“You said you wanted me to sleep in your arms, right?”

“Yes, but I also said, you should not be naked.” His hands went around her, pressing her closer to him. He could feel every muscle in her body.

“I’m not naked.”

“That’s debatable.” She felt naked to him. His response was automatic. Blood surged to his loins as if somebody had opened the gates to a dam. Hoover Dam, for all he knew.

She moved her head close to his, tempting him with her sweet scent. “Don’t I get a goodnight kiss?”

“Better not.” He could barely speak now, trying to hold back the urge to take her. Images of her glistening skin against his flooded his mind. Their bodies moving in synch, his hard cock impaling her, pumping hard, slamming into her. He felt pearls of sweat building on his brow, heat surging through his body as he tried to fight against his nature.

“Don’t you find me attractive anymore?”

She knew exactly what she was doing, even more so when he felt her hand run down his chest, to his stomach, to his boxers. He was unable to stop her, not because he didn’t have the physical strength, but because all rational thought flew right out of his head. When her hand wrapped around his erection, he knew he’d lost the battle, but he made one more attempt at keeping his promise.

“You should stop. I made a promise.” It was difficult for him to speak. All his brain could think about was her soft palm moving up and down his cock.

“I didn’t, which means I can touch you all I want.” He couldn’t believe his ears. The reason he had promised her not to touch her was so he could gain her trust back and earn her forgiveness, and what did she do? She shamelessly seduced him.

“You can’t be serious. You’re mad at me, remember?”

Delilah looked up at him and shook her head. “Not anymore. If I was still mad at you, I wouldn’t be in your bed right now. And I wouldn’t be touching you the way I am.” Her hand squeezed tighter around his hard shaft as she moved along his steely length. “So, would you please stop playing hard to get and kiss me?”

“Hard to get? I don’t think I’ve ever been called that.” He suddenly felt her shift, and within seconds she was on top of him, straddling him. With one swift move, she lifted her nightgown over her head and threw it off the bed. His eyes took her in, all of her gorgeous nakedness, her silken skin, her curves. He stared at her round twin globes that would fit perfectly into his palms.

Slowly Samson took her face into both hands and pulled her down to him. “I would have kept to my word, but you leave me no choice.” He captured her mouth, devouring her. He was starved, starved for her taste. For a second he pulled back. “And I want you to know, no more sex: from now on, we make love.” It was important to him to make that distinction. He was done with mindless sex. He wanted a different kind of intimacy with her. All he wanted now was to show her what he felt for her, to win her heart and her trust so that soon he could tell her the last of his secrets and reveal his true identity.

Samson’s lips went back to kiss her, and if Delilah had ever had any doubts about him, he just kissed them away. This man had opened up to her like no other man ever had, and even though she had circumvented his efforts to keep to his promise of not touching her, she had seen the sincerity in him in trying to keep his promise. It was all she needed to know. There was no need to waste the night—or rather the day—without touching. There was only one place she wanted him right now, and it was inside of her, captured between her thighs. For how ever long she could keep him there.

His kiss was more tender than it had ever been before. She could feel his hunger and need beneath it, just barely kept in check, ready to break to the surface. But still, he overwhelmed her with his tenderness, with the intimate caress his tongue unleashed on her mouth. His fingers framed her face, softly stroking her skin and teasing her sensitive neck as if he couldn’t bear to let go of her face.

There was longing and promise in his kiss, as if he’d opened his heart and invited her in. And there was something else she hadn’t felt before: the feeling that he needed her, not to satisfy his carnal need, but to fulfill his emotional need. She responded to him with her own brand of passion and need. Her head filled with images of bliss, of the two of them dancing in the sun, in a sea of flowers.

Samson pulled back and suddenly gave her a short break to breathe. “I can’t get enough of you. Don’t leave on Wednesday.”

“But, I have to go back when the audit is done.” Her protest was weak. She didn’t want to leave, but she couldn’t just stay either. She had a life in New York, well, she had an apartment. “I have no reason to …” A rented apartment. Really just a place where she kept her belongings. A tiny place, something her German ancestors would call a Wohnklo, a tiny studio with an equally tiny bathroom.