Her mouth went dry, robbing her of a retort.
“Shall we find out if I’m right?” he said, kicking his trousers free.
Still she couldn’t move, frozen in an agony of terror and desire. Terror, not of him, but of herself. Of the wild feelings he aroused in her as he aroused her body, spinning her out of control. Of how desperately she did want him. Wanted him to make love to her, all the way.
“You think you’ve won,” Liam taunted, herding her back to the bed. “But there’s always a price for victory, darlin’. Take it from me.”
Yes, there was a price. Mac had only begun to understand in the Poodle Dog, when he’d almost taken her there on the settee.
It was hunger: a physical, aching need—the woman she’d never fully recognized within herself, coming to painful life inside her awakened body. Liam had done that. He had that power over her, a power too terrible to give to a man she should never have known.
“It’ll be good, Mac,” Liam murmured. She felt the play of muscles in his thighs as he carried her with him onto the bed. He stretched out beside her, his hand resting on her hip in masculine possessiveness.
She lay still while he ran his hand down her muslin-clad thigh and under the hem of the chemise. Well, Mac, she told herself, trying to maintain her calm, look at this rationally. You do want him. You can enjoy this for what it is. Exactly as he will.
Her thoughts fragmented as Liam’s fingers worked along bare skin. She bit the inside of her lip as he found what he was looking for and stroked her—once, again, a third time. His fingers found no resistance, no friction. He withdrew, but she felt no relief.
“Ah, darlin’,” he said, “you don’t have to say a thing.” He waited until she met his gaze and then deliberately licked her wetness from his fingers.
The gesture almost undid her.
“You want me inside you,” he murmured. “You want me to take you hard and fast, the way I would have done it last night. Admit it.” He pinned her down, his erection pressed to her inner thighs, his breath hot on her ear. “The woman in you wants to be tamed, and there’s only one way and one man to do it.”
He began to stroke her again, pushing her chemise up over her thighs, her hips, to her waist. “You took from me. Now I’ll do the taking. But you’ll enjoy it, darlin’, I promise you.”
His touch was expert. It couldn’t have been more effective. In spite of all his threats of “hard and fast,” he didn’t hurry. His finger slipped inside her, moving with a rhythmic omen of what was to come. She jerked and arched against him.
“That’s it, darlin’. Give in.” He pushed her chemise higher still, and then it was over her head and she was naked. Defenseless. His mouth found her breast, nipping and suckling. A moan betrayed her, and then there was no more point in pretending.
And no more passively lying there like a frightened virgin—even if the latter designation was almost true. She’d be damned before she gave him all the advantages in this affair. There’d be two to tango, and she wasn’t going to let him forget the experience.
With a heave and a lift of one knee she encouraged him to shift position. While he was still off-balance she rolled, carrying him with her, until she was on top and straddling him.
He didn’t know what’d hit him. She reached down between them and found his prominence. No confusion there. She had him where she wanted him.
“Since we’re on the subject of confessions,” she said softly, “I think it’s your turn.”
She smothered his retort with a kiss designed to get his attention. She was a very fast learner; he looked almost dazed when she came up for air.
“Admit it,” she said. “Admit that you wanted me in the jungle as much as you want me now.”
She closed her hand around him, worked her fingers up and down his length until he shuddered as she had shuddered at his caresses. “Admit,” she said fearlessly, recklessly bold, “that you want me the way you’ve never wanted any woman before.”