Free Wild Honey by Suzanne Forster Page B

was a heartbeat away, staring down at her.
    The anticipation of his mouth on hers was a fiery ache in her limbs, a cry from deep in her loins. She longed for him to hold her, crush her in his arms, kiss her until she was dizzy and drunk with him. She wanted desperately to know his heat, his fire, his sweetness. She told him so with her eyes, and his response was a shuddering groan, low and beautiful, made brutal with his need.
    Disorientation crept into Sasha’s senses. It was almost as though he were fighting himself, and that possibility was both thrilling and unnerving to her. That he might have the strength to hold back made her even wilder to be with him. This wasn’t about the movie scene anymore, she realized. It was a clash of wills and hearts, a stunning collision of opposite forces, male and female. She felt it all, drank it in until it swamped her, the fear of losing control, the driving desire to be part of him. It was primal and terrifying. It was real.
    His fingers curled into her hair, his eyes searched out her secrets, but it was his mouth that beguiled her. She saw the whole man there, a microcosm of Marc Renaud in the taut full lines that fought their own sensitivity.
    She let her eyes drift from his lips to the pulse point in his throat. She bent to kiss the tender spot and felt his arms go rigid. He ripped her away from him, held her at arm’s length, his hands shaking. “Lord,” he whispered, “what are you doing to me?”
    The heat of him fled her body, and a convulsive tremor took its place. “I don’t know,” she said, a sob in her voice. “Dying for you?”
    He swept her off the floor as he kissed her, lifting her body to his, crushing her with his intensity. Sasha’s world went shock-white for a moment, and then it imploded slowly in a kaleidoscopic burst of color. His mouth, his heartbreakingly soft lips, were the source of light, of beauty.
    She wanted to stay forever, spinning in that world of light and beauty...she wanted to spiral there like a leaf caught in the wind.
    Without warning he released her for an instant, and she was lost in a free fall, plummeting until he caught her to him again. The power in his arms, in his body, intensified her feelings of thrilling, curling weakness. He claimed her lips in a deep, consuming kiss, savage and tender at the same time. His tongue barely touched hers, but she felt its caress deep inside her.
    Limp in his arms, she lost touch with her thoughts, her senses, her very heartbeat. The languidness showering her from head to toe was the most beautiful and terrible sensation she had ever had. It felt as though she were dissolving, melting into a pool of fiery liquid. She couldn’t call out his name, beg him to stop. She didn’t have the strength!
    She felt him release the torn material of her dress and slide his fingers inside the ragged opening. She arched up, her hand flying to his arm to stop him, a sigh quivering deep in her throat as he cupped her breast. Her body came alive, electrified. She cried out silently, dizzy with agonized pleasure at the sensations of his fingers on her flesh.
    “You make me ache, you’re so soft,” he whispered against her forehead. And then, relinquishing her breast, he combed his hands into the silky hair at her temples and kissed her with such amazing gentleness, she began to cry. Tears swelled into her eyes.
    A line from the script swept into Sasha’s thoughts as he shifted back to look at her, words she’d never been able to say convincingly to Carlos. “Jesse”—she breathed out his name on a soft sob—“I love you.”
    She could feel the recoil in his muscles, could almost see his head snap up as though he’d been hit.
    Somewhere in the building a door slammed, and the echo broke through Sasha’s languor like a sound traveling through a tunnel, hollowed out and distant. She tightened her fingers on Marc’s arm, momentarily confused by the interruption, by his reaction. Her heart caught between