He filled two champagne glasses, then carried them back to where she sat on the sofa—perched as far to one side as she could possibly fit
Ignoring the other end of the sofa, he sat close to her, draping his right arm behind her and holding his glass in his left hand. He held his glass out toward her.
“To magic,” he murmured.
She touched her glass to his, making an effort to hold it steady. And then she lifted it rather desperately to her lips.
Kit watched her, taking a more sedate sip of his own wine. “Trying to find courage in that glass, Savannah?”
She cleared her throat and avoided his eyes. “I was thirsty.”
He took her glass out of her hands and set it on the table beside his, giving her little chance to resist. And then he placed a hand on her cheek and turned her face toward his, so that she had no choice but to look at him.
“Are you afraid of me?”
His question was blunt, yet it held an undertone of tenderness.
She twisted her fingers in her lap. “Of course not.”
She wasn’t afraid of Kit, she assured herself. She was afraid of herself, perhaps, and the way she reacted to him. Afraid of the feelings he aroused in her. Afraid that he would haunt her for the rest of her life. But she wasn’t afraid of him…at least, not very much.
He stroked the side of his finger down her cheek. His skin felt so warm against hers. She wondered if hers felt icy to him.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured.
She wasn’t quite comfortable with his compliment. Being pretty had been her biggest asset in high school. It was because she’d been pretty that the boys had wanted to be with her. Her face and figure had been what had attracted Vince to her; he’d liked the way she looked hanging on his arm.
It annoyed her that she thought of Vince now. This was her fantasy, she reminded herself as Kit lowered his mouth slowly toward hers. Her private, secret celebration of everything she’d put behind her, of all she’d become.
She’d chosen to be here. And she would be an idiot not to make the most of it, she told herself as she allowed her hands to slide up Kit’s chest and around his shoulders.
The CD player was set on random play. An instrumental version of “Isn’t It Romantic?” swelled through the room.
Against her lips, Kit murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Savannah. Can’t you feel how very right this is?”
Nothing had ever felt more right to her.
Kit made love to her mouth while his hand slid down her bare arm and then moved to her thigh. She felt his warmth through the filmy fabric of her dress, and an answering heat pooled inside her.
He shifted his weight so that he was leaning over her. Murmuring endearments, he buried his face in her throat, nibbling at the skin there until she arched beneath him, her entire body tingling. His legs tangled with hers, the crisp fabric of his slacks deliciously rough against her bare skin. Her full skirt foamed around them. Kit’s fingers slipped beneath the hem, sliding up her thigh toward her hip.
Savannah shifted involuntarily closer to him, longing for him to touch her more intimately. Aching to feel his hands on her, his skin pressed to hers. Without stopping to think about her actions, she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.
She had to bite back a moan when she was finally able to spread her hands across his bare chest. She felt his muscles contracting sharply beneath her fingertips. Felt the hardness pressing greedily against her thigh.
She wanted him inside her, so closely entwined with her that she wouldn’t know where she stopped and he began. She wanted to feel sensations she’d never felt before, wanted to know the kind of passion she’d only fantasized about until now.
Kit could give her those things. She couldn’t have created a more perfect fantasy lover had she tried.
Beneath her skirt, his fingers slid across her stomach, and brushed across the part of her that throbbed with need.
She gasped.
He nuzzled against the low neckline of her dress, pushing the fabric out of the way to bare the top of her breast. His mouth was avid, his breath warm on her chilled flesh. He slid the tip of his tongue along the lace edge of her scanty bra, just missing her distended nipple.
She shuddered helplessly.
“Savannah.” Kit’s voice was hardly recognizable. He drew back to gaze down at her, and his face was flushed, his eyes glittering with an almost feral intensity. His chest heaved with his ragged breathing, and she knew his need matched her own.