Her hands seemed to be everywhere, on his back, his waist, his ass. Her touch electrified him. He wanted nothing more than to make love to her. Slowly. Methodically.

In bed, Dillon had always been a gentleman. He painstakingly made sure that the woman with him enjoyed herself. He always led the dance, directed the movements.

He tried to slow the pace, to make sure Kate was relaxed and comfortable and ready for him.

Kate would have none of that. Every time he slowed down, she sped up. His mind was a whirlwind; his body wanted her now.

She kissed him repeatedly as her hands roamed, pushing him away.

“What’s wrong?” he said, surprised.

She grinned. “Nothing’s wrong.” She pushed off the comforter, which had become tangled in their legs. Then she climbed on top of him, straddled him. “If you don’t make love to me right now, this very minute, I am going to burst.”

He swallowed, felt her hands clasp his erection, watched as Kate slowly slid down.

He took her hands into his, watched the pleasure spread over her expressive face. Her short, layered blond hair hung in her face, damp from their shower, making her look natural and even sexier.

“Dillon,” she sighed heavily.

It took all his willpower to let her direct their love-making. He wanted to go slow and soft, to show her affection. She drove him forward, not giving him time to rest. His release was imminent.

“Kate,” he said.

She opened her eyes, now bright with passion, and stared at him. “What?”

He rolled her onto her back and pulled out. She blinked, confused. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Dillon swallowed, not sure what was going on between them, but wanting to make sure Kate knew this wasn’t a game to him.

“This isn’t about the finish line,” he said, his voice thick with desire and frustration.

A startled look crossed her face. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to show her what love could be. What it could be between them.

He kissed her swollen lips. “Let me show you what making love can be.”

Kate welcomed his embrace. His kisses told her he wanted her. She relaxed under his attention. She’d been so close to release when he pulled back. Maybe that was it. Prolonging this night, the limited time they had together. She pushed aside the thoughts of the morning, when they would part. She might never see him again. She told herself that was okay.

She was lying. But they had the here and now. She wasn’t going to waste it.

Dillon’s mouth found her breast and she moaned. His tongue played with her nipple, bringing it to full attention. Then he moved to the other side. Her hands grabbed at the bedsheets, a swirling sensation building again inside her. His hands were warm; everywhere his fingers touched made her hot. Light and purposeful, his mouth went from her breasts to her navel, back up again.

“Dillon, I want you.”

“I want you, too, Kate.” But he didn’t make any move to speed things up.

“Fast is good.”

“Sometimes,” he murmured into the space between her breasts. He looked up at her, his chin resting on her chest. “Slow is good, too.”

“I can’t wait.”

He smiled seductively. “You mean, you don’t want to wait.”

“That, too.”

His eyes blazed. “I’m savoring you, Kate. Won’t you allow me that?”

“I’m already undone.”

“That’s an old-fashioned way of saying you’re hot and bothered,” Dillon teased.

“I don’t believe you.” She smiled at him, sat up in the bed, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes. I’m hot and bothered. I want you to make love to me. Now.”

“Demanding, too.” He kissed her, his own breath labored. So he was as turned on as she was. “I am making love to you, Kate. The minute we stepped into that steamy shower, I started to make love to you.”

He kissed her again. “Kissing you.” His tongue circled her lips, went down to her neck. “Tasting you.” He lightly bit her earlobe. “Eating you.”

She sucked in her breath as his fingers parted her thighs and felt the hot wetness between her legs.

“Touching you.” He swallowed heavily.

“Making love is more than having sex,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s a full-body experience.” His hands roamed up her body, clasped her head from behind. “From your head.”

He kissed her, his breath hot, labored, wanting. His mouth moved from hers, back to her hard nipples, down her stomach, never stopping. He brushed his tongue against her clit, making her jump. Then he licked each inner thigh, first the right, then the left, and she squirmed, grabbing his head with her hands. Trying to bring him back to that spot in the middle that needed-demanded-his direct attention.

But he had other things on his mind. His mouth found her toes, pulled them one by one. She gasped. No one had kissed her toes before. His thumbs put pressure on the bottom of her foot, sending bolts directly to her hot core, and she gasped.

“Oh, God, Dillon.” She could barely speak, her mouth dry.

“Down to your feet,” he said.

He climbed on top of her, his erection reaching for her, his face inches from hers.

“Making love,” he whispered into her lips, “is much, much more than having sex.”

Then he slid into her, filling her, their bodies drenched in perspiration and desire.

Slowly, they moved together, finding their rhythm. Kate was losing herself in Dillon, giving her body, her heart, her soul over to him. Everything she was from this day forth was because of him. He had showed her things about herself she hadn’t realized, understood her in ways she didn’t know she missed.

She moved beneath him. His hands found hers. He raised his body, his face intent on hers. “Kate,” he gasped.

“I’m with you,” she whispered.

They came together, sealing a bond neither had sought or expected.

Dillon pulled Kate to him, holding her tight, his hand over her rapidly beating heart. They didn’t need to speak, not now.

Their mouths found each other and they continued to explore.

Sleep came much later.

Trask stared at the terrified face of the woman beneath him. She was restrained, and his hands encircled her neck. He tried to imagine Kate Donovan beneath him as he attempted to rape the woman.

He was failing, limp and unable to take her. Instead of Kate, he pictured Mina, that wily blond bitch who had hurt and humiliated him for his father’s pleasure. As soon as she came to his mind, his cock softened.

He remembered killing Mina and her whore friend. The blood. Red and wet. He smelled copper, felt the slickness of their pathetic lives coating his body. He’d stolen back the power. He was free of them.

Kate Donovan had taken his prize, Monique. Lucy. He would find her. Kill her with his bare hands. Then he would regain his strength, be able to do whatever he wanted.

He began to harden. He released her neck and she gasped for air.

“Stop.” Her voice was almost gone. “Please, stop. I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me.”

Her pleas further excited him, but he’d prefer it if she fought him. Like he knew Kate would as soon as he had her.

He pushed himself into her and she tried to scream, but with her bruised larynx it came out a gasp. She pulled at her restraints, egging him on.

“That’s it. Fight me, bitch.”

She stared at his face. He wasn’t wearing a mask. The realization hit her. She saw her death in his eyes.

Trask wrapped his hands around her neck as she thrashed. He pressed hard, felt the bone break. Watched her eyes as she knew she was dying.

But he still had trouble.

“Fuck you, Mina!” No, Kate.

The woman beneath him scratched at his gloved hands, her eyes wide. He watched a blood vessel swell in the corner. Burst.

He kept slamming himself into her after she was dead, but no relief came.