Time and Again

sure what that means, but you're probably right."
    "Friends?" He bent down to brush her lips with his.
    "Friends." Before he could draw back, she cupped his head in her hand and held him against her for a longer, deeper and much less friendly kiss. "Cal?"
    "Hmm?" He traced her lips with his tongue, memorizing their shape and texture.
    "Did this guy have a name? Ouch!" Torn between laughter and pain, she jerked back. "You bit me."
    "Damn right."
    "It was your fantasy," she reminded him primly, "not mine."
    "And let's keep it that way." But he was grinning as he ran his hand up the smooth skin where her shirt had parted. "I can give you others, if you're willing to settle."
    "Yes." His palm rounded over her breast, working magic. "Oh, yes."
    "If I took you to Paris, we'd spend the first three days in that hotel suite and never get out of bed." He continued to tease, nipping here, stroking there, stopping just short of possession. "We'd drink champagne, bottle after bottle, and eat small dishes with exotic names and tastes. I'd know every inch of your body, every pore of your skin. We'd stay in that big, soft bed and go places no one else had ever been."
    "Cal." She trembled as he circled her breasts with slow, openmouthed kisses.
    "Then we'd get dressed. I can see you in something thin and white, something that skims off your shoulders, dips down your back. Something that makes every man who sees you want to murder me."
    "I don't even see them." With a sigh, she traced her hands down him, lingering over every plane and angle. "I only see you."
    "The stars are out. Millions of them. You can smell Paris. It's rich- water and flowers. We'd walk for miles so you could see all those incredible lights and wonderful ancient buildings. We'd stop and drink wine in a cafe at a table with an umbrella. Then we'd go back and make love again, for hours and hours."
    His lips came back to hers, drugging her. "We don't need Paris for that."
    "No." He braced himself over her, bracketing her head between his hands. Her face was already glowing, her eyes were half closed, that soft smile was on her lips. He wanted to remember this, this one instant when there was nothing and no one but her.
    "Oh, God, Libby, I need you."
    It was all she needed to hear, all she would ever ask to hear. She reached up to enfold him.
    There was urgency here. She could taste it as his tongue plunged deep into her mouth, demanding.
    Impatient, his hands molded her body. Because his feelings mirrored her own, her response was explosive. Her blood was molten, throbbing as it flowed close under her skin. The heat was unbearable.
    Delicious. It grew only more intense as he stripped her.
    A primitive sound hummed deep in her throat. With a speed and fury that rocked him, she was yanking off his shirt, dragging his jeans over his hips. Desperate, she rolled, reversing their positions, making a fast, hot journey over him. She heard his breath catch, and the sound sent her excitement soaring to new heights.
    Power. It was indeed the ultimate aphrodisiac. She could make him tremble and ache and whisper her name. She'd never known that with such little effort she could make him helpless.
    And he was beautiful. The feel of him under her hands, the taste of him that lingered on her tongue. And strong. There were ridges of muscles, firm, tight. But they trembled under the delicate dance of her fingertips.
    He'd wanted to make her remember. Cal groaned under the weight of the sensations she was bringing to him. It was he who would remember, always. The music that he had always loved, the simple eloquence of it, filled his head. He knew it would remind him of her from now to forever.
    He could feel the heat radiate from her as she moved her body up his, searching, finding his mouth. Her kiss was slow, sultry, something he could drown in. Then she was laughing, evading his questing hands as she drove him toward madness again.
    He couldn't bear it. His heart was pounding against his ribs, echoed by dozens of frantic pulses throughout his body. The rhythm seemed to call out her name, again and again, until he was filled with it.
    "Libby." The word was hoarse, as raw as his need. "For God's sake."
    Then she closed over him like hot velvet. The sound she made was hardly more than a moan, but it vibrated with triumph. Lost in her own pleasure, she set a wild pace, feeling her strength bound high, then higher, as her need swelled.
    A free-fall through space, a springboard through