Hannah held up the condom in its little foil square, and when he nodded, she unsheathed it and unrolled it down his length.

"How do you want me?" Trent put the question neutrally, while hoping her answer began with the words, "right now." He tormented himself further by kneeling to caress every soft, sweet part of her.

The slope and heft of her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the soft skin of her throat, the curve of her shoulders, the puckered pink flesh of her nipples, and the long, silk-clad lengths of her legs.

She shifted back to lie on the couch, braced on her elbows.

"I want you like this." After taking one instant to wish he'd turned on a light, Trent came down over her.

She was supple, warm, and exquisite beneath him. She brought her knees up, and Trent said a quiet prayer of grat.i.tude that he was entirely naked and could glory in the slide of silk stockings against his flesh.

The couch was luxuriously soft and plush, almost as soft as the skin on the underside of Hannah's breast.

"You're sensitive," he said, gliding his thumbnail over the fullness of her breast and feeling a shiver go through her.

"You make me want." Hannah's voice was soft, yearning in the darkness, and she tilted up against him in wordless entreaty.

"Soon," he said, closing his mouth over her nipple. She arched up into him, and her fingers tightened in his hair.

She was beautifully responsive, soft and warm. He'd barely started to tease her with his lips and his mouth when she began undulating against him.

"Trent."

"Tell me." He lifted up enough to see her face and to brush her hair back off her forehead.

"I want you," she said, turning her face into his open palm, nuzzling his hand as her hips continued to move. "I want you inside me, this instant."

He wanted to be inside her, wanted it in more than just a physical sense. The moment bore all manner of gratifications, primary among them the knowledge that this wasn't a lonely moment with a woman whose face he'd forget all too easily. This wasn't rutting with a willing partner; this was making love.

Maybe for the first time in his life, he'd make love with a woman who was his match. Hannah didn't underestimate the challenges they faced; she didn't make promises she couldn't keep.

And she wanted him, right now.

Chapter 15.

Trent levered up onto straight arms and waited until Hannah went still. "Guide me home, Hannah."

She found him with her hand, curling her fingers around his shaft. Her touch was careful but firm as she seated the head of his c.o.c.k against the opening to her body.

He pushed forward a scant inch, wanting to both plunder and savor. She groaned, her expression confirming it as the sound of relief.

"Don't go slowly. You're driving me crazy."

"Crazy is good."

He set up a slow, shallow rhythm because she was blessedly, wonderfully tight, and the feel of their joining was a heady pleasure.

"Trent." A catch her voice this time. She slid her fingers around his wrists, gripping tightly. "Oh, holy-Trent..."

While he moved in her slowly, her body convulsed around him-just like that. Tension he'd been ignoring-Will I please her? Will she let herself go with me?-uncoiled as she bowed up. Trent lowered himself to his forearms and held her as he moved with steady, deep thrusts even as the tremors shook her.

"Hark the happy holidays." She relaxed back against the cushions, and Trent went still.

"You OK?" He eased down to rest his cheek against her hair. "That one caught me off guard."

"I'm not OK." She pressed her mouth to his throat and sighed against his skin. "I am completely, utterly undone. Mistletoe not included."

"That's a start."

Trent used the aftermath to kiss Hannah, to pleasure his mouth with the taste and feel of her, then he started moving again. She was with him too. He could feel that as she counterpointed his rhythm and slid a hand down to anchor herself with a grip on the small of his back.

"Use your nails, Hannah," he said, sc.r.a.ping his teeth along her neck. "Hold me tight."

She sank her grip into his backside, and the pleasure of it radiated out from his center. A little sound of longing, not quite a groan, came from the back of her throat, and the urge to thrust harder clamored against his control.

Crazy is good. Crazy is d.a.m.ned good. Crazy is- Her ankles locked at the small of his back when he cupped her backside to hold her more snugly.

"Holy... Trent... I can't... Not again, so soon..." She thrashed beneath him, and he abandoned all restraint to show her that she could again, so soon, and harder than ever.

His good intentions backfired as he felt a drawing up that signaled his own satisfaction was about to crest.

Hannah's free hand cruised along his chest, her thumb inadvertently gliding over his nipple, and the pleasurable shock of that caress sent him over the edge. While she keened quietly against his shoulder, he drove home, hard, repeatedly, shuddering over her for long, sweet moments.

The next thing Trent became aware of as he coasted into a lovely, thrumming afterglow, was Hannah petting his b.u.t.t.

"I'm squashing you," he managed.

"Don't you dare move." She patted him twice, a caricature of an admonitory spanking, then went back to stroking him gently.

"You OK?" He lifted up on his forearms but kept his cheek against hers.

"You expect conversation?" She pinched him, gently. "I will never be coherent again."

Had he forgotten the soul-deep pleasure of making love to a willing woman, or had it never been quite this lovely before? Hannah turned her face against his neck, her tongue tracing up toward his ear, tasting him.

He snuggled down closer, taking much of his weight on his arms, content to linger as long as she'd permit it.

"I'm losing you," she said a moment later.

"You'll never lose me, but some tissues would come in handy." He raised himself off her reluctantly and crossed the office to grab a handful of tissues from the box on the credenza. He dealt with himself and the condom first, being sure to fold it up inside a wad of tissues, then came back to sit at Hannah's side.

She brought her knees up, almost touching, and held out her hand, but Trent shook his head.

"Let me."

At her look of consternation, he parted her knees and treated himself to the privilege of admiring damp skin glistening darkly by streetlight. Hannah was up on her elbows, watching him as he looked his fill.

"You've been with boys. A gentleman tends to his lady."

She lay back on a sigh, pa.s.sive again while he tossed the tissues aside and stroked his fingers over her creases and folds. While she permitted it, he teased through soft curls and felt his c.o.c.k threatening to rally.

"I could keep you here all night," he said, brushing his thumb experimentally over this and that.

"I'd gladly stay," she said, spreading her legs a little wider. "I'm learning things."

Trent did treasure Hannah's intellect-too. "What sort of things?" He used a bit of pressure on this pa.s.s.

"You and this urge to talk." She sighed and closed her legs, trapping his hand. "We'll be late for the party."

"We just had the party," he said, making no move to retrieve his hand. "We won't be late." He kissed her to stop her from uttering more of this responsible, conscientious, mustn't-be-late talk.

When Hannah fell silent and Trent had kissed his fill, he nuzzled the slope of her breast. "Stark?"

"Hmm?" Her fingers winnowed through his hair, and his hand was still tucked between her legs, where he was more than content to leave it.

"This will sound trite, but before we start getting dressed and putting on our public selves again, I want you to know this was special. You are special. I don't think I've forgotten what I was missing. I think it was never like this before."

Hannah's hands went still, then cradled the back of Trent's head to hold him to her.

"You have such courage, putting your feelings into words so easily."

"It isn't easy," he said, levering up to meet her gaze. "But what good are the sentiments if you h.o.a.rd them up in your heart and never share them?"

"You still know they're your sentiments," she said, stroking his hair back. "That counts for something."

"Saying them counts for more." Trent sat up and let his gaze travel over Hannah slowly, memorizing the sight of her replete and nearly naked on the couch. "Will you really make me get back into that monkey suit and impersonate an upstanding member of the staff of Hartman and Whitney?"

"You're a partner, not merely a staff member, so yes, I will make you put your clothes on and do your part at the Christmas party. But, Trent?"

She opened her legs so he could have his hand, but he kept it right where it was.

"I haven't any frame of reference for what goes on between consenting adults," Hannah said. "I'm as ignorant as the mother of a seven-year-old can be, but this was precious to me. Maybe what I'm trying to say is I trust you. I don't understand it, I'm not entirely comfortable with it, but in this regard at least, I trust you."

From Hannah Stark, that admission was worthy of gilded wrapping paper and a satin bow. She'd used as many qualifiers as she could, nearly taking back the gift with all her disclaimers and caveats, but she'd said enough that Trent was rea.s.sured.

Rea.s.sured he was different from whatever and whoever had been with her in the past. Rea.s.sured he was special, in some way, just as she was special to him.

A sense of newfound tenderness lingered for Hannah as she and Trent dressed each other. He knelt to help her put on her shoes, and Hannah wanted to go to her knees and wrap her arms around him.

His intimate attentions had been one revelation after another, and the education he'd offered Hannah had been more than simply erotic. She'd learned about being with the man, Trenton Knightley. Hannah knew all too well that s.e.x needn't be tender, sweet, and overwhelmingly pleasurable, but Trent Knightley made it that way.

He made the whole evening special, as he took her coat from her shoulders, met her gaze from across the room when she waltzed with James, and put a hand on her back as he escorted her along the buffet.

When Mac led her onto the floor for a slow dance, Trent's expression became curious and watchful, but he contented himself with a gla.s.s of wine, reclaiming Hannah when the last bars of the music died away.

She liked it. Liked his protectiveness, and even the hints of possessiveness. When they left the party promptly at nine thirty, a light snow dusted the parking lot.

"You want me to get the car?" he asked. "Your shoes can't be suited to trudging across the tundra like Sasquatch."

"It's only starting," Hannah said, slipping her hand into his. "I can manage."

"I once knew an attorney the clients referred to as Sasquatch," he said, linking their fingers. "The poor woman had an unfortunate build to go with the moniker."

"Where did you run across her?"

Hannah's voice was even, but inside her, an arctic chill descended. Miss Wallingham, of Douglas County DSS fame, had been referred to as Sasquatch.

"This lady represented the Department of Social Services when I clerked over in Douglas County. Wallingford? Wallingham? I forget her name, but her handling of the foster care docket was particularly lugubrious."

Hannah's heart started a slow pounding in her chest, but she managed to keep walking. "I didn't know you clerked in Douglas County."

"I lived over there at the time. The longest two years of my life." He said it lightly, amused with his younger self, then unlocked the car and held the door for her.

A perfect gentleman.

Hannah took a seat, and when Trent turned the key in the ignition, the indicator light went on for the heater in her seat.

If Trent had clerked in Douglas County, he'd probably sat through many of the foster care dockets, possibly even the last hearing or two Hannah had endured.

This was not good. Hannah might have maneuvered through a relationship with Trent while carefully skirting the issue of Grace's father. She might have dealt with her growing distaste for family law, an area of practice Trent respected above all others.

She might even have reconciled herself to a sense of unease with litigation in general, though it spoke of bewilderment with the entire legal profession, a profession that bound Trent to his brothers emotionally, financially, and logistically.

Knowing that Trent might have had a front-row seat on some of the worst moments in Hannah's life, or as good as, pushed her anxiety needle into the red zone.

She clicked off the seat heater. She was already sitting on a hot seat, and facing choices that could cost her Trent's respect, his intimate companionship, and possibly Grace's safety.

Louise Merriman was hearing a criminal docket, but it hardly took up much of her attention. She'd drawn a morning of plea bargains, and all she had to do was listen to the deal cut between the state's attorney and defense counsel and decide if she could agree to it.

Louise brought her attention back to the case before her. Her mind had been wandering-again-to the matter of Ms. Hannah Stark, age twenty-seven, place of birth the Douglas County Hospital, no apparent family. Hannah was a distraction Louise would have to resolve, just as she'd have to return Dan Halverston's now weekly phone call.

Louise had made a trip to the Douglas County judicial archives and shamelessly used her standing to quietly access records that were otherwise unavailable. That research had only added more proof to Louise's own strong hunches.

Very abruptly, her personal life required a great deal more consideration than Louise was used to giving it, and maybe it was about time.

"Mr. State's Attorney, has an agreement been reached in this case?"