Heartbreaker by Linda Howard Page A

light and illuminating the stairs to the right. He lifted
his mouth briefly, and she stared up at him in the dim light, her senses
jolting at the hard, grim expression on his face, the way his skin had
tightened across his cheekbones. "I'm staying here tonight," he
muttered harshly, starting up the stairs with her still in his arms. "This
has been put off long enough."
    He wasn't going to stop; she could see it in
his face. She didn't want him to stop. Every pore in her body cried out for
him, drowning out the small voice of caution that warned against getting
involved with a heartbreaker like John Rafferty. Maybe it had been a useless
struggle anyway; it had always been between them, this burning hunger that now
flared out of control.
    His mouth caught hers again as he carried her
up the stairs, his muscle-corded arms holding her weight easily. Michelle
yielded to the kiss, sinking against him. Her blood was singing through her
veins, heating her, making her breasts harden with the need for his touch. An
empty ache made her whimper, because it was an ache that only he could fill.
    He'd been in the house a lot over the years,
so the location of her room was no mystery to him. He carried her inside and
laid her on the bed, following her down to press her into the mattress with his
full weight. Michelle almost cried out from the intense pleasure of feeling him
cover her with his body. His arm stretched over her head, and he snapped on one
of the bedside lamps; he looked at her, and his black eyes filled with
masculine satisfaction as he saw the glaze of passion in her slumberous eyes,
the trembling of her pouty, kiss-stung lips.
    Slowly, deliberately, he levered his knee
between hers and spread her legs, then settled his hips into the cradle formed
by her thighs. She inhaled sharply as she felt his hardness through the layers
of their clothing. Their eyes met, and she knew he'd known before the day even
began that he would end it in her bed. He was tired of waiting, and he was
going to have her. He'd been patient all day, gentling her by letting her get
accustomed to his presence, but now his patience was at an end, and he knew she
had no resistance left to offer him. All she had was need.
    "You're mine." He stated his
possession baldly, his voice rough and low. He raised his weight on one elbow,
and with his free hand unbuttoned the two buttons at her waist, spreading the
dress open with the deliberate air of a man unwrapping a gift he'd wanted for a
long time. The silk caught at her hips, pinned by his own weight. He lifted his
hips and pushed the edges of the dress open, baring her legs, then re-settled
himself against her.
    He felt as if his entire body would explode
as he looked at her. She had worn neither bra nor slip; the silk dress was
lined, biding from him all day the fact that the only things she had on beneath
that wisp of fabric were her panty hose and a minute scrap of lace masquerading
as panties. If he'd known that her breasts were bare under her dress, there was
no way he could have kept himself from pulling those lapels apart and touching,
tasting, nor could he stop himself now. Her breasts were high and round, the
skin satiny, her coral-colored nipples small and already tightly beaded. With a
rough sound he bent his head and sucked strongly at her, drawing her nipple
into his mouth and molding his lips to that creamy, satiny flesh. He cupped her
other breast in his hand, gently kneading it and rubbing the nipple with his
thumb. A high, gasping cry tore from her throat, and she arched against his
mouth, her hands digging into his dark hair to press his head into her. Her
breasts were so firm they were almost hard, and the firmness excited him even
more. He had to taste the other one, surround himself with the sweet headiness
of her scent and skin.
    Slowly Michelle twisted beneath him, plucking
now at the back of his shirt in an effort to get rid of the fabric between
them. She needed to feel the heat and power