Deep Waters

almost marrying a man for reasons based on friendship and business and feelings of family responsibility. I do not intend to repeat the error. I don't think my medical insurance will cover another round of therapy."
    "Our relationship isn't like that."
    "Technically speaking, you may be right. You've asked me to move in with you, not marry you. And I'll admit that moving in with a man for reasons based on friendship with good sex is a distinct improvement over my relationship with Brett. The good sex was lacking last time. But it's still not enough."
    "I want more than friendship, too."
    She stilled. "How much more?"
    "I want you," he whispered.
    The aching hunger in his voice was getting to her. She knew she was weakening. She had to be careful, she warned herself. There was so much at risk.
    "What are you prepared to give in return?" she asked softly.
    "Whatever I can. Take whatever you want. Please."
    The stark please was her undoing. She could not refuse him a second time. She loved him, and he said that he was prepared to give her as much of himself as he could. Coming from Elias, that meant a lot. She wondered if he understood that he was as good as promising her that he would try to learn to open himself to love.
    She smiled. "I guess I can work with that. All right, Elias. If you really want me to move in with you, I will. But I warn you, my furniture is coming with me. I'm not going to spend every evening sitting on the floor when I can kick back in my own Italian easy chair."
    "You've got a deal." He reached for her.
    "Uh, maybe we should get out of here before—"
    Elias pulled her into his arms with such force that she dropped her flashlight in surprise. It rolled across the floorboards and fetched up against a wall.
    She was crushed against his chest. She could hardly breath. Elias's mouth was ravenous. His body was hard with his surging arousal. It was as if all of the intense emotions that he could not show in any other way were channeled into this one singular form of human communication.
    "Elias, wait." Charity managed to free her mouth from his, but she could not get his attention.
    Denied her lips, he quested in another direction. She made a soft, half-strangled sound when she felt his teeth come together around her earlobe. A blazing excitement shot through her. Then his mouth moved lower to the curve of her throat. The handle of the flashlight pressed into her back. Elias's free hand pushed through her hair, freeing it from the ponytail clip.
    "No, hold on." She caught his face between her palms. Gave him a small, determined shake to make him focus. "Stop."
    "What's wrong?"
    "I absolutely refuse to have a significant sexual encounter here in this sleazy cabin that appears to have been used by everyone in town who wanted to conduct a clandestine affair."
    For a few seconds he did not seem to comprehend. Then she felt him relax very slightly. There was just enough light bouncing off the wall from the fallen flashlight to reveal the slow, sexy grin that transformed his face.
    "But someone left a perfectly good set of handcuffs in the bedroom," he said. "Why waste them?"
    "Get a grip, Winters." She scooped up the fallen flashlight. "We're outa here. Right now."
    "And here I'd started to think of you as a thrill-seeker." He picked her up and whisked her outside.
    He stuffed her into the Jeep, got behind the wheel, and drove back to the cottage with a complete lack of regard for the local speed limits.
    Charity did not say a word as he pulled into the drive and switched off the engine. There was just enough light to see her sexy smile.
    He groaned and reached for her, intending only to kiss her once more before they got out of the Jeep. But passion exploded on contact.
    "Elias. Oh, my God."
    He fumbled with the Jeep's door with his left hand. He got the door open, but he could not get out of the vehicle. Charity was kissing him with a sweet, frantic desire that sent need swirling through his veins.
    "Here," he whispered. "Now."
    "Now?"
    "Right now. I won't last until we get into the house."
    He struggled with her jeans. She did not argue. Instead, she kissed his throat. Her hands fluttered around his waist. He groaned when she carefully lowered his zipper. He was rigid. He knew he was thrusting through the opening in his briefs, through the opening in his pants.
    He started to struggle with her jeans.
    "No, wait," she whispered.
    "Now, what? Don't worry, this isn't like the old Rossiter place. I swear,