“Steve!” she gasped out, shocked by the swift pressure of his hands on her as he pushed her back against the vine-covered wall. “What are you doing?”

“It’s been two weeks. Don’t turn shy on me now, Ginny. I seem to recall a more adventurous spirit.”

Grasping her skirts, he pulled them up, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes that she recognized. His mouth crooked in a smile and his face was half-shadowed by the filtered light that barely penetrated this shaded bower.

It was risky, dangerous—exciting. What if someone came and caught them? But it only added a certain titillation to the moment, the threat of discovery nearly as exhilarating as the sensation of his hands on her, sliding up legs that were bare under her skirts, finding her, caressing her with a teasing, shocking friction that sent shivers down her spine. She clung to him, drowning in familiar desires.

With her back pressed against the wall, cushioned by the thick mat of vines, the sweet, heady scent of crushed flowers beneath her, Ginny hungrily responded to his kisses and caresses. Such sweet, dangerous desire…the need so compelling and urgent, the response so instant to his touch that she felt herself swept away.

All thinking halted. His hands moved over her, his lips following, until finally, with her arms clasping him closely as he lifted her by the waist, he slid inside her, a searing thrust that made her breath catch in her throat, sent her senses spinning out of control. As he drove into her, the leafy bower whirled in a kaleidoscope of green and white, faster and faster, until she arched against him in exquisite release, whispering her love, the words rising to the very top of the pergola.

Finally Steve went still, his body taut as he pushed her harder against the wall, straining into her. His breath was hot and fast against her cheek, his head bent to nuzzle her ear.

“Christ, Ginny,” he muttered, “you make me crazy. I’ll never get enough of you.”

“Good.” She squirmed slightly, arms around his neck. “I want you to always want more of me, to never be completely satisfied unless you’re with me.”

“Witch woman…you’ve bewitched me.”

A throaty laugh purred as she murmured, “No, voodoo. I picked up a few tricks in New Orleans.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He stared down at her with a wry smile. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth, and his eyes were dark with lucent shadows, reflections of diffused light a pale gleam. He touched her hair gently, his hand a tender caress as he dragged his fingers through the softly curling mass that waved around her face. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that you’d put a spell on me, enchantress mine.”