She could feel her breathing quicken but she faced him squarely. This was probably his idea of having a conversation with a lady. The man had the social skills of a turtle. “Well, first of all, my name is Annalane, not Anna, and I’ll not tolerate being manhandled or talked to like I’m . . .”
He closed the distance between them and covered her mouth with his. She pushed on his chest and tried to turn her head away, but he held her with his body pressed hard against hers and his hand cupped around the back of her head. Evidently the conversation part of his visit was over.
This was no gentle kiss of hello, but a demanding, searching advance based on need and longing. He slid his hand to her jaw and urged her mouth open so he could taste and smother her complaint.
As she knew he would, he gentled when she kissed him back. He moaned low and twisted his fingers through her hair as he took her through the lessons he’d taught her the night before in the blackness.
Finally, when he moved his mouth to her throat, she breathed in deeply as he whispered, “That’s the way, Anna. I knew you’d feel this good, taste this good. I couldn’t have imagined last night when you were lying against me.”
He brushed the tips of his fingers along her chin. “I think I might have died if I’d had to sit across the room much longer without touching you.” He held her cheek as he kissed her again and again while he mumbled something about going slow.
The thought of saying stop never occurred to her. She wanted a man who was gentle and caring, maybe even hesitant as a lover, but she’d not tell McCord to stop. She felt her body melting against his, needing his nearness, his touch, his kiss, as deeply as he seemed to need her.
Finally, he leaned away and studied her, drinking her in with his stormy gaze.
She knew he’d kiss her again if she tried to talk to him, so she lifted her arms to his shoulders and let her breasts rise and fall against his chest with each breath.
He raised his head and smiled at her as if he could read her mind. His hand circled round her braid and he tugged until she leaned her head back, offering him her throat.
He unbuttoned the first few buttons of her high-collared gown and began nibbling along her throat. He stopped where her heart pounded just below the surface of her skin and kissed just there. Then, as if in thanks for her offering, he returned to her mouth and kissed her lightly, playing with her tongue. He didn’t have to say he missed her—he was showing her. There’d been no need to tell her he had to touch her—she knew.
When she pulled him closer, she felt his low moan more than heard it. “I know, Anna,” he whispered against her ear. “I know.”
Slowly, the kiss grew deeper. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. He stepped back and tugged at the ribbons holding her robe. When she protested, he pushed her hands away. When she tried again to hold her robe closed, he placed both of her hands behind her with one strong grip and he opened the robe with his free hand.
She wiggled, trying to get free. He was going too fast, being too bold. She wanted a gentle lover, a slow lover, a hesitant . . . the feel of his hands tugging her robe free made her forget her list of wants.
She wouldn’t stop him and he smiled down at her, knowing what they were doing was new and frightening to her.
“Easy now, Anna. Just relax against me. I wish there was time to go slower,” he whispered as he kissed his way from her ear to her lips. “You know I’m not going to hurt you, don’t you?”
She nodded and moved her hands to his shoulders, barely aware of when he’d released her.
“I’m going to touch you, if you’ve no objection. This will be no light brush over your clothes, like before. When I’m finished there will be no doubt you’ve been handled a bit.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And, darling, you’re going to love every minute.”
When she opened her mouth to question this, his kiss stopped the words and his hand moved over the cotton of her gown to grip her breast boldly while