The MacGregor Brides by Nora Roberts Page A

around him, matched his violent speed, craved more, as the storm raged through her.
    She could hear nothing but the roar of her own blood, feel nothing but the unspeakable pleasure his body pumped into hers, see nothing but his face, those lake-blue eyes watching her.
    Then, as if he knew it was the final thrill she needed, his mouth crushed down on hers, and they broke free together.
    * * *
    He gathered himself together enough to roll over so that he lay on the cold floor and she was cushioned by his still-overheated body. Then he decided he’d die happy if he could stay, just like this, for the next twenty years or so.
    “Are we on the floor?” Her voice was slow and slurred, as if she’d downed the whole bottle of wine, instead of less than one glass.
    “Yeah. I’m pretty sure we’re on the floor.”
    “How did we get here?”
    “I don’t have a clue.” He shifted, winced at a small stab of pain. When he found the energy to lift a hand and brush his fingers over the back of his shoulder, he saw the slight smear of blood. “There’s broken glass on the floor.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “And there is now broken glass in my back.”
    “Oh.” She sighed, rubbed her face cozily against his chest, then shot upright. “Oh! Did something break? We’re naked. We’ll be cut to ribbons.”
    “Whatever happens, I’ll always say it was worth it.” With a strength that made her blink, he nipped her at the waist and hauled her up until she sat on the bed. “Stay up there until I clean this up.”
    “I don’t think you should— Damn.” She squeezed her eyes shut, covered them with her hands when the light flashed on. “Is it glass? Don’t step on it.”
    “I already did.” He swore ripely, making her giggle.
    “Sorry,” she said immediately. “I’ve never heard those words phrased together quite that way.” She opened one eye, and was immediately contrite. “Royce, you’re bleeding.”
    “In a couple of places. It was just a drinking glass. I’ve got to get a broom.”
    “I’ll tend your wounds,” she said with a smile that became dreamy as she watched him walk toward the door. “God, you’re built.”
    Disconcerted, he stopped, glanced back over his shoulder. She was sitting on his bed, all long,slender limbs and tumbled hair. “Same goes, Slim,” he murmured and slipped out.
    She bent over the bed, and had shaken the glass off the sheet when he came back with a broom and dustpan. “You’ll have to launder this. There might still be glass in it.”
    “Just toss it over in the corner. I’ll get to it.”
    She lifted a brow, glanced around the room. It had a bed, a dresser, a chair. Or at least she assumed that was a chair under the heap of clothing. There was a mirror that needed resilvering, and a desk that was overpowered by a sleek computer and printer.
    “All the comforts of home.”
    “I told you, I don’t spend a lot of time here.” He dumped the glass in a wastebasket, then left the broom and dustpan tipped against the wall.
    “Do you ever actually do laundry?” she asked him.
    “Not until I have absolutely no other choice.”
    She smiled, patted a hand on the bed beside her. “Sit down. Let me see that cut.” When he did, she clucked her tongue and touched her lips to his shoulder. “It’s just a scratch.”
    “If we’d fallen off the bed the other way, you’d be kissing my butt.”
    Laughing, she rested her cheek on his back. “How’s the foot?”
    “Just a nick. I’ve had worse.”
    “Hmm.” She shifted, ran a fingertip over the scar high on his shoulder. “Like this.”
    “Didn’t wait for backup. Rookie mistake. I didn’t make it again.”
    “And this?” She touched the small mar on his chin.
    “Bar fight. I was just drunk enough not to feel it, and stupid enough to have asked for it. I stopped making that mistake, too.”
    “Reformed, are you, Royce?” She eased forward to brush her lips against his chin.
    “More or less.”
    “I like that it’s more