He wrapped his arms tightly around her, as if he could lock her to him, mold her body to his. His heart was pounding against hers; between her aching breasts, pounding so hard she could feel his urgency, his desire. The hard pressure against her stomach and the thrust and parry of his tongue inside her mouth conveyed a fierce need that was getting out of their control, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care…

“Oh, Matthew…”

“Hush, Misha. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not…just let me hold you.” His evening beard grazed her cheek as his lips nuzzled her throat. “Just let me hold you,” he repeated more softly. He cradled her head, urging her cheek to his shoulder, and his lips pressed into her hair. Her arms circling his waist, she closed her eyes, feeling very close to tears.

If subconsciously she had felt this way about Matthew before, she’d had no inkling of it. He had always been strong and protective and gentle with her, but she had never conceived of him as anything but a friend; she’d never have believed that she could want Matthew so badly, that she’d feel a need to inhale him the way her lungs needed to inhale oxygen. Richard had nothing to do with it. It was Matthew, pure and simple. Only it was far from simple.

She hadn’t forgotten Johnny. She hadn’t forgotten that Matthew still believed Johnny was conceived in adultery…and it mattered, desperately, but not now. Now, it seemed like a century since anyone had held her.

“Misha…”

Reluctantly, he was trying to put space between them, and her arms tightened as she raised her face to his. “No,” she whispered fiercely. Don’t move away, her heart cried. She knew all the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this. She had been cautious and careful for years, backing out of every relationship long before she risked getting hurt. She knew better than to take such a risk with Matthew; she was conscious that he had the capacity to hurt her. It didn’t make sense. “Just for a minute,” she murmured.