She was not a maid. She had lain with another man. But . . .

She wanted to tell him how different it was. How this was nothing like what had happened before. How what had been taken from her coldly and cruelly at the age of fifteen when a man she’d trusted—a man she thought she’d cared for—had held her down and forced himself between her legs, was nothing like what was happening between them now. How that man had taken something from her that day that she’d never thought to get back, but Alex had made her feel again.

But would it really matter?

He must have read some of the torment in her eyes. “Are you all right?”

She wanted to tell him everything, wanted to tell him of the man who’d forced her, wanted to confess her shame at her reason for being here, wanted to tell him that the feel of him inside her—of them joined together—made her feel alive.

Wanted to tell him that if things were different she could fall . . .

They aren’t different, she reminded herself; she couldn’t say any of those things. They would only make him ask questions that she could not answer. Questions that would be dangerous and could prevent her from doing her job.

So instead of telling him the whole truth, she told him only part of it. “I’m perfect.” Their eyes met, and despite the intimacy—or maybe because of the intimacy—a blush stole up her cheeks. “You feel good.”

It must have been the right thing to say, because he threw back his head and groaned. “So do you, sweetheart, so do you.”

He started to move. Slowly at first, as if he could draw out every bit of sensation and every ounce of pleasure with one long stroke.

He felt so big and powerful inside her. Filling her. Possessing her. Loving her.

God, she was such a fool. But that was how it felt. Each tender stroke and circle of his hips seemed like a declaration. A silent vow. A promise. A claim to more of her heart.

Her body started to respond, her hips rising up to meet those incredible strokes with a message of its own. Faster . . . harder . . . deeper. Give me everything.

The sensations he’d stirred with his hand returned. Stronger this time, and even more intense because this time she wasn’t alone. He was with her, and watching the pleasure building in his eyes and turning the shadowed lines of his handsome face taut with strain was something she would never forget. It transformed him; it made him hers.

The slow pace began to quicken, the tender strokes surging harder and deeper, claiming more and more of her. Her fingers dug into the solid muscles of his arms to hold herself steady against the shattering force of the powerful thrusts that tore her last defenses to shreds.