It had been a close call. Damn it, his body was still shaking. For several minutes his concern for her had been his salvation, helping him to strip her down as if he were a professional carer. Only when she’d stood before him wearing nothing but those wicked wisps of lace that so lovingly cupped inviting, rosy-tipped breasts, and yet another scrap of lace-trimmed silk that covered... He groaned, levering himself forward and shrugging out of his soaked jacket. He’d been doing fine until then. Just fine. But looking at her, remembering the passion and glory of their lovemaking, the meeting of their souls that had made them seem indivisible, had brought him to the point of reaching out for her, holding her, making her his again, and only his, for the rest of time. But the smouldering, drowning invitation in her eyes when she’d slowly reached out and touched his face had brought him right back to his senses. Back with a hard, resounding crack. Sex had been something she’d always been good at.
