At long last he would be hers. Completely. Absolutely. Totally. It was the only thought racing through her mind as he deepened the kiss, thoroughly exploring her mouth as though he’d not done so before. He tasted rich and dark, dangerous. Whisky, perhaps. Or brandy. She imagined him lounging in a chair before the fire, slowly sipping and savoring the amber liquid, preparing for when he would do the same of her.

The stroke of his tongue over hers was leisurely, yet meticulous. He left no aspect of her mouth wanting. His capable hands closed over her bottom, squeezed the cheeks there, pushed her up against him, and the hard ridge of his desire pressed against her belly. Evidence of his own need for her inflamed her passions. He wanted her, yearned for her. This would not be a cold, mindless coupling. It was not about business. It would not be about results. There was a purpose to it beyond anything she’d ever envisioned. It would be about need, the need to possess, the need to share bodies, sensations, pleasure.

How she had longed to be wanted like this, to know with certainty that she was desired. He wanted to please her. The strawberries told her that. The fact he’d not taken her immediately that first night told her more. Their coming together was not the result of animalistic needs requiring satisfaction, no matter how feral his growls or how demanding his hands. It would not be rutting at its most basic. No, there was caring here. A need to satisfy the heart and soul as well as the body. She’d never felt more treasured.

And that was a danger. To her emotions, to her goals, to her fragile heart.

She should put a stop to things immediately, before it was too late. But she wanted what he was offering. She wanted his kiss that turned her knees to jam. She wanted the taste of him, the warmth of him, the feel of him, the scent of him penetrating every aspect of her being. She wanted him, the man. No other would suffice. He was what she craved.

He trailed his hot, moist lips along her throat. “Lena.” The rasp was that of a man calling for salvation.

“No one calls me that.”

“All the more reason I should.”

He had the right of it there. Everything about their encounter would be unique to him. No memory he gave her would ever be usurped by another.

She pressed her mouth to the silky underside of his jaw where his whiskers were the softest. No pet name seemed adequate for him. Sweetheart and darling were not powerful enough for what he did to her, for the way he made her tremble inside and out. Only one word worked for him, captured his strong and formidable presence. “Aiden.”