With quiet concentration, he peeled aside jacket, blouse, slacks, then drew a fingertip across the ivory lace that flirted between her breasts.

“Why do such things weaken a man?” he wondered.

Her smile spread. “I saw it in the window, then I saw you. Touching me.”

His gaze lifted to hers. Very slowly he skimmed his fingertip down, over the curve of her breast, under it, then up again to graze her nipple. “Like this?”

“Yes.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “Just like this.”

Experimentally he followed the silk down to were it ended in an edge of that same lace just below the waist. Beneath that was a tiny swatch of matching silk. He laid his hand over the triangle and watched her arch.

When he replaced his hand with his mouth, she writhed.

To please himself, he explored every inch of the silks before moving on to the flesh beneath. He knew she was lost to reason when he’d finished. Even as she bucked beneath him, clawed, he held on to his own. He wanted one last gift.

“Tell me now, Shannon.” The breath was searing his lungs, and his fists were bone white. “Tell me now that you love me, when you’re burning for me, when you’re desperate for me to come inside you, to fill you. To ride you.”

She was gasping for air, frantic for him to drive her over that last thin edge. “I love you.” Tears sprang to her eyes as emotion mixed, equal to need. “I love you, Murphy.”

He thrust into her, making them both groan. Each plunge was a demand and a glory. “Tell me again.” His voice was fierce as they both teetered on the brink. “Tell me again.”

“I love you.” Almost weeping, she buried her face in his throat and let him shatter her.

Later, after he’d lighted the candles, he pulled her down the hall to the bath where they played like children in water too hot in a tub too full.

Instead of dinner, they gorged on Brianna’s cake, washed it down with beer in a combination Shannon knew should be disgusting. It tasted like ambrosia.

While she was licking her fingers, she caught the gleam in his eye. In a heartbeat they were lunging for each other, and made love like mindless animals on the kitchen floor.

She might have slept there, exhausted, but he pulled her to her feet. No steadier than drunks, they staggered out, down the hall. Then he pulled her into the parlor, and they had each other again on the rug.

When she managed to sit up, her hair was tangled, her eyes glazed, and her body aching. “How many rooms are there in this house?”

He laughed and nipped her shoulder. “You’re going to find out.”

“Murphy, we’ll kill each other.” When his hand snaked up the ladder of her ribs to cup her breast, she let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”