When Emma was eight, she'd seen a newborn deer on television. Sitting in the common room of the Happy Cottage Children's Home, she and the other kids had watched as the foal floundered and tried to stand, holding their collective breath as it had finally triumphed over its wobbly legs and hooves that seemed far too big. Now, as she pushes her way through the crowds, knowing she's going to be late meeting Ruby and not relishing the prospect of having to explain why, she feels uncomfortably like that damned fawn.

Her legs are shaking, and the shoes in which she once danced for two hours straight now feel as though they're two sizes too big for her. Add the damp palms and the invisible butterflies that seem to have taken up permanent residence in the pit of her belly, and you have the perfect case of someone who's currently wondering what the hell they were thinking, kissing one of their work colleagues in the middle of the fucking street.

She knows what she'd been thinking. That's the problem. She'd been thinking that she needed to kiss him, needed it so badly it was as though her actual bones had been singing with the craving to feel his mouth on hers.

And feel it she had. Hell, she'd felt it everywhere.

She shifts restlessly from one foot to the other as she waits to cross the street, wondering how the hell a simple kiss managed to make her feel as though her underwear was about to catch fire. If anything, the second kiss had been even better (or scarier, she can't decide) than the first. That first kiss had been a stolen moment of heat and impulse, fuelled by curiosity and booze. This kiss, the one she started, had been soft and dreamy and carried the weight of a week's worth of shared words and thoughts. In other words, she thinks with faint despair, much more dangerous.

As she reaches the restaurant, she pulls her compact out of her purse and checks to see if she actually looks as thoroughly kissed as she feels. To her dismay, she does. Her face is still flushed, her lip gloss is a thing of the past, and her eyes seem to be twice their usual size. She can't do anything about her dilated pupils (God, she thought that kind of thing only happened in bodice ripper romance novels) or the stupid blushing business, but she can at least repair her lipstick. Because nothing gets past Ruby. Nothing.

"You'd better have a good excuse for leaving me sitting here all on my lonesome," Ruby has the nerve to pout when Emma finally reaches their usual booth. "It's been ten minutes of social mortification."

"Sorry for being late." Emma gives the other woman a quick one-armed hug, then looks pointedly at the two goggle-eyed male bar staff who are beating a hasty retreat from the booth, then at the two luridly coloured cocktails sitting on the table, cocktails she has no doubt are on the house. "I can see how neglected and unappreciated you must have felt."

Ruby's blood-red lips curl in a smirking sneer that would have done Billy Idol proud. "They must have felt sorry for me." As Emma slides into the opposite side of the bar, she notes that tonight's outfit consists of a scarlet patent jacket and a black gauzy top that's cut so low Emma's surprised there aren't more free drinks awaiting her arrival. Ruby looks, as always, beyond amazing and a little scary and, as always, Emma feels a little like a peahen hanging out with a bird of paradise.

The feeling passes, though, as it always does, but really, she wants to smack herself for wearing her red dress to work today. Unlike Ruby, who was born to wear red, Emma always feels as though she's trying too hard, her worst fears confirmed when Ruby slides one of the tall cocktail glasses across the table towards her and gives her an approving nod. "Now we're talking." She snaps her teeth over the end of the straw bobbing in her own cocktail. "You've got a much better chance of snagging a handsome bad boy when you're not wearing one of those neck-to-knee black suits."

That's what you think, Emma tells her silently, then flashes her friend a bright smile as she reaches for her glass. "Thanks for the fashion advice, as always, but I'm not looking to snag a bad boy."

Ruby's left eyebrow almost reaches her hairline. "Oh, that's right, you want the whole package." Her friend drums her crimson fingernails on the top of the wooden table, keeping time with her sing-song words. "The bad boy who's a good man, a diamond in the rough."

Emma feels her face grow warm. Her friend has no idea how close she's just come to hitting the proverbial nail on the head. "Enough about me," she says cheerfully, knowing the best way to deflect Ruby's uncanny sixth sense is to distract her with talk of her own personal life. "How was your date with what's-his-name?"

To a third party, this might sound rude, almost disinterested, but Ruby has been her friend for a long time, ever since Emma worked a summer at Granny Lucas's café in Portland, and they stopped standing on ceremony a long time ago. If Ruby ever decides to date a man more than once, then Emma will remember his name. Until then, what's-his-name it is.

"His name is Billy and he's a mechanic." Ruby's wide smile, usually so take-no-prisoners, suddenly seems almost coy. "I like him," she adds with a nonchalance that wouldn't fool a blind mouse, and Emma smiles.

Well, this is something new. "Is that the sound of a second date I hear?"

Ruby shrugs, draining her cocktail to the halfway mark. "Maybe. He's really shy." She leans forward, her elbows on the table, a puzzled frown tugging at her dark eyebrows. "It's crazy, but I think he was a little scared of me."

Emma looks at her friend, trying to imagine Billy the shy mechanic doing his best to keep up with Ruby Lucas, and feels a pang of sympathy for a guy she's never met. "Imagine that."

The next two hours pass by in an enjoyable blur of gossip and deep-fried bar snacks and no small amount of alcohol, although Emma puts an end to her drinking around eight and switches to mineral water. Ruby eyes her suspiciously across the expanse of potato skins and buffalo wings. "It's Friday night, since when are you such a lightweight?"

Emma hesitates, because once she shares her news, she'll never hear the end of it, but it seems that the four cocktails she has had have done their work. "Since I have a date tomorrow night."

The half-finished baskets of food are pushed to one side, and for a moment Emma thinks that her friend might actually climb over the table in her excitement. "Get out."

Luckily, the bar is crowded, and Ruby's shriek doesn't turn a single head, but Emma still feels like sinking down in her seat. "It's not as though I never go on dates, you know."

Ruby gives her a long-suffering look. "It's been four months."

Emma blinks. It can't have been four months. "No, I'm sure I-" Frowning, she tries to remember the last date she'd had. It must have been that guy Mitchell from the gym, the one who turned out to not be quite as divorced as he said he was. The one who now goes to a different gym, she adds with grim satisfaction. Bastard.

"Earth to Emma." Five red talons wiggle in front of her face, and she looks up at her friend with a start. Ruby is gazing at her with something that looks a lot like sympathy, and she scowls.

"Okay, so it's been a while," she admits, and Ruby practically rubs her hands together with glee.

"Tell me everything."

Emma takes a deep breath, and gets the worst part out of the way first. "He's one of our senior associates."

Ruby's eyes widen. "Uh oh."

Emma takes a sip of her sparkling water, wishing it was something stronger. "I know what you're thinking, but it'll be fine."

"But you work together." Her friend looks concerned. "What happens when it all goes pear-shaped? You'll have to skulk around the hallways trying to avoid each other."

Emma feels her mouth straighten into a churlish line, because Ruby's just shone a big fat light into the dark corners of her own concerns. "Who says it's going to go pear-shaped?"

"Emma-" Ruby reaches out across the table to grab her hand, squeezing it tightly, as if that might take the sting out of her words. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're worse than I am when it comes to finding someone who ticks all the boxes on your list."

"Seriously?' Gently extracting her hand from her friend's grip, Emma sits back in her chair and crosses her arms across her chest. "I haven't even had one date with the guy yet and you've already got me sneaking around the office trying to avoid awkward eye contact."

Ruby slides out of her side of the booth and, a few seconds later, is giving Emma a repentant hug. "I'm sorry." Emma hears her inhale, then her friend pulls back, her eyes widening dramatically. "Excuse me, but why do you smell like men's aftershave?"

Crap.

She opens her mouth, and Ruby holds up her hand. "I'm going to the bathroom, and when I come back, you are going to explain yourself, young lady."

Fastest bathroom visit on record, Emma thinks with amusement a moment later as Ruby sashays through the crowd towards their booth. Two fresh club sodas are clunked onto the table, then her friend is sitting opposite her and fixing her with a dark, steely gaze that almost makes Emma squirm. She knows Ruby loves being part of the fashion world, but if she ever decided on a career change, law might not be a bad idea. "Tell me everything," her friend says for the second time that night, and this time, Emma actually does.

Over the next thirty minutes, it all comes tumbling out. The laser tag, the kiss, the photocopying, the accidental coffee meeting, the saying yes to a date, asking him to her apartment, even the shack burgers and the stealing of the cheese fries.

Ruby doesn't say a word throughout the recital (although her bright red mouth does drop open when Emma mentions the stolen laser tag kiss), and it's not until Emma pauses for breath (after a quick summary of their email conversation) that she pounces. "That's all very interesting, but none of it explains why you smell like men's aftershave."

If there was a surgical procedure that could stop you from blushing, Emma thinks, she might seriously consider it, because this is getting ridiculous. She briefly considers clunking her forehead down onto her crossed arms on the table to hide her face, but she's trying to break that particular childhood habit. Reminding herself that she's a fucking adult, she takes a deep breath. "We left work at the same time tonight."

She's never noticed before today just how eloquently sarcastic Ruby's eyebrows can be. "And somehow his aftershave - which is very nice, by the way - magically ended up on your hair and your cheek as you were walking out of the building."

God, she's like a dog with a bone. "Well, we got to talking and then he apologised for kissing me."

"And then?"

Emma flings up her hands in defeat. "Then I kissed him, okay?"

Her friend looks as though she's about to burst with pride. "In the middle of the street?"

Sighing, Emma gives into the temptation to clunk her head softly onto the table. Surely, she can be excused, just this once. "Yes."

"Tongue?"

Emma's belly clenches at the question. Her answer might be muffled, but she can still hear the embarrassment in her voice. "Oh, God, please stop talking."

"I'll take that as a yes."

The smug triumph in Ruby's voice has Emma straightening up and pressing her palms against her hot face. "You know, we're here to talk about your latest date."

Ruby's dark eyes are sparkling. "But we always do that." She picks up one of the club sodas and holds it aloft in a toast. "This is way more interesting." After clinking her glass against Emma's, she leans forward, her expression avid. "So, date night at your place. Sounds cosy."

Emma shrugs, wondering how much longer this little interrogation will be. "It seemed like a good idea."

Ruby purses her lips. "When's the last time you had a first date on your own territory?"

Emma does her best to glare at her friend, because they both know the answer to that one. "Never."

"So what's different about this guy?"

Emma shrugs again. "I can't explain." She hesitates, then decides maybe if she tries to explain it to Ruby, she might understand it better herself. "He wanted to take me out to dinner, but I didn't want to be bothered with all that messing about with taxis and waiters and wine lists." She idly picks at her bar coaster with her thumb nail, making a vague mental note that she really does need to redo her nail polish. "I guess I wanted to see if he was a 'takeout and DVD' kind of person."

Ruby nods, smiling that knowing smile that usually precedes a particularly pointed conversational bite to the jugular. "Which is great, because now you know that he is, but you do realise you've kinda skipped a few important steps, right?"

"I know."

"Well, what is your plan with this one? Take him for a test drive and send him on his way?" The knowing smile is back. "Or are we talking romantic weekends away in the Hamptons by the end of next month?"

There are times when Emma really, really wishes that Ruby was less intuitive, and this is definitely one of them. She doesn't know what she wants to happen after tonight, but the fact that she's even contemplated an 'afterwards' is a departure from her usual MO, and that makes her nervous. "I haven't actually figured that out yet."

"Hmm." Her friend finishes off her club soda, and sets the glass down with a clunk. "Maybe you'd better think about it before tomorrow night, or else the poor guy won't know which way is up." She nods at Emma's glass. "Drink up, then you need to go home and get your beauty sleep." She flashes Emma a wolfish grin. "Should we make a time for post-mortem drinks on Sunday now, or do you think you'll still be tied up with Mr Senior Associate?"

Emma downs half the glass of soda, then gives her friend a tight smile. "I'm going home now, but not because you told me to." She looks pointedly at her watch. "Don't you have early brunch with Granny tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh." Ruby straightens her jacket, flipping her dark chocolate hair over her shoulders. "She wants to go spy on the new fancy deli that's opened up near my place and steal all their ideas to take back home with her."

Emma laughs as she starts to slide out of the booth. "I love your grandmother."

Her friend makes a face as she gets to her feet. "Easy for you to say, you're not being nagged by Skype three times a week about finding a nice boy and settling down."

"Like grandmother, like granddaughter," Emma mutters, then pushes away the fleeting resentment. She knows Ruby only has her best interests at heart, although she's not sure how questions about tongue kissing factor into that. "Say hi to her for me, okay?"

Ruby rolls her eyes. "If I can get a word in edgeways, sure."

They go through their usual departure routine (the bouncer flags down a taxi, Ruby sends a text to her granny with the car number, Emma drops Ruby off at her place first, then travels the last ten minutes or so alone) and it's not long before Emma is kicking off her high heels with a groan of relief and tottering down her hallway to the kitchen. She's not hungry, not after all those bar snacks, but she feels the need for more water. After snagging a bottle from the fridge, she flicks Ruby through a quick text - home safe, will call you on Sunday – and rolls her eyes at the tongue waving emoticon that Ruby sends in reply.

Sinking down onto her couch, she gazes around her living room, trying to imagine Killian Jones within its walls. She knows the cosy vibe her old co-op's got going on isn't to everyone's taste, but she's been renting this place for almost five years and it's become more of a home than anywhere else she's ever lived. Frowning at the dust and piles of old magazines on her coffee table, she remembers with a jolt that she'd totally meant to clean and tidy during the week so she didn't have to spend hours doing it tomorrow.

At least her bedroom's already tidy, she muses, then snatches the thought back, her heart doing an odd little dance against her ribs. Is she seriously entertaining the idea of sleeping with Killian Jones tomorrow night or is she just caught up in the lingering after-effects of that kiss?

Putting her half-finished bottle of water back into the fridge, she heads to the bathroom, avoiding her reflection's mocking gaze as she goes through the usual rituals, because she already knows the answer to her own question.

Of course she's considering sleeping with him. She's careful, not comatose, and if the two kisses they've shared at any indication, she has no doubt they'll scorch a sheet or two if things do head in that direction. Maybe it's because it's been way too long since she was last with someone (the not-actually-divorced-ooops-sorry Mitchell didn't even get to second base four months ago, thank God) but simply imagining what it would be like to have Killian touch her is enough to make her knees buckle and a hot flutter of anticipation dart through in her belly.

Maybe she should just go for it, she thinks. Get it out of the way and out of her system, and then everything can go back to normal. They're both adults, and he's obviously comfortable with the notion of sleeping with people without getting caught up in any messy post-sex turmoil. The question is, would she be okay with him moving on from her as quickly as she usually moves on from her own conquests?

Not bothering to dignify that with an answer, even to herself, she flick off the lights and crawls into bed, stretching one hand out to touch the empty space beside her. No one's ever stayed the night, not in this apartment anyway, and for the first time in a long time, that makes her almost wistful rather than smug. She rolls over with a loud sigh, already resigned to the certainty that she'll be putting condoms on tomorrow morning's grocery list. No point tempting fate, after all.

Much to her relief, thanks to those four cocktails she'd drunk with Ruby, there's no lying awake staring at the ceiling tonight. Her last thought before she slips into slumber is that maybe she should put those new sheets on the bed too, just in case, and even half-asleep, she knows she's in real trouble here.

Despite the fact that she's been on tenterhooks waiting for the intercom to buzz for the last hour (okay, maybe longer than that), when it finally happens, she almost jumps out of her skin. Sucking in a sharp breath, she runs her hands through her hair one last time, then presses the intercom button.

"Hello?"

At first all she hears is background street noise, then a distinctive clearing of a male throat. "Sorry to trouble you, ma'am, but I need to speak to a lawyer."

She grins. "Sorry, I don't do criminal law."

She hears him laugh. "We could do this all night, but that would be a terrible waste of Pad Khee Mao."

"I agree." She presses the security code, then hears the connecting buzz. "You're in."

From experience, it should only take him a moment to reach her front door, which gives her one last chance to check her reflection and panic over what she's wearing. Two hours ago, her choice of black leggings, black ballet flats and silky blue shirt (and yes, damn him, matching black underwear) had seemed fine, but now she hates every single thing –

The knock on her door puts an end to her ridiculous dithering, and she counts to five before she opens the door. It wouldn't be good for him to suspect she's literally been leaning up against it, waiting for him to knock.

When she opens the door, she feels as though the wind's been knocked out her. She's seen him in casual clothes once before - the Sunday he'd helped her in the office - but she hadn't really seen him that day, not like she does now. Now, as she takes in his faded jeans and black buttoned down shirt, she wonders how the hell she ever thought she didn't find him attractive. As always, he's sporting a three-day growth, the dark stubble making his eyes look even more blue than usual, and as he shifts the bag he's carrying from one hand to the other, she sees a glint of silver at his throat. He smiles, teeth white against his dark beard, and her stomach flips over. "Hi."

"Hi." His gaze sweeps over her from head to toe with obvious appreciation, lingering on her ballet flats before he flashes her a mischievous smile. Of course, he would notice she's much shorter in real life than she is at the office, and she has the sudden urge to shuffle her feet. "I believe you put in an order for some home delivery?"

"You bet." She grins. "Right on time, too. I'm impressed." She steps back and lets him into the apartment, doing her best to stop herself staring at the back view as he passes her (seriously, those jeans) by checking out the very large purple plastic bag he's carrying instead. His aftershave (the very same one that Ruby had sniffed out last night) teases her nose, mingling with the scent of lemongrass and basil from the takeout. She's not sure which is making her mouth water more. "Kitchen's straight through there."

He walks slowly ahead of her, his head turning from side to side as he takes in his surroundings, and okay, now she is blatantly staring at his ass, but come on. She'd like to see a jury in the land convict her. As he carefully hoists the plastic bag on her freshly-cleared counter top, she feels her eyes widen, because he seems to have ordered half the menu. "So, how many people did you invite to join us for dinner?"

He darts her a sheepish look, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, I wasn't sure what you'd like, so-" He gestures to the bulging plastic bag with a helpless hand, and she can't help laughing.

"So you got one of everything?"

Smiling, he leans one hip against the counter top, folding his arms across his chest. "I had to do something to compete with those cheese fries you bought for me."

Now that he's actually here in her apartment, the reality of his presence is so much more overwhelming than the theory of inviting him over that she's not quite sure where to start. Actually, she knows exactly where she'd like to start and it's not with dinner, and maybe that's not the wisest course of action right now. Mirroring his stance, she leans against the counter and nods at the bag of takeout. "Thank you for bringing dinner."

"It was my pleasure." Dropping his arms to his sides, he takes a step towards her, and she holds her breath, but apparently he's only inspecting the bag of food to make sure it's all in one piece. That done, he somehow manages to close the gap between them without appearing to take another step, and maybe once her pulse stops pounding, she'll be impressed with his ninja skill levels. "It's nice to see you again, Swan. It's been too long."

"You saw me last night, remember?"

His bright blue gaze drops to her lips, then lifts to lock with hers once again, and she feels that same magnetic pull that always seems to happen whenever she gets too close to him. "How could I forget?"

He's smiling at her, his eyes searching hers, and she has the feeling he's waiting for her to give him his cue. She opens her mouth to say something – anything, God, even asking him if he wants a drink would do – but nothing comes out. Her lungs feel as though all the air is being squeezed out of them, and her little galley kitchen suddenly seems very small with him in it. Beneath her clothes, her skin feels itchy, prickling with heat. She looks at his lips, remembering the softness of his mouth, the brush of his beard against her skin, and her whole body feels as though it's crackling with both static energy and the compulsion to simply grab him and not give a damn about the consequences.

"Emma?" He's looking at her now, his hands restless at his sides, his expression faintly beseeching. "Did I say something wrong?"

She knows it's not the first time he's called her by her first name, but tonight it sounds very different on his tongue, and it almost makes her shiver. "No."

Two weeks ago, he'd kissed her. Last night, she'd kissed him. Tonight, though, the playing field is even. His hand comes up to cup her face in the same instant she raises up on her toes, and their lips meet in a soft, almost lazy kiss.

As third kisses go, it's pretty damned good. His lips are warm and firm, his mouth tasting of mint and she might have been content with that - it's such a gentle, sweet thing – if there wasn't one word pounding in her head and in her blood.

More.

She slides her tongue along the swell of his bottom lip, her belly churning with the split-second of exquisite anticipation that comes in the heartbeat before a kiss changes from sweet to hungry, and he doesn't let her down. His hand slides to the nape of her neck, then his lips part, his tongue curling around hers as he kisses her fiercely, all gentleness burning away in the heat of it, the same heat that's hollowing out an ache between her legs and making her tremble with the need to feel him.

She leans back against the counter top, her hands hard on his hips as she pulls him closer. In the space of a sharply drawn breath, he's there with her, one hand still threaded in her hair, the other on her hip, his touch seeming to burn her through the thin fabric of her clothing. Muttering something under his breath, he gently pins her in place with his hips, and she can't stop the quiet moan that escapes her throat. God, he's already hard and his body is a perfect fit for hers, despite the height difference, the firm ridge of his erection pressing between her thighs with an accuracy that almost has her legs buckling under her. Her breath is burning in her lungs, her breasts tight and aching, and she knows all it would take to push her over the edge would be a few well-timed thrusts. Jesus, how did she get into this state so fast?

It's only when she curls one leg around his and slips her hand in between them with obvious intent that he shows any indication that he's not completely on-board with fast-tracking their evening. His voice is rough, almost sluggish. "Emma, wait."

"I know, the food will get cold." She kisses his throat, smiling against his skin when she feels him shudder. "But I've got a microwave."

He exhales a shaky breath, then catches her exploring hand just as her palm brushes against his belt buckle. His eyes are closed, his voice thready with the same urgency that's buzzing under her skin. "Can we just take a moment? Please?"

Just like the old cliché, his words have the same effect as being doused with cold water. She looks at him, not quite sure she's heard correctly. "Seriously?"

"I know it might be hard to believe, love, but I'm trying to be a gentleman here." He kisses her lightly on the mouth, then eases his body away from hers. Not meeting her eyes, he carefully adjusts his zipper, then runs his hand through his hair. He's breathing hard, his chest rising and falling fast, and she cannot believe that Killian Jones, of all people, has been the one to put the brakes on. "The thing is, Swan, as much as I'd like to sweep you straight off to bed right now, I really don't want you to rush into anything you might come to regret."

She's got goosebumps now, a chill creeping across her hot skin, and she's uncomfortably aware that her nipples are tight and aching and no doubt on display for all the world to see. "And how would you know what I might or might not regret? You barely know me."

Her last words hang in the air between them, mocking her with their irony, and she closes her eyes, last night's conversation with Ruby bouncing around in her head. Fuck.

"I'm afraid that's the rub of it, love." Even with her eyes closed, she can feel the intensity of his gaze. "Two weeks ago, you could barely bring yourself to breathe the same air as me." He says the words gently, but they still sting. "I meant it when I said I wanted to court you." He touches her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, and she forces herself to open her eyes. "I would like very much to get to know you a lot better, Swan, and I don't wish to alarm you, but I don't think one night's going to be enough for me." His smile is wistful, and it makes her throat feel hot and tight. "But if that's not what you want, that's absolutely fine." His smile falters then, or perhaps that's just her imagination. "If you'd like me to bugger off now that I've finally stopped blathering on, I will."

For someone who talks up a storm for a living, she can't find a single thing to say that can explain the mess of emotion careering around inside her head and her heart. She has no idea how everything got turned upside down so fast. All she knows is that he's looking at her with such tenderness that it almost makes her want to cry, and she thinks maybe she hates him for that. She feels embarrassed and aroused and angry and more than a little confused at how he has managed to read her so well, despite her knee-jerk claim that he barely knows her.

When she says nothing, Killian nods slowly, then drops his hands, taking a half-step back from her. "You know, I wouldn't have thought it possible to mess something up so quickly, but it appears I've set a new record." As if he can't bring himself to stop touching her, he tucks an errant curl behind her ear, his knuckles gentle against her cheek, and it's all she can do not to lean into his touch. "I'm sorry, Swan. Perhaps I should go."

The thought of him leaving, of this (whatever this is) being over before it's even begun, propels her into action. She grabs his arm, wrapping her hands around his wrist. "Don't go." His whole face softens with relief, and he's quick to move back to her side, leaning against the counter top close enough for his shoulder to press against hers. Knowing she's got only one chance to state her case, Emma takes a deep breath. "I'm not very good at this."

"Kissing?" He tilts his head to one side, his lips twitching. "I beg to differ, love."

She knows he's trying to make her smile, and damn him, it almost works. "Dating."

"It's been a while between drinks for me, too." Catching her hand in his, he lifts it to his mouth and presses a lingering kiss to her palm. "Perhaps we can figure it out together."

She curls her fingers around his, marvelling that such a chaste kiss could feel almost as erotic as the breathless one that proceeded it. She knows he's right, things were moving too fast, but God, she's never wanted to throw caution to the wind more in her life. "We should eat. Microwaved noodles are never as good."

His answering smile makes her breath catch in her throat. "Good plan, Swan."

Surreal doesn't begin to describe the next few hours. Sitting on her couch with him, picking over shared dishes of noodles and stir fries while Grace Kelly scares the living daylights out of Cary Grant with her driving skills, she feels as though she should pinch herself. Despite the fact that she still feels as though she's about to jump out of her skin, it's oddly comfortable. He'd brought along a few bottles of Singha beer as well ("you really do provide the full home delivery service, don't you?"), and she tries to remember the last time she had a first date that involved sipping beer and stealing all the best prawns out of the Pad Thai with her feet up on a coffee table.

She knows he knows what she's doing, but it's not until she's popped the last prawn in her mouth that he shakes his head admiringly. "You're quite the polished food thief, aren't you, Swan?"

Thinking of all the times in her old life when she'd had to fight to get even the smallest piece of whatever was on offer, she merely gives him a cool glance. "Survival of the fittest, Jones."

His gaze sweeps over her, lingering pointedly on her legs and the deep v-neck of her shirt, then he smiles into her eyes. "You've got me on points there, love."

From anyone else, such excessive flirting might be grounds for her patented (or so Ruby claims) cold shoulder, but coming from him, all it does is make her think how much she really wants him to kiss her again. "Well, you'll just have to be quicker off the mark next time."

One dark eyebrow arches. "Next time?" He flashes her a grin, teeth white against his dark stubble as he rests his arm along the back of the couch between them, his fingertips grazing her shoulder. "Are you fishing for a second date, Swan?"

She shifts on the couch until she's facing him, her legs tucked under her. "Maybe."

This time, when he kisses her, she knows neither of them are going to put the brakes on, not this time.

Her palm might still be tingling from that chaste touch of his mouth, but there's nothing chaste about this kiss. It's slick and hard and frantic and desperate and it's exactly what she needs, what she's wanted from the moment he walked through her front door. His tongue tangles with hers as he buries his hands in her hair, tilting back her head, and she opens her mouth to him without a second thought, kissing him back with a hunger that shocks her. Putting one hand on his chest, she pushes him back into the couch, rising up on her knees to straddle him, drowning in the taste and the feel of his mouth on hers and oh, God she wants so much more than kissing.

As though she'd whispered the thought into his mouth, his hands are suddenly on her hips, pulling her down onto him, letting her feel exactly what kissing her has done to him, and a shock of bone-melting desire washes over her. Closing her eyes, she arches her back and rocks into him, another shock of heat blossoming between her legs as he meets her halfway, his hips lifting, his rough groan finding an echo in her own smothered gasp.

With a muttered curse, he tears his mouth away from hers, blazing a trail of kisses down her throat, his beard scraping her skin, making her shiver. Her breasts are aching, nipples drawn up tight and fuck, she's aching and wet before he's even really touched her, and if they don't get to her bed soon, she's going to come while she's still sitting in his damned lap with all her clothes on.

She leans back, biting her lip as the change in position has the hard heat of him pressing against her in exactly the right spot, the one that makes her want to simply grind against him until she comes undone in a sobbing heap. "So much for not rushing things," she mutters, and he gives her a shaky smile. He's breathing heavily, his dark hair tousled (when did she do that?) and his lips pink and kiss-swollen, and she wants nothing more than for him to roll her onto her back and fuck her until she can't see or walk straight.

"If it's all the same to you, love, I don't plan on rushing anything this evening." Holding her gaze with his, he skims his hands down her arms, then smooths them upwards over her hips and her stomach, his long fingers gliding over the soft fabric of her shirt. His touch burns her through the thin silk, setting a spark to the kindling lying dormant beneath her skin, and she feels the pounding of her pulse everywhere, in her breasts, the back of her throat, between her legs. When he splays one hand flat over the curve of her ribcage, his thumb resting almost casually in the hollow between her breasts, her whole body is suffused with an anticipation that almost turns her bones to water.

"Tell me something, Swan." He lifts his other hand to touch her face, his palm smooth and warm against her cheek, his thumb tracing her eyebrow. "Do you truly want this?"

She gazes at him, her pulse quickening. She knows he's not talking about sleeping together. He's talking about them. He's talking about the bigger picture, something that both thrills and terrifies her.

"I do." She climbs off his lap awkwardly, once again feeling like that newborn foal, then holds out her hand to him. "On a completely unrelated note, I've just realised you haven't had the full tour of the apartment."

He laughs as he lets her haul him to his feet, and she can taste the smile on his lips when he takes her face in his hands and kisses her so thoroughly she almost forgets her resolve to adjourn to the bedroom. "Lead the way, lass."

Her apartment is far from large, but it still takes them a few minutes to get to her bedroom. By the time they finally reach her bedroom door, he's managed to kiss every inch of her neck and her goosebumps have freaking goosebumps. "Okay, so this is my room," she murmurs as she steps away from his dangerously wandering hands, kicking off her ballet flats and sinks down onto the edge of her bed (and yes, she did put on those brand new sheets this morning). "And that concludes our tour."

He leans against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth curved in a lazy smile. His shirt is untucked, his hair in disarray, and he's looking at her as though he means to devour her whole. The only light in the room comes from her bedside lamp (she'd planned ahead) and the soft glow makes his eyes look impossibly blue. "You know," he drawls as he starts walking towards her, dragging one hand through his already messy hair, "most tours end with a trip to the gift shop."

She shimmies backwards on her bed until she's leaning against the usual pile of pillow overkill, then holds out her hand to him once more. "Well, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we?"

She has no idea how long they've been kissing.

Time stops mattering the moment she pulls him down onto the bed beside her. He says her name on a rough whisper, his hand cupping the back of her head, pulling her mouth to his. His tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting and taking, asking and answering, and she feels the oddest sensation of her skin dissolving into his.

He kisses her again and again, his mouth tasting her lips, her jaw and the hollow of her throat, his hands gently stroking her arms and her back and her thighs, until the light, brushing pressure through her clothes is almost enough to drive her mad. When he finally lifts his head, she sucks in a welcome breath of cool air, then reaches for the buttons on his shirt. He gives her a smile that makes her feel as though she's the first person to ever do this for him (even though she knows she's damn well not), and she thinks that might just make her want him even more.

He returns the favour, unbutton her shirt carefully, his hands unhurriedly exploring every new inch of skin that he reveals. "Oh, Swan," he finally whispers, his eyes dark with a hunger that makes her belly clench. "You are a bloody glorious creature."

As she fumbles with his buttons, he bends his head to kiss her so thoroughly that it takes her three times as long to unbutton his shirt as it should. His soft chuckle rumbles against her lips as her fingers slide off the last button for the second time, then she's free to explore, sliding her hands over his warm, smooth skin. She dances her fingertips across his stomach, smiling at the skip in his breath as the muscles of his abdomen clench beneath her touch. "Those expensive suits of yours definitely don't show off your best features," she murmurs as she combs her fingers through the crisp hair on his chest, and he flashes her a wicked grin at her breasts, which appear to be on the verge of spilling out of her most expensive black bra.

"I could say the same to you, love." He shrugs out of his shirt, letting it fall to the ground beside the bed, then he's threading his fingers through her hair and gently pulling her mouth to his.

He'd claimed earlier that he was trying to be a gentleman, but there's nothing gentlemanly about the way he's kissing her. He tastes and teases her mouth with his, running his tongue along her teeth, sucking lazily on her bottom lip, kissing her in a way that far surpasses every single one of her illicit daydreams. It's not enough, though, because she wants to feel his skin against hers and maybe it's time she forced the issue.

Sinking her teeth gently into his bottom lip, she rubs her hand over the cool metal of his belt buckle, then the rough fabric of his jeans, finally touching him where he's hard and wanting her. His harsh gasp rings in her ears as he arches into her touch, then his fingers are busy with the back of her bra. A few seconds later, her shirt and bra are on the floor and she's undone too, his mouth devouring hers as he pulls her into his arms, the feel of his chest against her bare breasts making her stomach clench and her breath catch in her throat.

"This isn't a one-time thing." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, but she doesn't regret them. "I want more than that."

"Good." His mouth is hot on her shoulder, his hand sliding down her belly to cup the growing ache between her legs, and whatever else he might have been intending to say is lost.

"Don't stop," she manages to say as he strokes his thumb along the seam of her leggings, his touch burning through the thin material, applying a maddeningly light pressure. Jesus. Feeling the need to claw back some control, she slides her hand between them to palm the heavy ridge of his erection through his jeans. He sucks in a sharp breath, and she squeezes gently, wanting to hear that stifled sound of pleasure a second time.

"You," he says almost accusingly, "are going to be the death of me."

"Not yet, I hope," she shoots back, and he grins.

It all gets a little messy after that, hands tugging at stubborn clothing, mouths sliding over every new inch of bare skin. Finally, she touches the lean muscles of his chest and then presses her mouth against the salty heat of his shoulder as she slips her hand inside the waistband of his boxers, the crisp line of hair on his belly teasing her palm. She watches his face as she touches him, curling her hand around the silken thrust of his erection, and he closes his eyes, his jaw clenched on a groan of pleasure as he arches into her touch.

When he bends his head to her breast, his mouth closing hotly over one tightly beaded nipple, she almost wants to weep. When he dips his hand between her legs, his touch light and teasing, she almost sees stars.

The alcohol she'd drunk earlier seems to have evaporated, leaving her senses clear and focused, the slightest touch sparking against her skin like flint, the smallest details burning themselves into her memory. She touches his face, fingertips dancing over the fine lines at the corner of his vivid eyes, the soft skin of his throat, the sharp brush of his beard, and the internal hum of anticipation grows louder and louder in her ears.

He kisses her gently as he touches the soft heat between her legs, then his fingers are inside her and she's melting from the inside out. A low moan rises up in her throat as she arches against him, lifting her hips to meet the gently determined pressure of his fingers. She buries her face against his shoulder, inhaling the spicy scent of aftershave and warm skin, his hot breath stirring the hair at her temple as he touches her with a single-mindedness that makes her feel as though she's about to dissolve into a thousand molten shards of flesh and bone. When he dips his head to kiss her breasts, the cool silver of his Celtic pendant brushes against her stomach. It's oddly erotic, and she curls her hands into the rumpled bedspread beneath her, desperately trying to anchor herself to solid ground. She can feel herself falling, sinking towards the oblivion of release before she's even had a chance to draw breath, and when she finally falls, she falls harder than she has in a long, long time.

She opens her eyes to find him smiling at her, his eyes glowing as he slowly trails his fingers (they're still slick from her body) over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, making her shiver. "You alright there, Swan?"

In answer, she puts her hand flat on his chest, pushing herself into a sitting position, her knees sinking into the mattress as she moves. He grins up at her through the semi-darkness, his hands coming up to rest on her thighs as she straddles him.

"Why am I not surprised you want to be on top?"

"Shut up," she murmurs as she bends down to kiss his chest, brushing her lips over his heart. "I'm actually trying to decide what I'd like to do to you first," she whispers as she works her way downward, her fingernails digging his thighs as she trails a line of kisses down his stomach. The baby-smooth heat of his erection brushes against her cheek, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"That's one way to rush things," he mutters in a voice of a man who's just smoked three packs of cigarettes, and she smiles, her mouth open on the soft skin of his belly. "You'll have me out of commission in two minutes flat."

"That sounds like a challenge to me," she teases as she cups him gently, dragging her tongue along the straining length of him, tasting salt and musk and heat. His rough groan is music to her ears, and while she wants nothing more than to watch him fall apart beneath her, maybe she should play fair, at least for tonight. Still, she can't resist tormenting him a moment longer, kissing and licking and tasting until he's literally vibrating at her touch, and it's only when she takes him into her mouth, curling her tongue with deliberate intent that he finally snaps, his voice pleading.

"Swan, please."

Regretfully, she presses one last open-mouthed kiss to a particular spot that has him twisting beneath her, then lifts her head to find him looking at her with narrowed, dark eyes.

"Emma." That one whispered word seems to be dragged up from the soles of his feet and she crawls up his body to kiss him. The crisp hair on his chest teases her breasts, his tongue hot and slick as it tangles with hers. Lifting herself up on her elbows, she leans across him to retrieve one of her shiny new condoms in the top drawer of her bedside table, then drops it onto his chest with a mischievous smile.

He shakes his head at her, but he's already reaching for the small foil packet. "The bloody death of me," he says again, and she hooks one leg over his hip, taking the condom from him and reaching down between them.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she breaths as she smooths her hands down the length of him, her mouth going dry as he bucks gently into her touch, filling her palm. Fuck.

"I'd die a happy man, love," he whispers, then his mouth is on hers, his hands cupping her ass, pulling her closer. She straddles him, closing her eyes as the smooth jut of his erection presses into her thigh. She shifts her hips, needing to feel him somewhere else, somewhere much better. A second later, she's trying to stop herself from moaning as she chases that delicious friction, the hard heat of him rubbing against the slick flesh between her legs.

His hands are between her legs, his body arching like a bow beneath her. "God, Emma, I need-"

She can hardly speak. "Yes, now. Do it now."

He pushes himself up into her with one hard, deep rush of flesh and heat, and she has to grit her teeth to stop herself from crying out, because it's even better than she's let herself imagine. They're still for what feels like an eternity, his body buried deep inside hers, their breathing the only sound in the room. He's barely moved inside her and she can already feel the pressure building, ripples of heat darting through her flesh, across her skin, her pulse pounding in her ears, her wrists, the tips of her breasts. Then he kisses her, his fingers digging into the swell of her ass, and they start to move together

Maybe later she will marvel at the silent synchronicity of their bodies, but at this moment all she knows is the slow slide of his flesh over hers, the tender push and pull of his body inside hers, the pulsing thrum of her blood. When she leans down to kiss him, the crisp hair on his chest teases her breasts, her head filling with the scent of his aftershave and her own perfume, her tongue tasting the salt on his upper lip.

He says her name as though he's praying, and she closes her eyes. It's too much, and yet all she wants is more. "I've been thinking about this," she confesses in a throaty whisper, tasting the salty skin of his throat, hoping her words don't sound like the most clichéd of pillow talk. She doesn't liketalking during sex, she thinks. What the hell was happening here? "Ever since the night you kissed me."

He kisses her again, fierce and urgent, and she angles her hips as she arches her back, sinking down onto him with agonizing slowness that has her sucking in her breath and him swearing softly. When she lifts her head, he brushes his thumb over her tingling lips, his eyes glowing hotly. "I wanted you long before I kissed you, love."

It doesn't take long for either of them, and later she realises that the whole evening has been a subtle form of foreplay, from the moment he first walked through the door. The tender pressure deep inside her builds and builds, tendrils of heat whispering through her belly, her blood growing thick and sluggish. He kisses her fiercely, his hands strong on her hips as he guides the rhythm of their dance, letting her choose the steps but matching her with every beat, pushing her higher and higher.

When she feels the first trickle of sensation flutter through her, she wraps her arms around him, her mouth pressed hard against his forehead, whispering please and yes over and over again in a voice she barely recognises as her own. A few heartbeats later, she grows still above him, the thick pulse of pleasure starting to shudder through her until she's shaking, choking back a sob.

He kisses her, swallowing her moan of pleasure, rolling his hips slowly, letting her ride out the storm. She thinks she can taste her name on his lips when he kisses her, softly at first, then harder, deeper, his tongue sweeping her mouth as his hands move to her thighs, then her breasts. She shifts against him, feeling him harden inside her, feeling the faint echo of arousal shiver through her flesh.

She's not sure who moves first, but they're rolling, his weight suddenly pressing her into the soft mattress, his body still buried inside hers. Cradled between her thighs, he takes her face in his hands, kissing her again and again, his tongue teasing hers with lush, leisurely strokes. His hips rock gently against hers at first, as though trying to pace himself, but very soon she's clinging to him as they twist together, his breath harsh in her ear as he buries himself inside her again and again, the muscles in his arms straining as he rises over her.

When he comes, he mouths a gasp of completion against the curve of her shoulder, his breath hot on her skin as his body pulses thick and deep inside her.

Wrapping her arms around his sweat dampened shoulders, she pulls him closer, welcoming the weight of his body, the solid feel of him against her pounding heart. After a long moment, he eases his weight off her and sprawls out next to her, his chest heaving, one hand over his eyes. When he doesn't speak, she smooths her hand over the jut of his hipbone, enjoying the sleek brush of his skin against her fingertips.

Finally, he stirs beside her, rolling onto his side to face her. "God, that was -" His eyes dark with an emotion she doesn't dare begin to analyze, he lifts his hand to her face, and she leans into the touch of his warm palm. "That was bloody amazing."

If she wasn't already glowing from head to toe, maybe she'd blush. "Not bad for our first attempt," she hedges teasingly, and his smile seems to stretch from ear to ear.

"Careful, love." He gently pinches her chin, teasing the dimple she so hated when she was a child. "You don't want to inflate my ego too much."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Tugging the covers up over them, she stretches out beside him, smiling when she feels the soothing brush of his fingertips down her spine, stroking from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. His words, though, have the smile slipping from her face.

"Perhaps I should let you get some sleep."

The uncertainty in his voice makes her heart hurt, but she can't blame him, considering the roundabout route they took to get to this moment. Reaching back, she finds his hand, pulling it over her to rest on her belly, threading her fingers through his. "I'd like to get some sleep with you, if that's okay."

She hears the smile in his voice. "I suppose I could stay a while."

Breathing out a sigh, she closes her eyes at the feel of his warm chest against her back, knowing that he was right, that one night was nevergoing to be enough, and that there's a very good chance he will never be out of her system. She waits for the thought to send the usual quiver of terror through her, and when it doesn't come, she knows. "Good."