Free All Grown Up by Janice Maynard

revenge. An opportunity to take that dreadful memory of his rejection and incinerate it. All she had to do was walk out of the room.
    She’d have a better chance of baking cookies and serving tea to the Queen of England. Nothing short of an earthquake could have made her call a halt to this wonderful madness. “Yes,” she said. “I believe that I do.”
    Time began to move in slow motion. Even the sounds of the fire muted to a faint murmur. She held out a hand. “I would ask your room or mine, but neither sounds appealing at the moment. Do you have any ideas?”
    “For you, Princess, always.”
    With one lingering look at her nudity, he stepped away long enough to rob a nearby cupboard of its stash of throws…a blanket, several afghans and one tattered, faded quilt. As Annalise watched, amused and touched by his urgency, he fashioned a makeshift bed in front of the hearth. Grabbing a pillow from the sofa, he tossed it down on the pile and then added a couple more logs and tinder on top of the coals until the fire blazed hot and orangey-red.
    Annalise had scooted out of his way while he worked, but now he dragged her back with a challenging stare that said louder than words what he expected of her. She joined him, limbs trembling, and somewhere found the acting skills to emulate a woman who knew her way around the bedroom. “Put your hands in your back pockets, Sam.”
    He hesitated, but obeyed. “That’s askin’ a lot, sweetheart. You’re one hell of a temptation.”
    “We’ll get there,” she promised. With fumbling fingers, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt. Two years ago she had spent six months in Europe touring every major museum from Paris to Rome. Never had she seen a work of art that rivaled Sam’s broad, hard chest.
    Hard muscles rippled beneath golden skin. An arrow of dark brown hair bisected his rib cage on the way to his belt buckle. When she had the temerity to taste one copper-colored nipple, he cursed.
    His hands fisted in her hair, dragging her face up to his for a kiss. “God, you make me burn.”
    It didn’t sound entirely like a compliment.
    He ravaged her mouth, left love bites at her throat. She wanted him as naked as she was, but she barely had time to catch her breath, much less make demands. When she tried to open the fly of his jeans, he manacled her wrists with one big hand and held them behind her back.
    The overt dominance of the action dragged her more deeply into the spell that swirled around them both. She could have broken the hold. She knew that. And he probably knew it as well. But the force of his hunger demanded her compliance, and her own need fed from his.
    “Please, Sam,” she begged, arching into him. “I want to touch you.”
    Finally, reluctantly, he released her long enough to rip off his socks and remove his jeans in a harried, one-footed dance. His sex sprang forth eagerly, its length and girth a thing of beauty. The longer she stared, the more it grew.
    “Sam Ely,” she breathed, feeling a touch of maidenly vapors. “You’re a stud.”
    He blushed. And the sight of his red throat and ruddy cheekbones hurt something deep inside her chest. He was just so damned cute.
    Unfortunately, he didn’t give her much time to appreciate his masculine attributes. Before she could lodge a protest, he scooped her into his arms and deposited her gently on their makeshift bed. With both living room doors closed, the space had long since warmed up, and even if it hadn’t, Annalise was sure she wouldn’t have noticed the cold.
    He hovered over her on one knee. “I don’t know how long I’ll last. You’ve pushed me pretty close to the edge.” Suddenly, dismay darkened his expression. “Oh, hell. I’ve got condoms, but they’re upstairs.”
    She saw him contemplate the long frigid path to protection. And sympathized. “I’m on the pill,” she said hopefully, “and I’m okay as far as…well, you know what I mean.” The brazen-woman act fell apart when it