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Blake dropped his hands from her face to haul her so tightly against him that she could hardly breathe. Tara didn’t complain. Why would she, when it felt so very good?
There wasn’t much of a back to the dress Stephanie had put her into. Tara felt Blake’s hands on her bare skin, which only made the rest of her crave his touch. She closed her eyes and sank into his kiss, implicitly telling him that she wasn’t going to fight either of them tonight.
Blake kissed her until she was clinging to him, uncertain whether her legs would support her if she let go of him. He drew his head back only enough to murmur, “I promised myself I wouldn’t take advantage of you.”
“Then let me take advantage of you,” Tara whispered and pulled his mouth back to hers.
Blake seemed to have no problem with that.
Still deep in the kiss, Tara reached between them to unfasten the top button of Blake’s green cotton shirt. And then the second. By the time they came up for air, she had the shirt unbuttoned and pulled from the waistband of his khaki slacks.
She spread her hands over his chest, easing the shirt out of the way. He was beautiful, she thought in avid appreciation. Sleek, strong slim. She leaned forward to place a fleeting, openmouthed kiss on his chin, and then moved lower, kissing a line from his throat to a spot in the middle of his chest. She felt the muscles quivering beneath his skin, the effort he made to be still and let her explore as much as she liked.
It only took her a moment to unbutton his cuffs and push the shirt off his shoulders. She removed it very slowly, letting her fingertips trail along his biceps as she uncovered them.
Blake swallowed audibly.
Tossing his shirt aside, she slid her arms around his lean waist and pressed close. She touched her tongue to his nipple and felt him shudder in response.
“So much for willpower,” Blake muttered.
Moments later, Tara’s borrowed, sexy black dress was lying on the floor at her feet. She blushed as she stood in front of him in nothing but a tiny scrap of strapless black bra, bikini panties and thigh-high black stockings. The undergarments were her own, the ones she’d worn beneath the black dinner suit Friday evening. The stockings were a newly opened pair of Stephanie’s, who’d pointed out that bare legs hardly matched the sleek, sexy dress.
The next thing Tara knew, she was being lifted in the air, high against Blake’s chest. It was the first time in her life she’d been literally swept off her feet, picked up and carried to bed in true romantic fashion. She might have even said at one time that she wouldn’t appreciate such a gesture, that she wouldn’t want to be carried, that she preferred making her own way to bed.
She would have been wrong. She enjoyed every minute of it.
Blake laid her on the bed, then sat beside her to kick off his shoes. Lying against the pillows, Tara ran a hand up his back, pausing at the thick ridge of puckered skin beneath his left shoulder blade, the scar she’d felt when he’d kissed her that morning.
“This looks serious. How did you get it?” She wanted to know everything about this man who was so different from anyone she’d known before.
“It’s a bullet wound,” he replied bluntly as he lifted the right leg of his khaki slacks. “I was shot in the back by a man who was stalking one of my clients.”
Tara swallowed a sudden knot in her throat, watching mutely as Blak
e unstrapped the knife sheath he wore on his right calf and set it aside.
Definitely unlike any man she had ever known before, she thought with a mixture of nervousness and fascination. That must explain why he excited her as no other man had before.
Blake stood and unfastened the button of his slacks, then hesitated as he searched her face intently. “Second thoughts?” he asked.
By way of an answer, she reached up to release the front clasp of the strapless bra. The scrap of fabric landed on the nightstand, partially covering his knife sheath.
Blake nearly fell on his face in his hurry to get out of his clothes. Tara was giggling when he tumbled onto the bed beside her. He smothered her laughter with his mouth.
Blake lowered his head to her breasts, nuzzling gently against her, teasing her with nipping kisses and quick flicks of his tongue. Tara inhaled sharply, the movement pressing her more snugly against him. She buried her fingers in his thick golden hair, whispering his name—the only name she knew for him. “Blake.”
He kissed her again, his tongue delving deeply into her mouth. His talented fingers kneaded her breasts, slid down her stomach, then slipped between her legs to stroke the tiny, dampening triangle of black lace. Tara arched into his touch, a gasp escaping her. How could he bring her this close to the edge with only a touch?
Blake surprised her by rolling to his back, pulling her on top of him.
“You’re the one taking advantage, remember?” he asked her, his grin both roguish and challenging.
Her eyes widened. She became suddenly aware that she was lying on top of him, wearing nothing but panties and stockings, that he was waiting for her to do something...well, exciting. And Tara McBride simply wasn’t an exciting person.
At least, the old Tara McBride hadn’t been.
Experimentally, she undulated against him. Her silk-covered legs slid seductively against Blake’s bare ones.
