She’d taken him unawares; he hadn’t had the slightest inkling she’d been there, gliding along, the thick runner muffling her footsteps. He’d patently shocked her; her wide eyes and parted lips said she hadn’t heard him on the stairs, either-he’d probably been moving silently, as he habitually did.

She’d staggered back; an inch separated his hard body from her much softer one. He knew it was soft, had felt her ripe figure imprinted down the front of him, seared on his senses in that instant of fleeting contact.

On a rational level he wondered how a lady of her type came to be wandering these halls, while on a more primitive plane he battled the urge to sweep her up, carry her into his room, and ease the sudden, shockingly intense ache in his groin-and distract his temper in the only possible way, one he hadn’t even dreamed would be available.

That more primitive side of him saw it as only right that this female-whoever she was-should be walking just there, at just that time, and was just the right female to render him that singular service.

Anger, even rage, could convert into lust; he was familiar with the transformation, yet never had it struck with such speed or strength. Never before had the result threatened his control.

The consuming lust he felt for her in that instant was so intense it shocked even him.

Enough to have him slapping the urge down, clenching his jaw, tightening his grip, and bodily setting her aside.

He had to force his hands to release her.

“My apologies.” His voice was close to a growl. With a curt nod in her direction, without again meeting her eyes, he strode on, swiftly putting distance between them.

Behind him he heard the hiss of an indrawn breath, heard the rustle of skirts as she swung and stared.