He’d been twenty and friendly, home for the summer after completing his junior year of college. He’d been mowing the lawn at her house. At the ungodly hour of 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday. She’d been tempted to hurl a shoe out her bedroom window at him, but then he’d looked up and smiled at her and whammo-suddenly New York wasn’t looking so bad. A friendship and easy camaraderie had been born. He’d made her laugh, and had amazed her when he said he’d lived in the same house his entire life. A year later, their friendship caught fire and for a beautiful, brief time, had burned out of control. A decade after that first meeting, his smile still had the power to affect her.

“Think about what you want to do to your lover,” Adam said softly, jerking her attention back to the present. He looked at her through the lens of his Nikon and adjusted the focus. “Think about what you want your lover to do to you.”

A memory, sharp and poignant, instantly materialized in Mallory’s mind…of that incredible summer…of the first time they’d made love. Adam, scooping her up in his strong arms, his blue eyes hot with want as he carried her to his bed. She’d wanted so badly to touch him, taste him. And wanted him to do the same to her.

She’d been a virgin and nervous, expecting awkwardness, but they’d laughed over their brief fumbles, and then…pure magic. His hands…God, she remembered his hands so well…large and calloused, skimming down her body, touching her everywhere, followed by his lips, which had proved as magical as his hands. Her hands and mouth exploring him. Hot skin, murmured words, tangled sheets. And the way he’d looked at her, with such desire, reverence and need as he’d slowly entered her.