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“Yes? I mean, hello?”
“I woke you. I’m sorry,” he said.
“Luke?”
Something like relief laced her voice, and he smiled. “My errand took longer than planned. But I shouldn’t have—”
“Come on up.”
He hesitated as the elevator doors slid open. Once again, he told himself to walk away. Instead, he stepped into the car.
The ride to the twenty-fifth floor was swift, and when the doors opened, she was standing in her doorway across the hall, wrapped in the now-familiar bathrobe. He wondered idly if she’d put something on under it. He hoped that she hadn’t.
“It’s late,” he said. “And you surely have to work tomorrow.”
“I’m a big shot prosecutor, remember? I think I can go into the office late if I want to.”
They shared a smile. “Then you should know that was my last attempt at chivalry. I’ve wanted you since the moment you walked into that bar tonight.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she stepped back, holding the door open for him. “We both know you wanted me long before that.”
“And that doesn’t scare you?”
“It probably should, but no.”
He took her hand, then pulled her toward him as the door swung closed. Gently, he stroked her hair, now hanging in waves around her face. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes searched his face. “Is it crazy to say you seemed familiar?”
“No. Not crazy at all.”
She studied his face, then frowned. “You feel it, too.”
He considered the question. He had watched Sara Constantine since she was a child, her sworn protector. Of course she was familiar. And yet…
And yet for a while now he’d felt a sense of loss when he was around her. The feeling that—even though he could see her clearly—she’d been taken from him. A foolish thought, yet he couldn’t deny its power, and he tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Yes, Sara. I feel it, too.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you again. Not really. I’m very glad I was wrong.”
“Sara, I—”
“Just kiss me,” she said, then didn’t bother to wait for him to comply. Instead, she moved forward to press her lips against his. As soft as a whisper at first, then harder. Wilder. A claiming kiss that reflected his own desire. The years of wanting. Of needing. Of waiting for this woman he had first known as an innocent child needing his protection, but who had grown into a woman he admired and desired.
She cupped his head with her hands, as if holding him in place, never willing to let him go, and he moaned against her mouth, his own arms pulling her close until their bodies were one, her heat flowing through him. Her heartbeat pounded like the most enticing of promises, her blood the most alluring of drugs. The urge to take her—to taste her—was overpowering, and he pushed her roughly away, then turned toward the balcony door, afraid that she’d see the truth of what he was in his face.
“Luke?” From behind him, she pressed a hand to his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“I want you more than I should,” he admitted. “And in ways that I shouldn’t.”
“Oh.”
He heard the swish of material as her robe fell to the ground, and it was all he could do not to moan with frustration and longing. Then he felt the press of her body against his back, and it took all his effort not to claim her right then.
“You can have me however you want,” she whispered, and that unexpected offer ripped the cry of her name from his lips even as he spun to face her, drawing on all his self-control not to slam her up against the opposite wall and take her right then in every way possible.
She stood straight, her chin lifted and her eyes on his so that he was the first to look away. How could he not, when she was standing there in stunning, naked perfection, her skin both pale and sun-kissed? He reached out, slowly tracing the lines on her upper thighs, then on her arms, as she bit her lower lip in a way designed to drive him crazy.
“Tan lines.” She tossed the words out like a shrug. “It’s either that or jog naked.”
