For a moment, she clung, helplessly aware of her surrender, aware of being taken-driven-rapidly out of her depth. Aware of sensations streaking through her body, through her limbs, aware of her toes slowly curling. Far from frightening her, the feelings thrilled her. This was what she’d been created for-she’d known that all her life. But this was only half of it, half of the adventure, half of the apple when she wanted the whole. Without resistance, she let the wave of passion flow through her; as it ebbed, she gathered her will, then set about turning the tide.

She kissed him back passionately, and caught him-surprised him. He hadn’t expected it; by the time he realized, he was trapped in the game with her-the heated duel of tongues that she’d always imagined must be. She’d never kissed any man like this, but she’d watched and imagined and wanted-she’d suspected mirroring his caresses would work. That, she’d assumed, was how ladies learned the art-by kissing and loving with someone who knew.

He knew.

Hot, urgent, their mouths melded, tongues tangling, sliding, caressing. Her flesh heated, her nerves tightened; sharp excitement gripped her. Then the tenor of the kiss altered, slowed, strengthened, until his deep, sliding, rhythmic thrusts became the dominant theme.

She shuddered, felt something in her yield, something open, unfurl. React. Her whole body felt glorious, buoyed, languidly heated. Seduced.

Gyles was drowning, sinking beneath a wave of desire more powerful than any he’d previously known. It drew him under with the force of a tidal wave, eroding, washing away his control.

Abruptly, he broke the kiss. Jerked his head back and looked down at her. Clinging to his shoulders, held tight in his arms, she blinked, struggling to reorient.