From the Heart

bag.
    “Afraid?” Liv tossed the bag back down and spun back. “The day I’m afraid of you—”
    “I was thinking more of yourself.” He tilted his head and studied her furious face. “Maybe you’re not sure you could resist—ah, tapping on my door.”
    Speechless, Liv stared at him. “Tapping?” she managed ina sputter. “You think—you think I find you so irresistible, so—so . . .”
    “Desirable?” he suggested helpfully.
    Liv clenched her hands into fists. “I don’t have any trouble resisting you, Thorpe.”
    “No?”
    Before she could take a breath, she was in his arms. Before she could think to protest, his mouth was on hers. Pressed close—so close her body seemed to mold itself to his without her will. His mouth was firm, not impatient so much as insistent. This time, rather than tempting her surrender, he demanded it. The control, though it balanced on a fine edge, was his. With his fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and plundered, deeper and still deeper.
    “No trouble, Liv?” he murmured, lifting his mouth a whisper from hers.
    Her breath was trembling. She shook her head before she attempted to speak. But he gave her no chance.
    Again, his lips took hers, this time with the fire of possession. A moan of pleasure escaped her as she instinctively reached for him, tangling her fingers in his damp hair to pull him closer. Sharp, small needs began to race along her skin. He seemed to know, for his hands followed them with uncanny accuracy—a fingertip down her spine, a thumb at the sweep of her hip, his palm at the long length of her thigh.
    Liv explored his face with her own hands, running her fingers over the angles and planes as if she would sculpt it. Her touch only heightened his demand, so that he crushed her to him, bending her back from the waist. Like putty, she moved to his command. Then he molded her. Under his hands, her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breathing. The nipples were taut, straining against the material of her blouse while he circled a fingertip over them.
    There was no thought of resistance. She wanted the burn of his mouth, the scorch of his touch. When his lips moved to her throat, she tilted her head to give him absolute freedom. The moist heat of his tongue on her skin sent ripples of pleasure through her. She was lost in the dim, shadowed world of desires. His naked chest was pressed hard against her breasts. Caught tight, with arms that wrappedpossessively around her, Liv yielded to him, to her own desire. His mouth lingered at the curve of her neck, just above the collar of her blouse; then, with deliberate leisure, he took his lips upward, lingering at the pulse in her throat, then the line of her jaw. When his mouth came back to hers, it was as though all the hunger and thirst she had ever known were concentrated in that one touch of lips.
    Passion went from dark to bright. A harsh, blinding light seemed to explode in her brain. It left her limp. With a muffled cry that was half surrender, half terror, Liv leaned against him.
    Unprepared for the sudden weakness, Thorpe drew her away to study her. In her eyes he could see traces of desire, hints of fear and confusion. The eyes alone were a more impenetrable defense than all her angry words or fierce denials.
    Tenderness. He couldn’t fight his own surge of tenderness. Taking her now would be simple, but having her physically was only part of what he wanted. When they finally made love—and he had no doubt that they would—she would come to him without fear. He would wait for it.
    Smiling, he touched his lips briefly to hers. He wanted to see the flash of temper again. “In case you change your mind about resisting me, Carmichael, I’ll leave my door unlocked. You don’t even have to knock.”
    He sauntered away, shutting his connecting door with a gentle click. It took ten seconds before the heavy thud of her thrown shoe sounded against it. With a grin, Thorpe switched on the television to see what the British news had to offer.

8
    W ith a low, monotonous buzz, the alarm woke Liv at six A.M. She reached for the button automatically, then lay staring at the bland, impersonal room without the least idea where she was. London, she remembered, and rubbed her fingers over her eyes.
    She hadn’t slept well. Sitting up, Liv brought her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them. Blast Thorpe! She’d spent half the night tossing and turning with doubts and desires that