Grand Passion

uncertainly between the image in the mirror and the woman who stood in front of it.
    “Look at you.” There was primitive male awe in Max's voice. “You're beautiful.”
    She wasn't, and she knew it, but part of the magic of the night was that Max could make her feel beautiful. Cleo smiled dreamily and put her hands on top of Max's.
    He eased his fingers downward into the dark triangle of curls that concealed Cleo's most secret places. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. When he slid one finger into the liquid warmth that had gathered in the folds between her legs, she moaned.
    The right man .
    Cleo turned abruptly within the circle of Max's arms and splayed her fingers across his chest. Without any hesitation she lifted her face, offering him her mouth.
    Max groaned and crushed her lips beneath his. The full force of his own hunger broke over her. Cleo felt like a small, supple tree in a gale.
    This kiss was not like the other one that Max had given her that night in the solarium. It was darker, more demanding, and far more blatantly erotic.
    Cleo shuddered beneath the sensual onslaught, but she had no wish to pull back from it. Instead, she craved more of Max's brand of hunger. It was, in turn, making her insatiable.
    Max cupped her buttocks in his hands and pressed her against his aroused body. She tasted his mouth with her tongue, and he, in turn, shuddered.
    “I don't know if I'm going to live through this.” Max covered her lips once more with his own and drew her back toward the bed. “And I don't care so long as I have you tonight.”
    Cleo pressed herself closer. She felt Max stagger a little as he worked to balance her weight as well as his own without the aid of his cane. Cleo heard his sudden, sharp intake of breath and knew that his leg was protesting the added burden. She started to draw back.
    “No.” Max caught her hands and put them firmly around his neck. His eyes gleamed with passion. “Forget the damned leg. Hold on to me. Tight.”
    She clung to him and felt the heat that was radiating from his skin. Max was burning up with desire. She wondered if she felt as warm to him.
    He collapsed back onto the quilt, dragging Cleo down on top of him. Cleo sprawled across his chest and burrowed into his warmth. She couldn't seem to stop kissing him. She wanted to touch him everywhere.
    She showered him with kisses as he lay beneath her. His throat, his chest, his belly; she savored every inch of him. He was so beautifully, powerfully, inexpressibly male . The potential they shared was so vast that it almost frightened her. He was the exciting other , the one who would set her free and whom she, in turn, would free.
    Max sucked in his breath again, but this time, Cleo knew, it wasn't because of the pain in his leg. He wrapped one hand around her head and gently pushed her mouth against the skin of his flat stomach. “Yes,” he muttered. “So good.”
    He reached out, captured her hand in his, and settled her palm over the fierce bulge in his trousers.
    Cleo stilled as she cautiously explored the size of his erection. She forced her head up against the weight of his hand. “Max?”
    His fingers trembled as he touched her breast. His eyes were shadowed with dark excitement. “I want you.”
    Cleo smiled tremulously. “I want you, too.”
    “Then there isn't any reason to stop now, is there?” He searched her face.
    Cleo took a deep breath. “No. There isn't any reason to stop.”
    Max moved, turning onto his side and easing Cleo onto her back. He covered her body with his own and kissed her.
    Cleo speared her fingers through his hair and arched herself against him. The reality of what she was experiencing transcended everything she had imagined when she wrote The Mirror .
    Max tore his mouth free from hers and sat up reluctantly. He unfastened his pants and worked them off. Then he leaned over to open the small drawer in the nightstand. Cleo heard the rustle of a foil wrapper. When he was finished, he turned out the lamp and came back to Cleo.
    “You're more beautiful than I had imagined,” Cleo whispered. “And bigger.” She blushed furiously. “I mean all over. What I meant to say was…”
    Max smiled slightly as he fitted himself between her legs. “Yes? What did you mean to say?”
    Cleo saw the humor in his gaze and shook her head impatiently. She reached up and caught his face between her palms. “Max, what I'm trying to say is that although in some ways you're