Zach stopped in front of her and patted her cheek. “Good going, Clare.”

Then his eyes deepened, grew intent; his fingers lingered on her face. She reached up and put her hands around the back of his neck, stroked his nape, and he shivered, his eyes closed. Oh, yes, she’d discovered what he liked.

Slanting her head, she pressed her lips to his, ran her tongue along his lips, nibbled the lower one . . . and listened to his breath come short. He tasted of salt and nuts with a hint of coffee. Licks of hot desire flickered in her, spreading from her core, and she needed to feel all of him. Sliding her hands down his arms, she moved to stroke the sides of his torso, then curved her palms over his hips and guided him back to brace against the kitchen island. Then she pushed against him so she could feel him, the tensile strength of his muscles, hard. So, so, sexy.

She just dived in, letting his body cradle hers, appreciating the length of him. Again she took his mouth, found his lips open and realized her eyes had closed at the touch of him.

His tongue rubbed against hers and the taste of Zach exploded in her mouth and she went damp.

He held her tight and that felt so good! A person, a solid being, interacting with her. She hadn’t had any but the most superficial of contacts with anyone other than him since the hugs from her co-workers when she’d left her job last week. Far too long, and she shouldn’t, couldn’t become dependent on him, but the man did feel good against her, vertically and horizontally.

His hands went to her butt, lifted her a bit and settled her against his arousal. Oh, yes, yes, yes!

Big hands, big erection. All hers, soon, but she had to breathe. She drew back, mind spinning, blood pulsing with yearning.

He grinned, seemed to hold her easily, as she balanced with her hands clamped around his biceps. Those were nice and hard, too. The man had no give in him whatsoever . . . at least not physically; his mind seemed plenty flexible.

“What kind of bed do you have here?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “The same bed. Great-Aunt Sandra gave me the sleigh bed from one of her guest rooms as a housewarming gift when I bought my own home.”

He tousled her hair, pushed some strands behind her ear. “So I can’t offer to break in a new bed for you.”

“You haven’t seen the master suite. It’s wonderful.” Her voice came out breathy. “On the second floor.” She gave a little cough. “We have this tiny elevator . . .” He scowled.

“. . . and wide stairs with a landing.” She smiled. “Your choice.”

His brows were still down. “Let’s see those stairs, probably an awesome banister, right?” He gestured with his chin at the open door leading to the narrow secondary staircase off the kitchen. “Or we could go up that way.”

She wiggled and he put her down. Keeping her eyes on his, she drew her hand down the center of him to his most interesting muscle, traced it, testing his hardness, his length and breadth and thickness. Eyes going dark, he hissed out a breath, caught her hand in his, leaned back, and demonstrated exactly how he liked her to caress him.

Her breasts felt heavy, knees a little weak, mouth dried as heat spread throughout her body in a pounding throb of need.

Then he shaped her breast, fingers circling her nipple, lightly squeezing until she panted with him, knew her eyes had dilated as his had.

“Come with me.” She took his hand, heading back through the dining room to the hallway, and opened the tiny elevator door. He tugged at her fingers, and she smiled at him. “My elevator. I want to ride in my elevator in my new house.” Her eyes gleamed. “I want to make out with my lover in my elevator in my house on the way to the bedroom.”

Zach stared at her flushed face, couldn’t say no to her as she pulled him into the tiniest elevator he’d ever seen. It actually had a metal gate she had to draw closed and lock. She punched the button, then crowded him into the corner, not more than a couple of steps, lifted one of her legs and wrapped it around him between him and the wall. As she rubbed against his hard dick, he forgot everything. His aching foot. His name.

All he knew was the need to take this woman now. Get inside her. Make her climax around him so he could shout in release. God, he needed the release.

The slow elevator stopped.

His woman moaned and arched her hips against him, sending fire through him. He plunked her down, hands slipping under the waist of her jeans, under her panties, gripping the softness of her ass. Soft everywhere, especially her thighs against his hips.

He trailed his fingers to her dampness—wet!—tested her, slipped a finger inside her, pressed.

She screamed with pleasure and fell and took him off balance, and shooting pain yanked him back to the here and now. He drew his hand from her and they fetched up against the side of the elevator as he put out his arm to brace them. His cane had fallen to the damn floor—a floor too small to hold a man of his size lengthwise, the only thing that had saved them.

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!

Laughing, laughing, she helped steady him and levered them up.

“Wow,” she said. “You are one incredible man. We tried out the elevator instead of the bed.” She frowned. “Wait, you didn’t . . . ah . . . um.” Swiftly she unlocked the gate, opened it, opened the regular door. Then she bent and handed him his cane and took his free hand. “Yeah, we gotta get to the bed ASAP.” She bounced as she walked, dammit, not an athletic female, but a completely healthy one. He hated this, his nonflexing ankle, his weakness.

The heat of irritation and anger turned back into lust when she stood with him beside the bed.

TWENTY-EIGHT

SHE UNBUTTONED HIS shirt, opened it, smoothed her hands over his chest, flicking her nails over his nipples, had him swelling against his pants again. He welcomed the greedy passion, the lack of thinking that would come with surrender to sex.

Her hands went to his fly and he closed his eyes, tried to settle into a balanced stance that had once been second nature, had to grip his cane. Then he gripped it even harder as she unzipped his work trousers and slid them down his legs.

He stepped out, glad she always seemed focused on his dick instead of the hideous scars on his leg and ankle.

She stood, skimming her fingers up the inside of his thighs, and he flinched and his cock jerked at the anticipation of numbing pleasure. Her fingers came closer and closer to where he really wanted them, and she cupped him and he kept an aching groan behind his teeth and fought to keep from grabbing her. He’d give her a little control before he ripped it from her, letting the reins of his own self-command blow away in the hot wind.

The slightly dazed look in her eyes, the plumping of her lips, the flush in her cheeks, all gave him gut-deep satisfaction. She was in this thing with him, all the way, and as completely as he.

He’d stop thinking soon, but now he savored the thickening and heaviness of his dick. His own lust and the evidence of hers. Hell, even his cheekbones felt hot as she smoothed his pants with trembling hands, folded them over the back of a chair. Oh, yeah.

Bracing his leg against the bed, he propped his cane on the curved wooden footboard, slid his thumbs into his boxers and dropped them, nearly groaning with pleasure as his erection was freed.

She turned back and her gaze went straight to his cock and he swelled even more and gritted his teeth as she sauntered back toward him, eyes glittering. Standing no more than a foot from him, with her usual efficiency, she stripped, jeans and cotton panties dropped, showing the slight curve of her stomach, the pretty dark curls covering her sex, her long tanned legs. His breath caught, his turn to focus on her every movement as she pulled up her tee, folded it, paced back and put it on the seat of the chair holding his pants. His mouth dried as she unhooked her bra and let her beautiful full breasts spill from it, the tips rosy and nubby with passion.