Slowly his smile faded. He was very aware of the woman in his arms—every curve, every flat plane seemed custom-made for him, only him. “Becky. Darling Becky.” He dipped his head.
“Luke, don’t,” she ordered, and it stopped him for the span of one heartbeat. Hers.
His breath was warm on her cheek and lips, and she saw his eyes flutter closed an instant before his lips touched hers, lightly, lingering there only to lift away. It was a sensual invitation, one her body remembered even as her mind refused.
He waited to see if she’d object, if she’d move away. She didn’t.
“It’s been such a long time, Becky,” he said, cupping her face lightly between his hands. “It’s been much too long.”
This time, when he lowered his head, he saw her lips part an instant before his mouth took hers in a demanding kiss that gave no quarter and accepted no retreat. She set off a hunger in him that plunged through his blood, heating, exciting. He leaned into her, wanting to feel her body against his, wanting to feel her, length to length.
His mouth slanted one way, then the other, and he felt her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt and the flesh beneath.
He groaned deep down inside at the longing that was consuming him. He wanted her. He wanted her naked, and he wanted her now.
Rebecca was lost in a world of desire. She leaned into him, feeling his chest pressed hard against her breasts, her nipples pulled into tight, aching nubs. She twisted against him, trying to assuage the ache there. She felt his hand curving around the side of her neck, his thumb hooked under her chin as though to prevent her escape.
She didn’t want to escape. She wanted exactly what he was offering. Longing, familiar as yesterday, unfurled within her, warm and pulsing, spiraling outward, touching every part of her, rekindling a fire she’d banked years ago.
It felt so good, so right, as though they’d never been apart. Her body awakened to his touch, nerves coming slowly to life with each passing moment, with each strong, steady beat of his heart and hers.
She made a small animal-like sound deep in her throat, and it was enough to send Luke’s control spinning. His arm curved around her slender waist, his fingers digging into the boning of her corset. Damn, he hated corsets, hated all the cumbersome layers of clothes women wore.
She was like flame-warmed brandy, the kind that flowed smoothly down inside to set a man on fire, inch by delicious inch. And he was on fire. Lord help him. Rebecca was the spark that ignited his passion.
His body tensed with urgency, and his mind flashed on images of her naked in his arms, her wild mane of hair loose and falling around both of them, her soft breasts pressed against his bare chest, her long legs, bare and silky-soft to his touch, curved around his waist.
Urgency and primal need overcame judgment. His hand drifted lower, past her bustle, to the gentle curve of her bottom, and he groaned, wanting her more than he’d ever thought possible.
“Woman, you’re setting me on fire. Do you know what you are doing to me?”
Maybe it was the momentary absence of his mouth on hers. Maybe it was the bluntness of his words. Whatever it was, warning bells went off in Rebecca’s head, loud and clear.
Stop this! the faint voice of reason called, as though from a great distance. Are you out of your mind?
She pushed at his chest. It was like pushing on a stone wall, she thought, and panic fueled her sudden alarm. She tried again, tearing her mouth from his.
“No, Luke! Stop!”
Luke lifted his head. His eyes were glazed with passion, his breathing was ragged and unsteady, and it took a full five seconds for her order to register.
Disbelief replaced the passion in his eyes. “Becky, I didn’t—”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly, her loose hair spilling across her shoulders. “Whatever it is. No. No!” She shook her head again. Her breathing was unsteady and labored. No one had ever kissed her like that, no one except Luke.
She kept her hands braced on his chest while she fought to regain control and to shake off the delicious feelings that saturated every fiber of her being.
What was wrong with her? What kind of a woman was she? Her son was missing, and here she stood kissing Luke Scanlin, the one man in the whole world she’d loved and trusted, the one man who had betrayed her in ways she’d sworn never to reveal, never to forget.
This could not be happening. She refused to let it happen. “I am not the same schoolgirl you knew all those years ago.”
“I can see that,” he said, and ran his tongue along his bottom lip in a provocative gesture.
She took a purposeful step back. “Don’t you ever do that again—” Her voice cracked, and anger sparked in her eyes. “You took advantage of me, Luke. It’s not the first time.” She hitched up her skirt and strode purposefully for the staircase. “You won’t do it again. Not ever again.”
With that, she turned her back and marched, military-straight, up the stairs.
Still breathing hard, Luke braced one hand on the smooth mahogany railing and watched her go.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her, and he sure as hell hadn’t meant to kiss her like that.
Like what? Like some cowhand who’s been six months on the trail?
Heart racing, breathing shallow, he stood there for a moment. She was something, really something.
Spotting her hair ribbon on the floor, he picked it up. It slid across his palm and curled around his fingers. He could smell the scent of her rose perfume on the soft satin. He folded it carefully and tucked it in his shirt pocket.
Woman, I think you protest too much.
* * *
It was late. Nearly midnight, according to the clock on the wall of the guest room. He was stretched out on the bed.
Hell of a thing, a damned feather bed, he thought with a quirk of a smile. He’d heard about feather beds, but he’d never actually seen one, let alone slept on one.
He ran his hand lightly over the smooth white cotton covering. Feather beds were the best there were, like everything else in the room.
A lot different from the last place he’d slept before coming to San Francisco. That room over the Red Dog Saloon in Auburn had a rope-strung bed frame and a straw-filled mattress. The bureau had more gouges in it than a strip mine.
This bed was big. Big enough for two, and almost long enough for him to stretch his six-foot-two-inch frame out completely.
Abruptly he snatched up the two pillows and jammed them between his back and the walnut headboard. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well sit up. The bed creaked with the shifting of his weight.
Wearing just his black wool trousers, he crossed his bare feet at the ankle, his toes brushing against the smooth footboard.
Any other time, all he had to do was lay his head down and he was asleep. He never lost sleep worrying. Tonight was different. Tonight he couldn’t get Rebecca and that kiss out his mind.
What the devil had he been thinking? Aw, hell, he hadn’t been thinking. How could a man think when she was looking at him with those luminous blue eyes of hers?
It wasn’t entirely his fault—the kiss. She could have stopped him. He’d expected her to. Instead, she’d kissed him back, and not some little tight-mouthed kiss. No, she kissed