HE DROVE HER BACK TO THE hotel in silence. What did you say to a man you were about to step off the cliff with? They walked through the lobby, and he was careful not to touch her, but she could feel him, feel the invisible band of awareness between them, arching like an electrical shock. A few fans recognized him in the lobby, and stopped to talk about the show, and she stood discreetly off to the side, not knowing what else to do. The etiquette books didn't cover this situation.

After he finished talking, he put a hand in the small of her back and guided her to the bank of elevators. "Do you get accosted by fans very often?"

"Not a lot," he answered, but she suspected that was wrong.

"I bet when you go to Kansas, you're mobbed with screaming females."

"I have male fans, too," he said. Ah, she'd struck a nerve.

"Do they scream and throw underwear at you?"

"No one has ever thrown underwear at me."

"Got them in the mail, huh?"

His face flushed. "A couple of times."

"I'll remember that," she said, as they stepped into the elevator. "It's your green eyes. Very s.e.xy."

"I have hazel eyes."

"Whatever you say, Sam."

They were quiet on the ride to the ninth floor and she noted that he didn't even ask what floor she was on. Somewhere along the line, she had given him an answer.

He was so controlled, so careful as they walked down the hallway, but the heat was coming off him in waves. His strides got a little longer, and she noticed that his breathing wasn't completely even. Somebody was completely turned on.

Somebody besides her.

He took out his key, glanced down the hallway, and then escorted her inside his suite.

And that was the end of his control.

4.

SAM HAULED HER BACK against the door, and crushed his mouth to hers, and Mercedes heard herself whimper. Two parts relief and one part fear. This wasn't a book, this was her life, and right at the moment she wasn't sure she could breathe. His body was so tight against hers that she could feel the pulse of his blood, the beat of his heart, the fierce jerk of his c.o.c.k. She opened her legs, cradling him there, feeling him rub against her. It was the most erotic thing she'd ever felt, which, for a writer of erotica, was saying quite a lot.

His lips moved against her throat, nuzzling against her neck, and then he began to murmur. All those soft, seductive words that she had dreamed, fantasized about hearing. And Mr. Conservative had a wicked, wicked tongue.

"Tell me you're okay with this, Mercedes," he muttered.

Ah, man, she was so much more than okay with this. His hands swept over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, along her hips, underneath her dress, and all she could do was nod.

He shoved aside the neck of her dress, and his mouth fastened on her breast. The pain was sharp, fierce, and she gasped with the intensity of it. Then with his tongue, he warmed where he hurt, pulling, laving, arrowing mindless shivers of heat to her nipples, and liquid tears between her thighs.

Weakly, her head fell back against the wall, her knees buckling. He took her in his arms, and carried her over to the couch, and before she could regain any control, he was on her again.

It was heaven, the heavy weight of him a welcome torment. He shoved up her dress, he unzipped his pants, and then, oh, glory, he was inside her.

His thrusts were hard, thick, and it took a few strokes for her to adjust, but then her body took over, the exquisite feeling of completeness filled her, and she rose up to meet him. His mouth covered hers, his tongue thrusting in time with their bodies, and her fingernails dug into his shoulder, holding on tightly.

The air of the hotel grew heavy with the scent of s.e.x, the sound of their breathing, the smacking of flesh against flesh. All she could think was that this was Sam.

Sam.

For twelve months, she had dreamed, but never like this. This wasn't hazy or warm, this cut inside her, sharper than a knife. Her fingers lost their hold, and she gave herself up to the o.r.g.a.s.m, jumping off the cliff, right into the air.

His thrusts went deep to her core, and she could feel the world falling away.

SAM'S CHEST WAS RACING, and he wondered if he would have a heart attack. Surely not, he was in great shape, but he felt like he'd just knocked two decades off his life.

Mercedes. She was going to kill him. But at least he'd die happy. He considered pulling out of the soft, vibrant body beneath him, but he couldn't do that, not yet. It was so comfortable to lay here, his head pillowed against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, listening to her heart. For two beats he stayed still, his breath slowing to match hers.

However, Sam had been raised as a gentleman, and gentlemen didn't lie there like a one hundred and ninety-pound slug. But he needed to know the answers to the questions he'd kept inside for so long. He lifted his head, met her eyes, wanting to know what secrets her eyes held when a man was inside her.

There. He looked there, and was dazzled. She would never be a woman with stars in her eyes; she was too alive, too pa.s.sionate. But a man could still fall into the darkness. Drown in the sparks of joy and life that even the darkness couldn't hide.

Now he knew. This obsession should be over. He should be satisfied, ready to go out, buy his cherry-red sports car, and learn to play golf. Instead, his c.o.c.k forgot that he was approaching mid-life; it was fat, happy, and ready to go again. Did a man really need a sports car? Probably not.

He raised his hips, ready to start all over, when those pa.s.sionate eyes widened with panic. "A condom," she said, the words coming out in a rush.

s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t. Sam took a deep breath. He was the older, more responsible party, he could handle this. "Okay, we're going to run through the checklist. I'm clean. You?"

She nodded.

"Pregnancy?" he asked, his mind seeing Mercedes rounded with child. His child.

"I'm on the pill," she answered quickly, and he wiped the image from his brain.

This time, Sam did pull out of her, and then sat up on the couch. "I'm sorry."

"S'all right," she answered, all the sparkle gone from her face. Somehow reality had intruded, and stole all the happiness from her. She pinned up her hair, and then began to pull her clothes together to cover her body, a crime against humanity, if there ever was one.

He took her hands. "Mercedes, stop." She looked up at him, regret in her eyes. He'd been an a.s.s. They were going to start over, and this time, he was going to seduce her right.

s.e.x HAD NEVER BEEN THE highlight of Mercedes's life. It was good enough, sure, but afterward, there was always an afterward. In that afterward, she never knew how to act, how not to act, or what to say, and her choice of lovers had been no help.

As she fumbled with her clothes, Sam stilled her hands, and she froze. She didn't want to meet his eyes, didn't want to see apathy there, but she had always been a sucker for pain, so she looked. No apathy, not today. This was something else not usually seen in the face of her lovers. Comfort, rock-like determination, and strength.

He gave her a half-smile and told her to stop. Obediently she stopped, because this was new and different. No one ever gave her instructions before.

"Please stay," he asked huskily. "Just tonight."

Just tonight. One night of s.e.x. It seemed fitting for them. Their whole relationship-although "relationship" was an overstatement-was built on the sliding bedrock of s.e.x. The subject of s.e.x, nerve-shattering s.e.xual attraction, debating the effect of s.e.x on America. He wasn't offering anything more. And she didn't want anything more. Right?

So one night, just one night, would be absolutely perfect.

Numbly she nodded. He took her hand and led her through the suite to the bedroom.

Sam pulled her into his arms, lowered his head, and kissed her. It wasn't like earlier, this was soft as a cloud, and gentle. He played with her lips, easing into the kiss, using his tongue, not as a weapon, but as a toy. Harmless, teasing, seductive. This wasn't the hot fire of s.e.x, this was a slow warmth, two people melting into one.

Mercedes kissed him back, winding her arms around his neck, moving closer to his warmth. She shivered once, and he lifted his head.

"Cold?"

"A little," she lied. Actually, she was terrified. s.e.x didn't scare her, but this new aspect, this thing beyond seduction, did.

"Easily fixed," he said, his voice as soft and gentle as his kiss. "Stay here for a minute."

He left her, and she stood, arms wrapped around her stomach. For the first time she noticed the luxury of her surroundings. The huge bed covered in a plump down duvet and piles of pillows. A flat screen TV hung on the wall, flanked by large bouquets of fresh flowers. The brocade curtains were open to the city, and in the night a constellation of lights blinked from the buildings and houses below.

She rubbed her arms, feeling the cold, the loneliness, and wondered what was wrong with her.

Sam returned, took her hand and pulled her in the bathroom. "You look like you've been hit by a truck," he said.

Mercedes laughed nervously. "I feel like that."

"It's been a long day for you. The jet lag, attack of nerves, and I haven't helped. Let me take care of you, huh?"

His explanation made sense. She wasn't scared. She was tired. It'd been a long day. That must be it. "Sounds great," she said, eyeing the bath in the corner. It was huge, a raised square that seated four comfortably.

"You want some wine, whiskey, water?"

"Whiskey."

He went off, came back with a neat gla.s.s of whiskey, no ice. It was exactly what she needed, something to settle her nerves, bring back the confidence that she was currently sorely lacking. She took a long swallow, feeling the burn in her throat.

"Better?"

"Yes, thanks."

"You want me to come back when you're done?"

Again with the gentleness, again she felt the rock of fear inside her. She didn't want gentleness, she craved the white heat of pa.s.sion. Somehow the whiskey and the look in his eyes were doing a number on her normal, independent nature. "Please stay," she said, mainly because she had no choice.

"You're sure?"

She nodded, and reached around to unzip her dress.

He stopped her hands once again. "No."

He dimmed the lights, lit the candles next to the sink, the flames flickering in the mirror. "I should have thought. I'm no good at this, Mercedes."

"I'm not complaining," she said, as he came to stand next to her.

He kissed her once. Lightly. Then he turned her around, and slowly unzipped her dress, the cold air tickling her spine as her bare back was exposed. Sam slid the dress off one shoulder, then the other, before it pooled at her feet. His hands grasped her shoulders, and he placed a kiss against the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck. She shivered again, not from cold, but from heat. He cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hand and pulled her back against him. "You don't know how beautiful you are, do you?"

The sound of his voice, hard, and not nearly gentle, shocked her nearly as much as the words. "I'm okay," she answered.

He turned her around to face him, and her hands rose to cover her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"I thought you were an empowered, s.e.xually liberated woman," he teased.

"I am," she said, her hands still glued to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Ah, Mercedes, what am I going to do with you?"

Then he kissed her again, this time not so softly. Her hands fell away, which she suspected was his plan all along, but she couldn't deny the urge to feel her bare skin against his-shirt? No. The white-heat returned, the familiar territory of s.e.x. This place she knew. Quickly she attacked the b.u.t.tons, divesting him of the thing. This time when he kissed her, the fear was gone. Dark hair covered his chest, crisp and curling, and when he held her against him, it teased her nipples, and she knew she couldn't date a man without chest hair ever. Sam had ruined it for her.

His mouth moved from her lips to her throat, and leisurely he tasted the skin there. Her head tilted back, reveling in the heady luxury of simply being kissed. The pa.s.sion cooled, the warmth returned, but it was easier now. It was like a dream to her, the dreams that had filled her head. The scent of the flowers against the musky scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands soothing her flesh, soothing her. The taste of his kiss lingering in her mouth.

It was all so nice, so relaxing. So easy.

His hands cupped her rear, skimming her flesh, and then, with a magician's touch, her panties were gone. There she stood, clad in her thigh-highs and heels and nothing else, but she was no longer cold or nervous. The heat of the bath, the heat of his hands had warmed her. He lifted her on the counter and bent to slip off her shoes. As the shoes. .h.i.t the marble floor, the sound echoed in the quiet, but Mercedes was too content to care, drunk on something far more potent than whiskey. Sam raised her legs, bending her knees, her feet balanced on the counter. His fingers slid under the edge of one stocking and rolled it slowly down her leg. His hands lingered, touching, caressing, always soft and gentle, always safe. When he was done, he lifted her from the counter, and eased her into the bath, her muscles flowing like liquid.

"There," he said. "Close your eyes, Mercedes."

She followed his instructions and leaned her head back against the wall of the tub. She heard the rustle of his clothes, and she smiled. How did he know she loved baths? Did he guess, could he read her mind? She didn't know, didn't care. When she felt the strength of his body behind her, sheltering her, she wondered why they had wasted twelve months getting to this point. He was perfect.

Never before had she appreciated the yin and yang of the human form, the hard male a fitting contradiction to the softness of the female. Two opposites joining together as one. In so many ways they were different, but here, at the very basic level, it worked. Sam took the washcloth and lathered soap over her back, her shoulders, letting the warm water dribble over her, and Mercedes sighed, resting her head on his chest.

"This is nice," she murmured.

"I'm glad to see you coming back to life." The velvet voice rumbled, vibrating against her spine. He was lulling her even further, seducing her to the place where real emotion resided. It would be so easy to drift there, but this wasn't about emotion. This was about s.e.x.

Just one night.

She wiggled against him, feeling his erection pressing against her rear. "I'm not the only one."

"There's time enough. Relax."