“I—I don’t know about this,” she whispered, but her words caught in her throat. Kneeling next to the bed, he leaned forward. His lips brushed the tops of her breasts and an ache deep within the most feminine core of her began to pulse.

“Me, neither.” His tongue skimmed her breastbone and her skin turned to fire. Nudging the silk bodice of her dress even lower, he kissed her breasts where they bulged above her bra. Inside her, something dark and painful broke. She closed her eyes as the dress slid down, exposing her to the warm lamplight.

Don’t do this, Katie! Don’t.

Desire, long slumberous, rose and seeped through her veins. His breath was warm, the scent of him arousing. With gentle fingers he edged one breast from its confines. Her nipple puckered in anticipation. As he placed his lips over the hard little nub, she drew in a swift breath. His tongue encircled her nipple until he began to suck slowly, seductively.

Katie’s fingers slid through his hair and she fought the urge to cry out as his teeth tugged and pulled and one of his hands pushed her dress past her ribs to her waist. She was breathing fast and hard, her body quivering inside.

“Katie,” he whispered, his voice rough as he lifted his head. “I—”

“Shh.”

“Oh, hell.” The muscles of his face tightened as he battled between good intentions and self-control. “I—I think we should stop. While I still can.”

Disappointment welled inside her as he gently pulled the dress back up and over her breasts. His gaze, still bright with passion, touched hers. “I’ll be in the living room.”

She fought the urge to mew in protest, to beg him to finish what he’d started, to make love to her all night long, and she watched in fascination as he straightened, turned his back to her, and with long, swift strides crossed the room and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Hot tears starred her lashes. Whether the tears were from embarrassment, regret or just plain frustration, she didn’t know or care to analyze. She slapped them away with her fingers and told herself she was every kind of fool known to womankind. What had she been thinking, letting this man—this virtual stranger—into her home, into her bedroom and darned close to into her bed? “Oh, Kinkaid, you’re really losing it,” she chided herself, then decided not to dwell on what had happened between them. He was here, on the couch, presumably to help her and that, as they said, was that.