“It’s all or nothing with you,” she said tartly. “Either you ignore my very existence, or you pin me under a microscope. So, whatever. What did Lanaghan say?”

“Pretty much what you told me last night,” he said. “They haven’t made much progress.”

“No,” she said. “The guy’s good. He left no trace. No prints, no DNA, nothing. Even the SUV in Boston turned out to be stolen, hours before.” The thought chilled her. She shied away from it, groping for something else to think about. “So what else did you find on me out there in cyberspace?” she prodded him. “I suppose you read last term’s graduate seminar paper on Christina Rossetti? Or did you dig into the archived transcripts from the message boards at the online poetry forum?”

“Yeah, both,” he said. “But my favorites were those five short poems you published in The Golden Thread Poetry Journal last January.”

That floored her. Her mouth opened and closed. “Ah…actually, I was, um, just kidding. About you reading…any of that stuff.”

“I wasn’t,” he replied.

The silence stretched out, heavy between them, and he made a sharp gesture with his hand. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “It’s not like I can discuss them intelligently. I can’t. To be honest, I don’t have a flipping clue what you were talking about. In any of those poems.”

She was puzzled. “So how did you know you liked them?”

She sensed his discomfort as he fidgeted and looked out the window. “I don’t know. I just did. I liked the way they made me feel.”

She was startled and moved by the awkward confession. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about my work. Thank you.”

He drifted like a shadow until he stood right in front of her. So close, his aura was interfering with her brain waves.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “This is the first time in my life I ever got something like that right. And damn if it wasn’t by accident. Pure, dumb-ass luck.”

“Don’t put it in those terms,” she scolded, breathlessly. “It’s not something you get wrong or right. It’s just a matter of paying attention and telling the truth.”

He touched one of her ringlets, pulling it out long, letting it spring back, bouncing. “I’ve got no problems with attention. Or truth,” he said.

“Um, n-no, you sure don’t,” she stammered.

He curled another lock of hair around his finger, stroking the texture. “So, what’s my prize for getting this right, Nell?” The deep vibration of his voice made her skin tingle. His breath was so warm. It smelled of coffee, of mint. “Did I earn some points?”

“There you go again,” she protested, in a whisper. “It’s not about points. Or prizes.”

His lips grazed her temple. “It’s not?” Then her cheekbone. His voice was a delicate brush of darkest sable over her nerves. “Then what is it about, Nell? Teach me. Enlighten me. I await your wisdom.”

Her head dropped back. His hand was ready to support it, warm and strong. Cradling her. “Do not make fun of me,” she whispered.

“Oh, God, no,” he muttered, and kissed her.

It was like light flashing through her, delicious heat flushing every corner of her body. Like some sinuous, muscular animal thing inside her woke up, a thing that was not afraid of him at all, oh no, not one little bit. That sleek animal part knew exactly what she wanted from him. Knew that he had it to give. Lots of it. Loads of it.

She wound her arms around his neck and demanded it. He made a surprised, satisfied sound deep in his throat and positioned himself between her legs where she perched on the table. Cupping her head with one hand and her bottom with the other.

She’d kissed men before, and been kissed, and had sex, too. Some, not a lot. She’d even enjoyed it, sort of. But never like this. Always before, part of her had stood apart, critiquing, judging. She’d tried to let herself go, experience the magic, the ecstatic passion that poets wrote about, but she’d always stayed so flat, so cool.

With Duncan, there was no problem with letting herself go. Oh, no. The problem was in holding herself back. She wanted to eat him up, strip him bare, ride him hard. He tasted so good. He coaxed her mouth open, and she wound her fingers into his thick, straight hair and moved against him, helpless to stop. He bent her back on the table until she let go of his arms to prop herself up on her elbows. He grabbed her ankles, folded her legs up high, until her skirt rode up and her gartered stockings showed. The ones she’d put on this morning, back when she was still trying to fool herself into thinking she wasn’t going to wrestle this guy to the ground and have her wild and wanton way with him. Like, please. Who had she been trying to kid? He was gorgeous. A smorgasbord of sexual delights. So big, so hot. She gasped and pressed back at each grinding shove of his erection against her. He circled against that crazy, hot, delicious, writhing sweet spot, and oh…God.

Bursts of pleasure rocked her, jolting her mind out of whack.

When she opened her eyes, she found his hand clamped over her mouth. He was grinning. Delighted with himself.

“Wow,” he whispered, slowly lifting his hand.

“Oh, God,” she croaked, mortified. “Did I…make a noise?”

“Oh, yeah. Big-time. Hold on a sec.” He pulled away, wrenched the door open. Nell’s legs snapped together as a blade of cold light sliced into the room and assaulted her eyes. Duncan poked his head out the door, peered around, and closed it, plunging them into darkness again. “They’re gone,” he said, and she heard the click of the door lock engaging. “Not a sound. But just in case. Since you’re a screamer.”

A thread of cold unfurled in her belly. She slid off the table. tugged her skirt over her legs, and found him in front of her. “Oh, no. Don’t panic on me now.” There was an edge of pleading in his voice.

“I just…the locked door, it, ah…”

“I’ll unlock it, if you want. I just don’t want surprise visitors.” His hands slid under her skirt and gripped the tops of her thighs, slid slowly up to her groin. “Making you come is not a spectator sport.”

“Uh, no, of course not. But I—”

“Shhh,” he shushed her, and he seized her again, and they were off, kissing wildly. She gripped his arms and drank him in. Their mouths melded with the sensual sureness of well-matched dancing partners. It was as if they’d known how to kiss each other senseless since time began, with all the excitement of novelty, all the grace and ease of familiarity. She wanted to claw his shirt off, to discover every detail of that big, solid torso, to smell his sweat, to feel the texture of his chest hair, the shape of his nipples, the contours of his muscles.

And his cock. She wanted to grip it, test it, pet it. She reached down, pressed her hand against his flat belly and slid it down over his belt. His hand covered hers and pressed it against the bulge in his crotch. He stroked the gusset of her panties. A murmur of satisfaction rumbled against her shoulder as he found her wet. Very wet.

He kissed her again, his tongue venturing into her mouth to twine lazily around hers, and both of them moaned as he explored her tender folds with a gentle finger, circling and pressing, sliding into her slick opening. She clenched around him, gasping in shocked delight.

“Oh, God,” he muttered. “I think my hand is going to come.”

“You think you’ve got problems,” she said jerkily.

Then, no more talking. Just deep, ravenous kissing while his finger delved and her hand stroked that massive, hot bulge. Her legs twined around his thighs for balance, and they shuddered and gasped together, tongues twining, wrapped in a tight, trembling knot of desire. Tension rose, until the sweet, keening ache of anticipation shattered.

Pulses of hot delight jolted through her body.

She sagged against him, shimmering and soft. Made of liquid, glimmering with moonlight. He’d undone the fastenings of her garters at some point and was tugging her panties off her legs. She was too limp to react. She hung on to handfuls of his shirtfront and tried to form words with her mouth. “What…ah, what are you going to…?”