Falcon's Flight by Joan Hohl Page A

every morning, and I have yet to be confronted by beauty.” He shook his head to silence her when she opened her mouth to protest. “But I like hearing it just the same,” he admitted with amused candor. “Now drink your coffee before it gets cold.”
    Unused to taking orders, Leslie stared at him a moment before lowering her gaze to examine his body with frank appraisal. The act of defiance backfired. Leslie felt the heat of sensual arousal suffuse her body at the overwhelming male look of him. Attired casually in a sweater that clung to his broad, flatly muscled chest and brushed-suede slacks that hugged his narrow waist and hips, Flint was most definitely all male. The mere sight of him rattled her senses and loosened her tongue.
    “You’re wrong, you know,” she breathed, raising her bemused gaze to his. “You are one beautiful man.” As her gaze met and tangled with his, all the air seemed to rush out of Leslie’s body. There was a stillness about him that made her shiver. His strange eyes had darkened to near black. There was a tremor in the strong fingers that gripped the coffee cup, Leslie tensed as he carefully set the cup on an intricately carved nightstand by the bed, and stopped breathing when he took her cup from her to set it next to his. “Flint?” The voice that projected so effectively from any stage was now reedy and faint.
    “Don’t be frightened. I won’t hurt you.” His hands settled on her shoulders, fingers flexing gently into her soft flesh. His movements were slow, unhurried, as he drew her to him. “I know it’s been a while for you.” His low, exciting voice enveloped her senses as he embraced her trembling body. “Your flattery, however innocently meant, was wildly arousing,” he murmured, brushing his parted lips over her cheek. “I want the mouth that gave me the compliment.”
    “Flint.”
    His mouth claimed her parted lips sweetly, masterfully, completely, and evoked a hunger unlike anything Leslie had ever before experienced. Suddenly starving for his unique taste, she curled her arms around his neck and fed greedily from his mouth. When his tongue slid along her lower lip, she tightened her arms and opened her mouth fully in invitation. Leslie heard Flint’s low growl with every one of her senses and felt the spearing thrust of his tongue to the heart of her femininity. When he ended the kiss, she murmured in protest.
    “I know, I want more too.” His breathing uneven, Flint held her away from him to stare into her eyes. “I want it all,” he said, his voice a harsh contrast to the gentle stroke of his fingers on her warm skin. “If you’re unsure, tell me now, while I still have control.”
    Leslie’s hands were resting on his shoulders. Responding silently, she slid her hands down his chest to tug at the hem of his sweater. It was all the invitation
    Flint required. Within seconds the floor was littered with clothes and Flint was sliding his body next to hers on the bed.
    Shivering from a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation, Leslie moaned softly when Flint brought her nipples to tight arousal with repeated flicks of his tongue, and cried her pleasure aloud when he closed his lips on one tight bud to suckle hungrily.
    Needing to touch him, Leslie stroked Flint’s smooth warm skin from his shoulders to his tight buttocks, her own pleasure increasing every time he gasped or groaned in response. Each time his lips returned to hers, his kiss was more demanding, more urgent. Leslie gave her mouth willingly and arched her body in offering.
    When Flint finally accepted her offering, he did so with care. His movement slow, his gaze fastened to her face for the smallest twinge of discomfort, he made himself a part of her and her a part of him. Then he paused to allow her body to adjust to the fullness of his need. Bending to her, he kissed her and continued to kiss her until, on fire for him, Leslie initiated the motion by arching her hips into his.
    Tension coiled