Mad About You

reasons to avoid this man who'd become much too important to her, much too quickly, were incinerated as his mouth moved against hers. With his tongue, he coaxed her mouth open, then ravaged the inside ruthlessly, stealing, commanding, demanding.
    Her glasses became too fogged to see clearly—surely that was why everything seemed blurry?—but her other senses roared to life. He moved his warm hands beneath her shirt to span her back and waist, and Kat instantly felt her nipples bead. She moaned into his mouth and he shuddered against her, fueling her passion higher. He massaged her back in small circles, tracing her spine, lazily working his way up and around to caress the sides of her quivering rib cage. When the urgency of his kiss intensified, she rolled her shoulders and inhaled sharply, poised for the feel of his hands on her breasts. But just when his thumbs grazed the underside of her bosom, he lifted his head and slowly straightened, then dropped his hands away from her.
    Confusion washed over Kat. She wet her lips carefully, then asked in a deadly calm voice, "Is this where you mumble good night and make a hasty retreat, Agent Donovan?"
    He stared down at her with a clouded expression. "Kat, you're vulnerable right now. I don't wish to take advantage—"
    "In case you hadn't noticed, James, I'm all grown up." She pressed her lips together hard. "Able to make my own decisions, and live with the consequences."
    He pulled her closer to him, and rested his forehead against hers. "And you want this as much as I do, Pussy-Kat?"
    In answer, she took one step back, looked him directly in the eye, and began to unbutton her shirt.
    As if spellbound, his gaze dropped to her fingers. With outward control that belied her quaking insides, Kat divorced the white buttons from their buttonholes, never taking her eyes off James's face. When she'd reached the bottom, she paused, allowing the shirt to reveal an inch-wide strip of her cleavage and stomach. His lips parted, his undivided attention on her covered breasts.
    Ever so slowly, she peeled the fabric back, feeling her nipples contract as soon as the cool air of the room enveloped them. Passion glazed his eyes, gratifying her. She thrust her breasts forward in a slow-moving shrug out of her shirt. The whoosh of the cotton garment falling to the rug sounded like a lead weight dropping in the silence of the room.
    "Kat," he breathed, standing statue-still. "You are magnificent."
    A thrill raced through her body. "So touch me," she whispered.
    "I thought you'd never ask." He bent and swept her into his arms, then laid her gently on his bed. She removed her glasses and folded them safely on the nightstand. He stood and kicked off his shoes, then shed his shirt and undershirt, tossing them carelessly onto an armchair.
    Heat and moisture pooled between her legs at the sight of his naked torso—broad, muscled shoulders, lightly haired chest, with dark, flat nipples indented in firm flesh. He lowered himself beside her, supported on one elbow while his hungry gaze swept over her bared breasts. Lifting his free hand, his fingers hovered over a budded nipple almost reverently before descending for a soft squeeze that elicited a groan from both of them. Sexual energy raced through her body, triggering chills in one place, muscle contraction in another. He kneaded her breasts and reclaimed her mouth, his breathing as frantic as hers.
    Kat arched toward him, rolling on her side to face him and press her breasts against his chest, hot skin on hot skin. He interrupted their kiss long enough to whisper, "I have to taste you, Pussy-Kat," then lowered his head to lave her nipple thoroughly. He licked, nipped, and drew as much of her breast into his greedy mouth as possible, devouring her. And when she thought she would go insane from the waves of desire flooding her body, he shifted his attention to her other breast and started over.
    Anxious to touch every inch of his flesh, Kat ran her finger around his waistband, stumbling over various tabs and buttons, at last revealing white boxer shorts and his straining shaft. James paused from his ministrations just long enough to groan with satisfaction when her fingers closed around him.
    Driven by the rhythm of his mouth on her skin, she stroked him, drawing wetness that oozed over her fingers. His hand snaked down to palm her stomach, then pushed the flimsy leggings over her hips and plunged his hand into her drenched nest. Hot splinters of