He pressed the heel of his hand lightly against her, had her hips rising. “I suggest you hang on, sugar. I’m going to take you for a long, hard ride.”

It was like being assaulted on all sides. Inside and out, mind and body. She could do nothing but absorb, react, experience. He worked his way up, as if she were a meal to be savored, course by course.

The lights he left burning blazed too bright, burned her eyes even when she closed them. The air, breezy through the open windows, was suddenly too thick, so that each breath she took was a gasp. Her skin, no longer cool, pulsed with the beat of blood beneath and with the skim of hands and mouth.

The long muscles in her thighs quivered as he cruised over them, and the sheets rustled at the bunch and flex of her hands.

She’d never been tasted this way, touched this way, as if she were everything, and all things.

And his mouth closed over her, suddenly greedy, rough and focused on that core of wet heat until she flew up like an arrow with the sharp edge of her own pleasure stabbing her.

He was mad for her now, wild to see her pinned on the jagged peak of her own ecstasy. Her head was flung back, her eyes blind, her hands wrapped around the iron posts of the bed as if only that desperate grip kept her anchored.

And he was mad to drive her farther.

He used his hands until she bucked against him in frantic, pleading rhythm. Watched her, watched her, until his name sobbed out of her, until her hands lost their grip, until her body went pliant as pooled wax.

She lay still, wrecked, unable to do more than moan when he lifted her enough to slip the shirt away from her shoulders.

“You’re beautiful, Ms. Templeton. Gold.” He touched his hand to her hair. “Rose.” And her breast. She trembled under his touch.

“Michael.” She opened heavy eyes, saw the room spin. “I can’t.”

“Can’t you?” Gently now, he lowered his head, flicked his tongue over her nipple. “I wonder.”

“I know you didn’t—you haven’t—” She reached for him, knowing she would find him hard and ready. “Let me.”

“Some other time.” He smiled, though his blood had leaped when her fingers closed around him. “I’ll take a rain check. Let’s just see if we can finish this the old-fashioned way.”

This time he closed his mouth over her breast and sent the ache echoing down.

“You do things inside me.” Her breath began to hitch again. That curl of new need began to spread and ache and throb. “You have no idea what you do inside me.”