d wanted to talk to him. Needed to. But common sense was no defense against the hot spurt of lust. She reached out, tugged the sweater over his head.

“I knew what was under here. You can’t imagine what I was thinking of during the Offertory.”

His laugh was weak. “We’ll both do penance for it. Later.” He nudged a strap from her shoulder, then the other so that the bodice shifted, tenuously clung. “The goddess that guards the holy ground,” he murmured. “And the witch who came after.”

His words made her shiver, with fear and excitement. “I’m a woman, Murphy. Just a woman standing here, wanting you.” More than eager, she stepped forward into his arms. “Show me. Show me what you thought about doing to me.” She crushed her mouth to his, unbearably hungry. “Then do more.”

He could have eaten her alive, consumed her inch by inch, then howled at the moon like a rabid wolf.

So he showed her, savaging her mouth, letting his hands roam as urgently as they pleased. The sounds in her throat grew stronger, more feral. He felt her teeth nip and tug at his lip, took his own to her throat to devour the curving length of satin skin.

She was already wet when he cupped her. If he drove her up ruthlessly, if her moan shivered into something closer to a scream, he was too far over the line to stop himself.

Her legs simply buckled. She felt herself falling, felt the cushion of his body under her own, then the weight of it as he rolled.

His mouth was everywhere, gloriously suckling through silk, then under it. His hands were uncannily quick, slicking here, gripping there. Hers were no less urgent, seeking flesh, finding, exploiting.

She tore and tugged at the button of his trousers, muttering promises and pleas while they wrestled over the blanket.

Gasping for breath, she straddled him, then in a move so lightning quick it staggered his senses, took him deep.

While the stunning, violent glory of it streamed through him, he watched her bow back. Her body was sinuous and sleek, her hair a rainfall of silk, her face a carving of sheer triumph and carnal pleasures.

Spellbound, he reached out, found her breasts, watched his hands close over them. He felt the weight, the hot press of her nipples, the wild thunder of her heart.