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She made a tiny, gulping sound. "Dont . . . dont make me beg. . . . "
"Christ, Mariah, Im not trying to humiliate you. I just dont want you to hate me in the morning. I like you too much for that. "
"Ill hate you more if you say no. "
He wanted to back away from her, but he couldnt move.
Slowly, as if she were scared to death, she tilted her face up to his. "Kiss me . . . "
Her voice broke slightly, her lips trembled.
"Aw, Christ. " The curse burst from his lips in a gust of breath. He couldnt stop himself. Without thinking, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her toward him. His lips came down on hers in a hot, hard kiss that drove the breath from his lungs.
And at that first intoxicating taste of her, Mad Dog was lost. His one and only attempt at being a hero shattered into a million desire-tipped shards.
A tiny, contented sigh escaped her, slipped from her mouth to his. He pulled back slowly, staring down into her eyes. A slow smile moved across his face.
"God, youre beautiful, Mariah. "
A prickly heat crawled up her throat. Without warning, she was reminded of Stephen and his lies. Pained by the memories, she looked away. "You dont have to say that. "
"I know. "
She felt his gaze on her face, pointed and searching, and reluctantly she looked at him. There was something in his eyes she hadnt seen before, a sadness. "What?"
"You think Im lying, dont you?"
"You . . . lie?" She gave a laugh that sounded fragile even to her own ears.
"Come here. " He pulled her to the old oval mirror that hung above the lopsided dresser. Maneuvering her to stand in front of it, he slipped behind her. "What do you see?" he whispered against her ear.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Gods sake. What does this have to do with—"
"What do you see?"
Reluctantly she let her gaze move back to the mirror. "I see my face. And half of yours. "
He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to knead her taut muscles. The rough-skinned pads of his fingertips moved gently up and down, massaging. "What color are your eyes?"
It was hard to concentrate when his hands were working such seductive magic on her shoulders. A strange sensation spilled away from his fingers, sliding down her body until she felt light enough to fly. "Brown," she said without even looking.
"Wrong. "
She frowned and looked at him in the mirror. "Youre saying my eyes arent brown?"
He shook his head, smiling at her reflection. "Your eyes are far from ordinary brown. Now, what color are they?"
"Well, they have a little . . . gold in them. "
He kissed her cheekbone, letting his lips loiter against her skin as he spoke. His breath was hot and moist against hers. "Theyre the color of fine bourbon or warmed maple syrup," he murmured. "What about your hair?"
"Brown. Well . . . reddish brown. "
He eased back from her face. His hands slid across her shoulders and up the long, straight column of her throat. One by one he pulled the pins away. As if from a great distance, she heard them hit the floor with a tinny ping.
When they were all gone, he fanned his fingers through her long, curly hair, shaking it loose.
She blinked in surprise at her reflection. A riotous mass of wavy, mahogany-hued hair swirled around her pale face, softening the hard lines of her cheekbones.
