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His fingers toyed with the neckline of her dress, rimming the silken fabric. “Tell me you don’t want me,” he commanded, softly, before pressing a kiss to her bare skin above the edge of the dress.

“I can’t,” she conceded breathlessly. Why did she feel that the edge of her soul was exposed to his knowing gaze?

“Why not?”

“Because I do want you,” she replied honestly.

The corners of his mouth quirked.

“But that’s not enough.”

“There’s nothing wrong with physical need.”

The stillness of the night seemed to close in on Becca. Brig’s touch was warm and inviting. It seemed as if they were alone in the universe: one man and one woman. His lips once again brushed hers, caressing her with a passion she had never known, promising a night of rapture and warmth, if only she would take it. She had been lonely so long. “Physical need is important,” she agreed quietly. “But there has to be more.”

“What is it you want, Rebecca? Are you waiting to fall inlove?”he asked contemptuously.

“I’m notwaitingfor anything. It . . . it just has to be right for me.”

He took his hands off of her and planted them firmly on either side of her head, bracing himself on the doorjamb. His gray, brooding eyes forced her to hold his unwavering gaze. “I’m not asking for anything you’re not willing to give. I would never push you into anything you don’t want. Believe it or not, I know that this isn’t easy for you.”

“Do you?” She wanted to believe him, needed to hear that he understood her.

“Of course I do. It’s written all over your face.”

“It’s not that I’m a prude.”

He smiled. “I know. And I’m not looking for a one-night stand. If that’s what I wanted, I could have stayed in San Francisco, or New York, for that matter. The truth of the matter is that you intrigue me, Rebecca Peters. Just who are you?” His finger came up to trace her lips. Shivers of anticipation traveled hurriedly down her spine. “I’ve read about you and your farm out here. A beautiful young woman with an impoverished breeding farm somehow has the brains to breed Night Dancer, one of the greatest racing studs of all time, to a little-known mare called Gypsy Lady and ends up with perhaps the fastest Thoroughbred filly ever bred. I want to know about you, Ms. Peters, all about you.”

“And that includes sleeping with me?” she asked. “Are you stupid enough to think that you could possibly understand me by sleeping with me?” She knew she should feel outraged, but she didn’t.

“I had no intention of sleeping with you when I came out here. I was only interested in you because of business.”

“But?” she coaxed, lifting her elegant eyebrows.

“But you happen to be the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.” His hand slipped under her head, and he deftly removed the clasp that held her hair restrained. With one quick movement of his fingers, her golden hair spilled down past her shoulders, still wound loosely in a thick braid. “Trust me,” he pleaded as his lips met hers in a kiss that was bold rather than tender. His mouth found the moistness of hers and he held her against him hungrily. “Let me love you, Rebecca,” he whispered.

“Oh, Brig . . . I . . .” His lips stilled her response and the heat of passion began to race through her veins. She gasped when his hands found the clasp of her dress and the blue silk fabric parted, leaving her upper shoulder bare. His lips were warm and moist where the fabric had once been, and Becca felt her bones beginning to melt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t stand. Before she swayed against him, Brig reached down and captured her sagging knees with the crook of his arm. He lifted her off of her feet and touched his lips to her forehead as he carried her inside the old farmhouse.

Becca’s heart was racing, but she didn’t protest as he carefully mounted the stairs. When he hesitated on the landing, she encouraged him by indicating the direction of her room. He didn’t turn on the light and Becca’s eyes grew accustomed to the shadowy light cast by a cloud-covered moon. Carefully, Brig set her on her feet and let the elegant blue dress slip into a puddle of silk on the floor. His hands moved downward over her body, as if he were memorizing each soft contour of her muscles, every rib in her ribcage. His groan was primal when he cupped her breast and felt the weight of it in his hungry palm. Her answering sigh of expectation fired his blood and his lips, hungry with unsatisfied desire, pressed forcefully against hers. She felt the tip of his tongue press through her teeth to touch the inner reaches of her mouth.

His lips devoured her, spreading a trail of demanding kisses across her cheeks, inside her ear, and down the column of her throat. His tongue touched the delicate bones surrounding the hollow of her throat and drew lazy, wet circles of delicious torment that forced her to cling desperately to him, hoping the sweet agony would never stop.

“Love me,” she whispered, her hoarse voice breaking the stillness of the night. She entwined her arms possessively around his neck and let the tips of her fingers delve below his collar. Her eager hands encountered shoulder muscles tense with desire. “Touch me, sweet lady,” he pleaded. Deliberately he forced her onto the bed with the weight of his body. The mattress sagged as their combined weight molded together. Impatiently he discarded his clothes, damning the frail barrier holding them apart.

His body was damp with perspiration. The beads of sweat collected on his forehead and ran down his spine. A gentle breeze lifted the curtains and whispered through the pine trees to scent the room, but it did nothing to cool the passion storming between them.

Heated torment inflamed Becca’s veins and pounded in her eardrums. The dim light from a pale moon let her see the man she was about to love, let her read the fire in his eyes, let her witness the rising tide of his emotions.

His hands slid possessively over her body, molding his skin to hers. The sweat that clung to his body blended with hers as he moved his torso over hers, claiming her body. Becca moaned when he took her breast into his mouth and teased the nipple with his tongue and teeth. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back as she gave in to the sweet ecstasy of his caress.

His eyes were glazed in barely restrained passion when he took her face between his hands and stared into her soul. “I want you,” he whispered. “Please let me know that you want me.”

“Oh, Brig, please . . .” She didn’t have to finish; her eyes pleaded with him to take her.

“May this night never end,” he whispered savagely before once again molding his swollen lips to hers.

He braced himself so that he could watch her face as he found her. She gasped with satisfaction at the moment they became one, feeling a delirious triumph at the union of their flesh. The ache within her began to ebb and the words of love forming on her lips died as he slowly urged her to sensuous new heights of passion. They moved as one, together in rapturous harmony, blending flesh to flesh, skin to skin, muscle to muscle until the tempo began to quicken and the pressure within Becca’s body began to thunder and echo in her heartbeat.