She loved dancing with him, being in his arms with that strong, masculine body so close to hers. She became very aware of how light and loose her night garments were. They were designed for sleep and perhaps seduction, not protection, and she wanted nothing more than to dance them both to the bed.

He would surely have his doubts about the wisdom of lying together again, but she didn’t think he could resist their mutual attraction any more than she could. She had spent so many celibate years with her desire tamped down so far it seemed dead. So had he, from what he’d said. Now that they’d let desire blaze free once, how could they not join together again when they had the opportunity?

She murmured, “This could be another night that takes place out of sight and sound of the world. Where becoming lovers doesn’t count because no one will know.”

“We will, and that is more dangerous than if the world does,” he said softly. “But how can I say no when you are in my arms and the most alluring woman in the world?”

“Then don’t say no.” She ended their dance by moving forward to press her full length against him. She wanted his weight on her, crushing her into the mattress as their bodies moved together in the fiercest and most primal dance of all.

She felt a shudder run through him and he released her hands so he could caress the rest of her body. His palms sliding down her back until he could grip her derriere. His mouth closing over hers, equally giving and demanding, igniting the latent fire between them into a bonfire.

As his kneading hands brought her yearning flesh to sizzling life, she concentrated on his clothing. He was wearing too much. Pull his shirt from his trousers, caress the heated bare skin of his lower back. Move a hand between them so she could unfasten the fall of his trousers and find the passionate response behind it. Oh, yes . . .!

He gasped, his eyes darkening. “It will be . . . more efficient if you give me a moment to remove my clothing.”

“More efficient, perhaps,” she said with mock innocence, “but less fun.”

He laughed, his eyes warm. “You’re a mischievous wench with wickedly roving hands.” He moved a step back so she could more easily pull his linen shirt off over his head, then plant butterfly kisses on his bare throat. His trousers were already loosened, so she eased them and his drawers off, caressing his warm skin hungrily.

Then she surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction, loving the sight of his strength and male beauty. They were made for each other, she knew it in every fiber of her being.