Page 41 of Boxed In

She had never lost her head with a man. She had always been cautious in her relationships. And maybe that was why she had never quite gotten what she wanted.

Now she was hot and needy, burning up from the inside out.

When she moved her hips against him, he made a sound of approval. She was lost in the male taste of him, the feel of his hard body, and the sensuality of his large hands moving over her.

The clothes they were wearing were in the way. And he must be thinking the same thing. Deftly he unhooked the catch of her bra. With one part of her mind, she thought it must be Luke doing it. No ancient warrior would know how to unfasten a bra.

He shifted her so he could push the cups out of the way as he swept her blouse up and lowered his head, pressing his cheek against one inner curve and then the other.

Her nipples had already contracted to tight points of sensation. When he sucked one into his mouth, she cried out with the intensity of it.

One hand found her other breast, squeezing her nipple between his thumb and finger, twisting and pulling, driving her to an unbearable level of need.

She reached between them, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. He was too impatient for her to finish. With two hands, he grabbed the sides of the garment and pulled, tearing fabric and sending buttons bouncing around the room.

As she gasped in shock, he stepped back and tore at his shirt, ripping it off and tossing it onto the floor. He sent her blouse and bra after it, then pulled her close, sealing her body to his.

She gasped again at the feel of her naked breasts against his hair-roughened chest.

His hands grasped her shoulders, swaying her torso against his, and she heard a rumble of approval in his throat.

Her own hands went to the button at the top of her slacks. She fumbled it undone, then lowered her zipper, pulling off her pants and panties as he held her in his arms. Next she tackled his jeans, tearing them off almost as quickly as she’d dispatched her own slacks.

He laughed softly. “Are you in a hurry?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered.

Wrapping his arms around her, he took her down to the surface of the rug.

She closed her eyes so that she could focus on the physical sensation, expecting him to come down on top of her. But he rolled to his side, cradling her in his arms. He had been a whirlwind of motion. Now he lay perfectly still, just holding her.

She felt the tension in him and also in herself.

She took a breath of the air. It was different than it had been only moments ago.

“I smell smoke,” she whispered, a zing of alarm dancing through her.

“From the fire.”

“Fire?” Her eyes blinked open, and she tried to figure out what she was seeing.

“To keep us warm.”

She lifted her head and looked around. The room had been dark, except for the illumination from the hallway.

She remembered coming down the corridor to get here. But now the light seemed different. It had a strange, flickering quality. When she took a second look, she gasped.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that the modern surroundings had disappeared. Instead of a room in a Victorian house, they were somewhere else.

It couldn’t be possible. But it was. They were in a cave, and the red and gold, shifting light came from a wood fire, the smoke rising up and escaping through a hole in the roof.

Lifting her head, she stared at the stone walls that were painted with drawings of men and animals. Not the primitive cave paintings she associated with archaeology expeditions. But quite sophisticated works of art.

Outside, the wind howled and ruffled the curtain of animal skin that blocked what she assumed was the entrance.

She moved her hand against the surface below them. It wasn’t a rug any more. Instead they were lying on animal skins, shaggy pelts from some beast she didn’t recognize.

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