“Don’t say a word,” Roarke murmured.

His lips were a whisper against Betsy’s ear, and his hands were at her waist. She leaned back. She honestly didn’t know if it were a conscious decision. All Betsy knew was that, when she felt his hard body behind her, she melted from the inside out. His hands, those wonderful strong yet gentle hands, slid from her waist up over the curve of her stomach until they rested just below her breasts. She swore they swelled in anticipation of his touch. She threw her head back a bit on the gasp she couldn’t keep from escaping.

His mouth moved down her neck until he reached the pulse point at its base. He nipped and Betsy felt the touch all the way to her core. She felt the hard length of him as it nestled against her cheeks.