“Since you were brave.” She leaned down and brushed her lips just above the bandage.

“It still hurts.” He took her hand before she could move away. “Why don’t you try again?”

“I’ll get the aspirin.” Her hand flexed in his. She would have backed away when he rose, but something in his eyes told her it would do no good. “Caleb . . .”

“I make you nervous.” His thumb caressed her knuckles. “It’s very stimulating.”

“I’m not trying to stimulate you.”

“Apparently you don’t have to try.” She was nervous, he thought again, but not frightened. He would have stopped if he’d seen fear. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips, then turned the palm upward. “You have wonderful hands, Libby. Gentle hands.” He saw the emotions flickering in her eyes—confusion, unease, desire. He concentrated on the desire and drew her closer.

“Stop.” She was appalled by the lack of conviction in her own voice. “I told you, I . . .” He brushed his lips against her temple, and her knees turned to water. “I’m not going to bed with you.”

With a quiet murmur of agreement, he ran his hand up her back until her body was fitted against his. It amazed him how much he’d wanted to hold her like this. Her head nestled perfectly against his shoulder, as if they had been made to dance together. He had a moment’s regret that there wasn’t music, something low and pulsing. The thought made him smile. None of the women in his life had ever wanted to have the stage set. Nor had he ever had the urge to set one before.

“Relax,” he murmured, and slid his hand up to the back of her neck. “I’m not going to make love with you. I’m only going to kiss you.”

Panic had her straining away. “No, I don’t . . .”

The fingers at the back of her neck shifted, tightened, held firm. Later, when she could think, she would tell herself that he had inadvertently touched some nerve, some secret vulnerability. An unspeakable pleasure sprang into her, and her head fell back in submission. On the heels of that flash of sensation he brought his lips to hers.

She went rigid, though not from fear, not from anger, and certainly not in resistance. It was shock, wave after wave of it. A live wire, she thought dimly. Somehow she had closed her hand over a live wire, and the voltage was deadly.

His lips barely touched hers, teasing, titillating, tormenting. It was a caress, mouth against mouth, unbearably erotic. Then it was a nibble, an almost playful nibble. And a caress again, sweet and light and compelling. His lips were warm and smooth as they rubbed a whispering trail over hers. In arousing contrast, the stubble of his beard scraped roughly over her cheek as he turned his head to trace the outline of her lips with his tongue.

It was intimate, impossibly so, the way he tasted her, toyed with her. His tongue dipped to hers, savoring dark new flavors, before he changed the mood again and caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping, stopping unerringly at a point between pleasure and pain.