OUTSIDE THE LIMIT Excerpt . . .

They sat there in the rainy gloom, watching the drops of water coursing down the windshield, the waving green foliage surrounding them. He reached out for her hand. It was as cold as ice. He chafed it.

“Come in,” he urged her. “Let me make you a cup of tea.”

She stared down at her hand, clasped in his, but did not pull it away. “I’m the opposite of your ideal woman,” she blurted.

His jaw clenched. “I know,” he said.

“So, um, where does that leave us?” she asked quietly.

He looked up at the dripping trees, the heavy clouds. “At the moment, it leaves us parked outside, in a truck, in the rain.”

Her face turned deep, warm pink. “You want me to come in?”

“Only if you want to,” he said. Hah. He lied. He wanted her to come in more than he wanted his next lungful of oxygen.

“I hardly know you,” she whispered.

“We can fix that,” he suggested. “Come in for a cup of tea. Tell me about yourself. ”

“That’s very nice of you. But it’s not a good idea to have a first date in one’s own private space,” she said primly.

He started to grin. “Is that what it would be? A first date?”

She looked flustered. “I don’t know. What would you call it?”

He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “I’d call it a cup of tea.”

Nancy wrapped her arms around herself. “A first date—that is, um, a first encounter of any kind should take place on mutually agreed upon neutral ground,” she told him. “A public place, like a bar, or a restaurant. And just a drink, not dinner. Just to see how it goes.”

“Oh. Is that how it’s done?” He pressed a kiss against her fingers. “Tea’s a drink, right? And wouldn’t breakfast count as the first date?”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “No way. We haven’t had any dates. We’re nowhere yet. Breakfast doesn’t count. Intention is everything.”

“Now that is the God’s own truth.” He reached out, and stroked her cheek with a feather-light touch. It was as soft as he had imagined.

She made a low, inarticulate sound deep in her throat. He was dazed, by the warmth of her, the downy softness. The delicate details.

He leaned forward, in tiny, increments, until their faces nearly touched, and commenced a slow, careful dance of advance, retreat. Feeling her breath against his cheek, stroking her jaw. Tracing that elegant jut of delicately sculpted cheekbone beneath her smooth skin.

He waited, sensing her caution, and her longing. Waiting patiently until the two found their perfect balancing point, and . . . ah.

Her eyes shut as he tasted her lips. So lightly. So carefully.

He gasped at the contact. Oh, Jesus, she tasted like light. Incredible, electrifying. Her lips, so soft and shy beneath his.

He explored her face with his fingertips, stroking her jaw, her pale throat. She dragged in a sharp breath as he slid his hand down her back, settling on the curve of her hip. Her nipples poked against her blouse. His fingers ached to caress them. He touched the first button, tugged it. It came loose, revealing the hollow of her throat, a warm cloud of some exotic, woodsy scent. He wanted to gulp it in. Lick it up.

He pulled her closer, kissed her jaw, then her throat. His lips brushed the warm gold of the little pendant Lucia had given her. His hand brushed down over her breast, just close enough so that the nipple barely brushed his palm. The little nub was hard, tight.

His arm tightened. He felt it, the second that it happened. A door, slamming down between them in her mind. One moment she was melting in his arms, fingernails digging into his shirt. Out of nowhere, tension gripped her, and she arched away, stiff and brittle as a stick of balsa wood. He was so in tune with her, he actually felt alarm jangling through her, like warning bells clanging. As if the fear were his own.

He forced himself to let go. It was as hard as bending metal.

He eased back, hands clenched. Giving her the space she needed. He was doing it again. Pushing her. It was a piss poor time for this. She was a complicated woman, grief stricken, stressed out, and he was a jerk-off for forcing the issue. Off his fucking head. He struggled not to pant. Fists clenched. Slow breathing. Don’t even look at her. Don’t.

He looked away. Minutes ticked by, measured by drops of water making their meandering way down the window of the truck, by ragged, labored breaths that he struggled to keep silent.

At length, he heard her rustling, the soft sounds of fabric shushing together. Buttoning her blouse, getting herself in order. A cough. Clearing her throat. “Ah . . um, Liam? That was, ah—“

“Amazing.” He stared fixedly at the lean-to, the pattern of the carefully stacked wood for his fireplace. “But you choked.”

She looked into her lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. Look, I need to get back. I need to talk to the cops about that letter, and the jeweler, and clue my sisters in, and you’ve been really great, and I appreciate the company, but I . . . but I’m, ah—“

“Scared,” he said.

She sighed. “Not of you.” Her voice was muted. “You’re a really good guy. I know that. It’s just . . . well, everything.”

“Yeah?” Anger twisted in him, hard to wrestle down. “Everything’s not here in the cab of this truck, Nancy. It’s just me in here with you.”

She looked at him with big, beseeching eyes. He stared back, unrelenting. “It’s just a cup of tea. It’s not the end of the world.”

She made a sniffing sound. “Right. You know exactly what would happen if I went into your house, Liam.”

“Do I? Yes, actually,” he said reflectively. “I can see it. I’d pull up a chair for you. Put the kettle on the stove. Rummage around in the pantry for that tin of ginger butter crisps. Ask if you take milk or lemon. Ask leading questions about your childhood. Say nice things about your eyes, your hair, your earrings. Try my best to be witty and charming.”

“Really?” A smile flickered on her face. “Is that what you’d do?”

He nodded, willing it to be true.

“It sounds nice,” she said demurely. “But I . . . oh, never mind.”

Yeah, she didn’t have to say it. He saw that alternative scenario, too. The one where he ripped the clothes off that slim, lusciously curved body, pinned her up against the wall and nailed her, deep and hard, until they both exploded. His heart thudded. His ears roared.

Cool it, bonehead. The moment was so fragile, so uncertain. She was intensely sensitive to his every word, his every goddamn thought.

He caught her eye flicking to his lap and darting nervously away. Yeah, the boner of the century, trying to rip the seams of his jeans loose. Aching with each heavy thud of his heart for the soft touch of that cool hand. Heat burned into his cheekbones. He gave her a shrug that said yeah, and so? He couldn’t control his physiological responses, but he could by God control his behavior. He wanted her to know that, but there was no good way to say it. Better to keep his mouth shut.

“I just need for things to be . . . under control,” she whispered. “I have enough to be scared of right now, without piling it on, you know?”

He rubbed his face against his hands, feeling around instinctively with his senses for a way through this labyrinth. He did not want to turn around and go back. No. He could not. That wasn’t even an option.

He flung the door of the truck open. The rain on the earth had released a deep, sweet spicy perfume, and drops pattered heavily down onto him. He circled the truck, and stood outside the passenger side door, staring at Nancy’s huge eyes through the rain spotted glass. He mimed rolling down the window. She did so, frowning in perplexity.

“What the hell are you doing out there in the rain?”

“Continuing our conversation. You need control. Control it, then. The car door’s the limit. I won’t violate it. I swear upon my sacred honor that I will not touch any part of you that’s inside that door.”

Her gaze skittered away, embarrassed. “Oh, God, Liam. You don’t have to play elaborate games like that with me. You’re getting soaked.”

Like he gave a shit. “That’s my problem, not yours,” he said.

“But it makes me feel guilty!” she protested.

Ah. Yes. This was progress. “The guilt is your problem,” he informed her. “I can’t help you with that. Sorry.”

She laughed at him. Something primitive inside him capered with glee. Yes. It was working. She was lightening up. Praise God.

“So?” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re just going to stand out there and get drenched, then? That’s silly.”

“It’s a crafty attempt to disarm you with my gallantry,” he told her. “Is it working? Are you charmed?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, leaning out the window. “I think you’re out of your mind.”

His grin stretched all the way around his head. “You’re charmed,” he said. “And you’re outside the limit. Any part of you outside the plane of the window is fair game, remember? The tip of your nose and your forehead are at serious risk. This is by way of a courtesy warning.”

“Very gentlemanly of you, to warn me,” she said demurely.

“I’m trying like hell,” he said, with stark sincerity.

And she didn’t pull back. In fact, she leaned a tiny bit further out. And her fingers were curled over the side of the door.

He jerked his chin towards her hands. “Outside the limit.”

Her lips formed words that didn’t quite make it out of her mouth, so she swallowed, and tried again. “I . . . I know.”

His heart started to thud again. The rain was increasing, its soft, pattering rush. Running down his face. Beading hers, as well.

Over the limit. Fair game. She’d been warned. She knew.

He reached out, as slowly as if she were a bird that would take flight at any sudden movement, and touched the backs of her cool, slender fingers. So pale. Wet with rain. Unexpectedly, her hands turned beneath his. Excitement jolted through his chest. Palm up, like flowers, blooming beneath his hands. Opening, offering. Yes.

He leaned closer. The rain whispered, murmuring, pattering tenderly against every new leaf. She glowed like a South Sea pearl, that faint blush of pink, barely a hint of color in her pale cheeks. Her huge eyes were wide open, and luminous. Greenish brown. Leaves in the water. Dilated pupils, deep and endless. A sprinkle of ruddy freckles on her nose, now that he was close enough to see. A frivolous detail that made her beauty more believable, more approachable. More kissable.

He studied every drop of water beading her forehead. Followed the grain of her eyebrows, the jut of her cheekbone. Perfect. Radiant. He was dazzled. Lost. His wits gone. Like they’d never been.

She extricated her hand, and touched his face from cheekbone to jaw. The trail of her finger was a path of light, moonlight on water, a beckoning shimmer. Rain dripped into his collar, soaking his shoulders. Rain defined the dimensions of this sensual liquid otherworld. Pearly gray, green, silvery, glittering cool. And beneath it, secret hidden heat. The blush in her cheeks, the warmth of her lips. Wet with rain, sweet with rain. Her scent, escaping him every time he tried to inhale it. Elusive, alluring. Driving him mad. He swayed. Their lips touched.

The kiss pierced through him, broke something open. He started to shake, and clutched the edge of the door to steady himself. Moved, by a shy, cautious, trembling kiss. Tears started into his eyes. Luckily, his face was already wet. He closed his eyes, tasted her, felt her. The delicate texture of the inside skin of her lips, the flick of her shy tongue. He drank it up. A heady liquor. So sweet, for being given, and not taken.

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ASK FOR MORE Excerpt . . .

“I spoke to Detective Lanaghan today,” Duncan said abruptly.

Denise Lanaghan was the name of the investigating officer in the burglary case on Lucia’s house. Hearing the woman’s name spoken here, in this context, was disorienting. “You did what? Why on earth?” Nell demanded.

“I wanted to see what progress they were making on the case.“

Shock was quickly replaced by anger. “Oh. I understand. You wanted to see if my story was just so much paranoid bullshit, right?”

He hesitated. “Ah, no, actually. Not at all. A few minutes with a good search engine was enough to establish that.”

She was further outraged. “Oh! So it’s true, then? You checked up on me? You cyber-spied on me?”

“I would hardly call it spying,” he said. “I didn’t hack into anything private. I just looked at what was lying around in plain sight.”

“But why?” she demanded. “Why nose into my life?”

Duncan shrugged, unrepentant. “I was interested.”

“Well, this level of interest is making me nervous. And I did not need anything else to make me nervous. Understand?”

He nodded, but did not apologize.

“It’s all or nothing with you,” Nell said tartly. “Either you ignore my very existence, or you pin me under a microscope. So, whatever. What did Lanaghan say?”

“Pretty much what you told me last night, he said. “They haven’t made much progress.”

“No,” she said. “The guy’s good. He left no trace. No prints, no DNA, nothing. Even the SUV turned out to be stolen, hours before.” The thought chilled her. She shied away from it, groping for something else to think about. “So what else did you find on me out there in cyberspace?” she prodded him. “I suppose you read last term’s graduate seminar paper on Christina Rossetti? Or did you dig into the archived transcripts from the message boards at the online poetry forum?”

“Yeah, both,” he said. “But my favorites were those five short poems you published in The Golden Thread last January.”

That floored her. Her mouth opened and closed. “Ah . . . actually, I was, um, just kidding. About you reading . . . any of that stuff.”

“I wasn’t,” he replied.

The silence stretched out, heavy between them, and he made a sharp gesture with his hand. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “It’s not like I can discuss them intelligently. I can’t. To be honest, I don’t have a flipping clue what you were talking about. In any of those poems.”

She was puzzled. “So how did you know you liked them?”

She sensed his discomfort as he fidgeted, and looked out the window. “I don’t know. I just did. I liked the way they made me feel.”

She was startled, and moved by the awkward confession. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about my work. Thank you.”

He drifted like a shadow until he stood right in front of her. So close, his aura was interfering with her brain waves.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “This is the first time in my life I ever got something like that right. And damned if it wasn’t by accident. Pure, dumb-ass luck.”

“Don’t put it in those terms,” she scolded, breathlessly. “It’s not something you get wrong or right. It’s just a matter of paying attention, and telling the truth.”

He touched one of her ringlets, pulling it out long, letting it spring back, bouncing. “I’ve got no problems with attention. Or truth,” he said.

“Um, n-no, you sure don’t,” she stammered.

He curled another lock of hair around his finger, stroking the texture. “So, what’s my prize for getting this right, Nell?” The deep vibration of his voice made her skin tingle. His breath was so warm. It smelled of coffee, of mint. “Did I earn some points?”

“There you go again,” she protested, in a whisper. “It’s not about points. Or prizes.”

His lips grazed her temple. “It’s not?” Then her cheekbone. His voice was a delicate brush of darkest sable over her nerves. “Then what is it about, Nell? Teach me. Enlighten me. I await your wisdom.”

Her head dropped back. His hand was ready to support it, warm and strong. Cradling her. “Do not make fun of me,” she whispered.

“Oh, God, no,” he muttered, and kissed her.

It was like light flashing through her, delicious heat flushing every corner of her body. Like some sinuous, muscular animal thing inside her woke up, a thing that was not afraid of him at all, oh no, not one little bit. That sleek animal part knew exactly what she wanted from him. Knew that he had it to give. Lots of it. Loads of it.

She wound her arms around his neck and demanded it. He made a surprised,

satisfied sound deep in his throat and positioned himself between her legs where she perched on the table. Cupping her head with one hand and her bottom with the other.

She’d kissed men before, and been kissed, and had sex, too. Some, not a lot. She’d even enjoyed it, to a certain extent. But never like this. Always before part of her stood apart, critiquing, judging. She tried to let herself go, experience the magic, the ecstatic passion that poets wrote about, but she’d always stayed so flat, so cool.

With Duncan, there was no problem with letting herself go. Oh, no. The problem was in holding herself back. She wanted to eat him up, strip him bare, ride him hard. He tasted so good. He coaxed her mouth open, and she wound her fingers into his thick straight hair and moved against him, helpless to stop. He bent her back on the table until she let go of his arms to prop herself up on her elbows. He grabbed her ankles, folded her legs up high, until her skirt rode up and her gartered stockings showed. The ones she’d put on this morning, back when she was still trying to fool herself into thinking she wasn’t going to wrestle this guy to the ground and have her wild and wanton way with him. Like, please. Who had she been trying to kid? He was gorgeous. A smorgasbord of sexual delights. So big, so hot. She gasped and pressed back at each grinding shove of his erection against her. He circled against that crazy hot delicious writhing sweet spot, and oh . . . God.

Bursts of pleasure rocked her, jolting her mind way out of whack.

When she opened her eyes, she found his hand clamped over her mouth. He was grinning. Delighted with himself.

“Wow,” he whispered, slowly lifting his hand.

“What?” she croaked, mortified. “Oh, God. Did I, um—“

“Oh, yeah. Bigtime. Hold on a sec.” He pulled away, wrenched the door open. Nell’s legs snapped together as a blade of cold light sliced into the room and assaulted her eyes. Duncan poked his head out the door, peered around and closed it, plunging them into darkness again. “They’re gone,” he said, and she heard the click of the door lock engaging. “Not a sound. But just in case. Since you’re a screamer.”

A thread of cold unfurled in her belly. She slid off the table. tugged her skirt over her legs, and found him in front of her. “Oh, no. Don’t panic on me now.” There was an edge of pleading in his voice.

“I just . . . the locked door, it, ah . . .”

“I’ll unlock it, if you want. I just don’t want surprise visitors.” His hands slid under her skirt and gripped the tops of her thighs, sliding slowly up to her groin. “Making you come is not a spectator sport.”

“Uh, no, of course not. But I—“

“Shhh,” he shushed her, and he seized her again, and they were off, kissing wildly. She gripped his arms and drank him in. Their mouths melded with the sensual sureness of well matched dancing partners. It was as if they’d known how to kiss each other senseless since time began, with all the excitement of novelty, all the grace and ease of familiarity. She wanted to claw his shirt off, discover every detail that big, solid torso, to smell his sweat, the texture of his chest hair, the shape of his nipples, the contours of his muscles.

And his cock. She wanted to grip it, test it, pet it. She reached down, pressed her hand against his flat belly and slid it down over his belt. His hand covered hers, and pressed it against the bulge in his crotch. He stroked the gusset of her panties. A murmur of satisfaction rumbled against her shoulder as he found her wet. Very wet.

He kissed her again, his tongue venturing into her mouth to twine lazily around hers, and both of them moaned as he explored her slick folds with a gentle finger, circling and pressing, sliding into her slick opening. She clenched around him, gasping in shocked delight.

“Oh, God,” he muttered. “I think my hand is going to come.”

“You think you’ve got problems,” she said jerkily.

Then, no more talking. Just deep, ravenous kissing while his finger delved, and her hand stroked that massive hot bulge. Her legs twined around his thighs for balance, and they shuddered and gasped together, tongues twining, wrapped in a tight, trembling knot of desire. Tension rose, until the sweet, keening ache of anticipation shattered.

Pulses of hot delight jolted through her body.

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READY OR NOT Excerpt . . .

The path merged with a smaller streambed from the hillside above that had carved a gully leading down to the river. The walls of the gully were steep, the rocks covered with moss, thick with wild mint and luxuriant, spotted yellow flowers with heavy heads, like snapdragons. Vivi picked her way from boulder to boulder, Edna splashing ahead of her. At the mouth of the spring, Jack pointed. “Look past that tall rock.”

Her eyes followed his hand. There were several pools, sunken into the huge, flat gray rocks of the riverbank, surrounded by yellow flowers and mint. The last sun that still slanted into the river canyon lit up the water, lighting up colored pebbles and glittering sand. Curls of steam rose from the water. The river rushed noisily by a few yards away.

Jack watched her face, intently. “Like it?”

She looked around, enchanted. “Oh, my God. It’s superb.”

Her delight was shattered when she realized that Jack had stripped off his shirt and was unbuckling his belt. Oh, God. Jack Kendrick fully clothed was already too much voltage for her circuits to handle. Jack Kendrick naked would blow her fuses to hell and gone. “Hey, you! Just wait a damn second!”

His hands stopped on his waistband. “Yeah?”

“Are you wearing swimming trunks?” she demanded.

“No.” He waited patiently as she processed this.

“I’m not comfortable with that,” she said. “Things are already funny between us. I’d rather not, uh . . .”

“See me stark naked,” he finished.

She blew out a sharp, nervous sigh. “Right on, buddy.”

“Do you want me to leave? Can you find your way back alone?”

Ow. That would be so flat. So blah. She did not want him to leave.

Damn, she didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted the world to be different. She wanted him to be different. She wanted . . . aw, shit.

She just wanted him to want her. Her, Vivi D’Onofrio. The whole damn tattooed, itinerant, sexpot, complicated, prickly package.

That was too extravagant a thing to hope for. Besides being way too soon. She just had so much intense, scary emotion about sex backed up in her system. After six years of celibacy anyone would be climbing the walls. She had Brian Wilder to thank for that, too.

“No, don’t leave,” she murmured, abashed. “Can’t you just, um, keep your underwear on?”

The way his lips twitched made her feel foolish and prissy. “Yeah, whatever,” he said. “If it really bothers you.”

He pulled off his jeans. He was wearing white briefs. The muscles in his torso were finger-licking delicious. Luxurious curling dark hair tapered down to his belly and turned into a furry mat that disappeared into those briefs. Narrow hips, powerful thighs. She might not survive this visual sensory experience even if he did keep his briefs on.

He stepped into the water, descending until he sat in the pool cross legged, glittering sand wafting up from the bottom to swirl and turn in the water, glinting in the sunlight. The water reached his collarbone. He leaned against the rim of the pool, and closed his eyes.

A nice show of delicacy, while she undressed. He was in perfect gentleman mode now--but she knew his tricks. If she relaxed and let down her guard for one instant, he’d turn on her for sure.

She pulled off her jeans and tee-shirt, and stepped into the water. Deliciously hot. Like an enormous, full body kiss. A sprig of mint dangled over her shoulder. She was blushing furiously.

“Why are you blushing?” His voice was silky, amused.

“The water is hot,” she snapped. “And how did you know that with your eyes closed, anyway? That’s sneaky.”

He smiled briefly, and made no reply.

They sat there, listening to the river rushing by, for a very long time. He kept his eyes closed, until it felt as if he were hiding from her.

She wanted to make him reveal something about himself. She’d bared her soul, in

the restaurant the night before. He owed her some freaking personal history, too. “So. Nudity doesn’t embarrass you?”

“I grew up around people who weren’t embarrassed about it,” he said. “The sexual revolution. Let it all hang out. The order of the day.”

Interesting factoid, that. Vivi pinched off a mint leaf, and chewed it, letting the fresh, clean flavor clear her head. Jack dunked his head under the water, and smoothed his hair back from his square forehead, and she noticed once again the white streak where the scar disappeared into his hairline. “How’d you get the scar?”

He didn’t open his eyes. “Long story.”

“I’m not in a hurry,” she said.

His forehead contracted, and then he wiped his face clean of expression once

again. “Another time.”

She plucked another mint sprig. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s OK. Talk all you want. Just don’t expect me to be scintillating when I respond. Or even coherent.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

He opened his eyes, and looked at her, with that bright, clear timber wolf gaze that made shivers of delicious terror race through her.

“I can’t concentrate,” he said. “I can barely hear you talk. All I can hear is my own heart pounding.”

The flat statement hung between them. The force of his gaze burned against her face. She closed her eyes, counted to ten.

A tendril of hair was clinging to his forehead. A drop of water rolled down his cheek. Vivi leaned forward, and touched it with her fingertip. His face was so hot.

He caught her wrist in his hand, and pulled. She floated effortlessly, inevitably closer to him. For a few breathless moments, they were face to face, staring at each other. Her breasts brushed his chest. He touched her lips. Slid his finger into her hair. Kissed her, hungrily.

She went nuts, in his arms. An explosion of emotions, sensations, bursting into being from deep inside. Achingly sweet, and tinged with desperation, and something fierce, like anger, but brighter, hungrier. Twisting, twining, growing. She wound her arms around his neck and hung on, digging her fingers into those thick muscles.

He drew back for a moment, his eyes dilated and full of wonder. “You taste like mint,” he said huskily, and then that huge, muscular vortex sucked them right back into another desperate, twining kiss.

Oh, wow. He was outrageously beautiful close up. His eyes, the incredible length of his wet black eyelashes. Water drops trickling along the crest of the graceful dark angled sweep of his eyebrows.

His lips were hot, soft, supple, as wonderful and kissable as she had imagined, and his breath tasted so sweet, and his skin was so supple and beautiful, that delicate rasp of new beard shadow over those strong, graceful bones, those chiseled manly angles. God. So fine.

She was so charged with emotion. Vibrating. She explored his muscular back with her fingers, wound her arms around his neck and opened to his kiss. An opening from somewhere so deep, she felt vast inside. An endless universe of bright open space.

She barely noticed the shoulder straps of her bathing suit being peeled down. She arched back, abandoning herself to his strong grasp, letting her head fall back and her hair float out in the water like a lily pad. She cried out with pleasure as he hungrily suckled her breasts.

So sweet, so shivering melting hot. Heightened for him. Her nipples felt like points of glowing light. Her breasts had always felt so deplorably small to her, insignificant even, but under his hot mouth, they felt plumper, bigger. Swollen with eagerness, pleasure. Her whole chest was melting and soft, as if he drank some magic elixir from her body as he licked her, and the more he took, the more she had to give.

But the breathless aching pull of want between her legs grew keener every moment.

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