Page 7 of Leon

"We have so little time."

His words had her heart twisting in guilt. It was because of her that they were doing this, meeting like this and she could not bear it.

Wrapping her hands around his neck, she poured everything into the kiss. Apology, need, guilt, craving. He accepted it all and was soon drunk from her taste. Coming up for air, he took the time to smooth back her hair, brushing it back from her face and admired the flawless complexion. She was exquisite. Her mahogany eyes dominated her small face. Her lips were lush and slightly swollen from his kisses. He cradled her, relishing the slender curves. Very soon he would have her naked under him, but for now, he wanted to spend some time just looking at her.

"How was your day?"

He smiled at the age-old question that wives had asked their husbands for centuries. It gave him a feeling of normalcy as if they were an ordinary couple who had just come in from a full day of work and were relaxing and enjoying each other.

"Nothing much. The usual, wheeling and dealing with the board to get them to agree to giving the airline time to start earning its keep."

His touch lingered on her face, her cheek, the sides of her lips. "You?"

"We received a box of moldy first editions from a client's dad."

She touched him, admiring the tanned skin, the shape of his brow and the dent in his strong chin. She loved touching him, loved the fact that they could be here with each other – alone with each other and just block out everything else.

"First edition, huh?"

He kissed her eyes and her cheek before brushing his lips over hers.

"Hmm."

Wrapping her hands around his neck, she inhaled his quietly expensive cologne. She could recognize and identify his scent, and it was very arousing. Everything about him turned her on. "And there was a book signing in the afternoon. A local author – children's book. It was well received."

She brushed away the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead.

"There was no problem of you not being around for the weekend?"

"No."

She did not want to talk about their parents. She had every intention of it being about them only. She was going to cook for him. She had made a list of things and would go into town and pick them up at the local market. She was going to be his wife – his lover and his best friend and make this weekend count.

"You?"

"I had to shuffle a few things, but I managed to get it done."

"Good."

She wrapped herself around him and brought his head down. The kiss smoldered, the heat sliding through them like silk. His hands gripped her hair as if to anchor them. She tasted like strawberries and cream and a mixture of honey. Her taste was always on his tongue, long after he was forced to leave her. The texture of her skin was achingly familiar to him. He could remember it in his sleep. Her body was his to explore and he was intimate with every curve, every bit of her. The mole on her inner left thigh – the graceful curve of her legs.

He knew her. She was his, wasn't she? And he wanted her more than he wanted to live. When he first met her at that gallery opening, it had been a shock to his system. He had made a beeline for her and was determined to have an introduction. It was only later that he realized who she was.

Now, it did not matter. Nothing else mattered except being here with her. He took her deeper, the kiss becoming more violent. Tongues met and explored. Sighs were swallowed and became moans. Needs escalated until they were clutching at each other.

He wanted her naked. He had meant to feed her first, to have a sit-down meal, with candles and the flowers he had picked up at the florist, but that was going to have to wait. Ending the kiss, he took a moment to steady himself, by pressing his forehead to hers and taking several deep breaths.

They remained that way for what seemed like ages, the quietness, the solitude rolling through them like a cloud. Lifting his head, he gazed at her and felt his heart turning over, his body hardening. She looked wanton, sexy and alluring. He had to force himself not to rip the shirt off her. There was no need for haste or impatience. They had the entire weekend, and she was his wife.

"Mrs. Leon Whitlock."

He murmured hoarsely, one hand cupping her cheek. "I have a need to say it out loud."

"My husband."

She whispered back, feeling the need shimmering inside her. He looked mussed and gorgeous, and he was hers. Her man, herhusband. She ached for him in ways she could never explain. "I need you."

"You have me."

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