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So Nate was right, she thought with a smile. “Oh. Well. Then it’s just you and me? Your brothers aren’t going to turn up in the middle of the night, are they? They’re not keeping an eye on you, checking for strange cars in the driveway—”

“No.”

“Good, because they look like humorless hard-asses.” She smiled. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

Rook moved toward her and slipped his arms around her, just above her healing knife wound. She sank against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about my family right now.”

“No, huh?” She lifted her head and draped her arms over his shoulders, locking her fingers behind his neck. “Imagine that.”

“Forget the guest room. Stay with me tonight.”

She felt a ripple of awareness and remembered their lovemaking two nights ago in her kitchen. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather not make love to you here in the kitchen. This floor looks hard.”

His mouth was tantalizingly close to hers. “We didn’t make it to the floor last time, as I recall.”

“My stitches are out.”

“Yes, I know.”

“The wound’s healing nicely.”

He kissed her ever so briefly, and she took it as just a taste of what was to come. “I’ll be careful.”

“Not that careful, I hope.”

He lifted her up onto his hips. “Rook—”

“Give up a little control, Mac,” he said, grinning.

She sank into his arms, letting him take her weight. “Fine by me.”

He carried her back to his bedroom, its rich colors and dark woods as thoroughly masculine as he was. With one hand, he drew back the covers of his bed, then set her down. She lay against two soft pillows and watched him crack open a window, the air almost cool, the less humid breeze another tease on her already overheated skin.

She started to undress, but he sat next to her and took her hands. “Allow me.”

She smiled. “Who am I to argue?”

He raised her arms above her head and skimmed his palms down them, until he reached her breasts. At a maddening, deliberate pace, he found buttons, hooks, a zipper, tugged at fabric, every touch of his fingers drawing a response from her. Her skin heated, her pulse quickened.

She started to bring her hands down to speed up the process, but he gently shoved them back. “Uh-uh. My job.”

He continued until he had removed every last stitch of clothing from her. And still he kept her hands in place as his explored her. He kissed her so deeply, so erotically, it was as if their mouths had fused together.

Mackenzie wriggled under him, fought for air. “Andrew…I don’t think I can stand it anymore….”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head. “Not ever. I just…”

But he’d already lowered his mouth to her neck, trailed kisses down to her breasts, lingered there, stealing all thought of what she’d intended to say, all thought of anything except the exquisite wet heat of his tongue. The fact that he was still fully clothed only made her ache more.

He moved lower still, circling, flicking, nipping, and she gave herself up to the sensations roaring through her, opened herself up to the movement of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth, the probing of his fingers. She spun closer and closer to the edge, to abandoning all control.

Then he pulled back suddenly, and raised up, a flash of amusement in his dark eyes. “My turn to get undressed.”

She tried to sit up and at least help, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She was quivering, aching. He had no trouble managing on his own, tossing his clothes onto the floor with hers, then coming to her, letting her cup his firm bottom and smooth her hands up his hips and along his back, every inch of him warm and hard. She reached between them, but he lifted himself up, then filled her with such suddenness and ferocity she cried out.

But he didn’t stop, and she didn’t want him to. He plunged impossibly deep into her, stretching her, filling her with a kind of sweet agony she’d never known, and when he thrust again, he went deeper yet. All his confidence and drive made her want him even more. She grabbed his hips,