Excerpt from Surrender The Heart:

When she turned toward him, his fingers tightened on her hair as the need to take her into his arms grew stronger. "Shall I tell you that your mouth is made for mine?"

Ariane's breath caught in her throat as she watched him watch her. Then his gaze dropped down to the strand of hair that he was drawing so provocatively over her skin. She watched his eyes narrow in fierce concentration as he drew the curl up to touch it to her mouth.

"Don't. Henriette--"

"Is dozing over her sewing."

"Chris--"

"Sh." Letting the curl fall, he continued the journey along her lower lip with his thumb. When her lips parted, he allowed his thumb to slip inside -- just a little.

She should do something, say something, Ariane thought, but her thoughts scattered like a flock of panic-stricken birds as his thumb slipped into her mouth. Lightly it slid along the moist inner side of her lower lip, the sensation so new, so exciting that it robbed her of the power of speech.

His thumb stole further to run over the edge of her teeth and then further still until it touched her tongue.

"Open your mouth, Ariane." His voice whispered over her skin like a caress. "Open for me."

She watched him draw closer and closer still. There was challenge in his eyes. And desire. And need.

The blood was rushing in her veins like a swift river. She could feel it pulse against her skin. She could feel the heat within her grow and spread. Finding that she needed to touch as well, she lifted her hand and closed her fingers around his wrist. Following an instinct she had not known she possessed, she nipped at his thumb, which was still damp from her mouth.

The fire of desire leaped in his eyes, showering her with sparks. Discovering for the first time just how arousing it was to be desired that way, she kept her fingers curved around his wrist. Her eyes on his, she nipped again, then ran the tip of her tongue over the spot as if to soothe. His pulse throbbed against her fingers, the rhythm quick and strong and inviting.

Needing more, she drew his hand downward so that his fingers slid down to lie against her throat and, tilting her head up to him, offered him her mouth.

Chris lowered his head slowly. Because he wanted to plunder, to devour, he only tasted -- a flick of his tongue at the corner of her mouth, at the curve of her upper lip. Even when he finally pressed his mouth fully against hers, he allowed himself no more than the caress of lips against lips.

He was driving her mad with expectation, Ariane thought. He had taken but a taste of her mouth even though she had offered him all that he had asked for with that velvet voice of his. Even now, as he fit his mouth to hers, he did no more than graze her lips with his. And all the time he kept his eyes on hers, that contact as arousing, as erotic as the touch of his mouth.

But she needed more. Her hand still circled his wrist and although she did not notice it, her fingers tightened.

If he had not needed all his will power, Chris might have smiled at her wordless demand. But he was on the razor's edge of madness. Now, he thought, as he took her mouth fully, sinking into the kiss like a drunken man sinking into quicksand. Now.

Her taste spread on his tongue -- wild and sweet. More, he thought. He needed more. He lifted his hand to her face. Cupping her chin, he changed the angle of the kiss, deepened it.

Chris curved his hand around Ariane's cheek and drew her head back so that she faced him again. His eyes had darkened, no longer cool like a mountain stream, but hot and bright like fiery

emeralds.

"I want you, Ariane. Very badly."

She wanted, too. The admission pushed itself into her consciousness, making shameless demands, and she almost reached for him. But she was accustomed to being strict with herself and doing without, so she shifted away from his touch. She expected a measure of ease, of comfort, but instead an ache took up residence in her heart.

"And being the man you are, you expect immediate gratification." The acerbic words did not soothe the ache, but instead seemed to exacerbate it.

Her words were like the stab of a small, but lethally sharp knife, but his wickedly curved eyebrows hid the pain well. "And just what kind of a man is that?"

"A man who takes what he wants."

"And is that bad?"

"Perhaps not in itself. Not unless what or who is being taken has some objection."

"I am a man of some experience, Ariane." He smiled ruefully, "If you tell me that you were objecting just then, I'd have to call you a liar."

"No, I was not objecting." She would have wanted to look away, but her pride would not allow it. "But that fact does not mean I was asking for more."

"No?" He shifted closer. "I'm afraid I shall have to call you a liar after all."

Unable to sit still any longer, Ariane jumped up and began to pace. "Why can't you just leave it be?"

Chris rose also, but did not move toward her. "Have you ever wanted something, Ariane? Really wanted something." He fisted his hands at his sides to stop himself from reaching out for her. "Have you ever wanted something so badly that you wake up in the middle of the night to find that you hurt? To find that you can't

breathe for the wanting?"

She stared at him, fascinated and a little frightened both by his words and by the intentness in his face.

"Have you?"

Ariane shook her head.

"Well, this is how I want you, Ariane," he said softly. "So be warned."

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