His hands caressed along her body and his voice, his words, reached a thirsty, intricate part of her that seemed to greedily cling to each one. “You were soaked, your books almost slipping from your grasp. And then you saw me. And you stopped. For the longest time you just stared at me. And I stared back and thought, ‘God, is there a prettier sight than this girl?’ ” There was a soft silence, then his hot, wet tongue stroked heatedly into her ear. “I wanted to lick you dry.”

Lying against six feet two inches of this man, Paige could too easily picture the devastating eighteen-year-old Zach must have been, standing tall and gorgeous in the middle of a school hall, staring at her with those weakening eyes of his. She quietly marveled, “I must have thought, ‘God, please let me have this gorgeous green-eyed boy all to myself.’ ”

He chuckled, and it was a throaty, humming sound that wrapped around her like a blanket. “You had me at ‘Oh. You must be the new transfer.’ ”

She smiled against him, but she did not want him to stop, wanted his words in her ears. His voice was all the things you would hush to hear—a whispering breeze, a soothing creek, a haunting black thunderstorm …

Snuggling closer, she laid her ear on his chest, just over the steady, provocative pounding of his heartbeat. “Tell me more about me and you.”

He stroked her back as he did, his words resonating in his chest under her ear. “Fridays you used to stay over at your friend Francine’s …” Her entry felt sensitive after the sex, and even then, she was teeming wet, felt his hardness surge against her tummy as he remembered. And his voice, richer still, darker, deeper. “But you weren’t really with Francine—you were sleeping with me.”

The thick, long staff between their bodies began to pulse with heat, and a dense arousal coated his speech. “We kissed for hours. Until the sun came up. We touched, ate, talked, didn’t sleep. We parted every Saturday morning, trembling with wanting each other.”

She shivered. Her breasts throbbed. She sought out his mouth, blindly, and he gave it to her. They caught, burned, blended. Then his words misted across her face, and his voice. God, his rich, delicious voice.

“Every time, we kissed a little longer. Touched more, petted heavier.” He stroked a finger along the back of her arm, his voice changing, becoming terser and gruffer with longing. “I lived for those moments, when you were in my arms and I was drinking from your lips, filling my hands with your breasts, your little hands all over me.” He fisted her hair in his hand, heaved her up, and kissed her firmly, possessively. “We kissed at school, but it drove me insane not to talk to you. I couldn’t touch you, couldn’t hold you, couldn’t be with you.”

Her voice broke. “Why?”

“My father. Your father.” A thousand questions tumbled in her mind. She wanted to know everything and at the same time, she didn’t. “We were watched at school, and I was ordered to stay away. But there was old Mel’s closet—Mel was the janitor. And we hid between classes and kissed until our mouths were swollen.” He seized and enjoyed her lips until her chest felt like exploding, too. “Nothing, nobody could keep me away from you.”