Nobody Does it Better Excerpt I'm not going to make love with you," she blurted, surprising herself. Immediately she wanted to take it back, but couldn't very well do that. Not without admitting how much his nearness was messing with her head. And with the rest of her. She looked up at him, expecting to see shock or disappointment. Instead, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks for letting me know." He looked amused, damn him. Well, he wouldn't look nearly so confident when he realized how determined she was. "I mean it. No sex." "I believe you." "You do?" She frowned, knowing she shouldn't be disappointed at his easy agreement, but not able to help it. Alexander wouldn't give up so easily, not if he really wanted her. Alexander was too much of a rogue. Unless he was just playing it cool, planning to lower her defenses for a sneak attack. That would be very Alexanderish. He kneeled casually in front of the minibar. "Nightcap?" "I'm ... yes. Please." Then again, perhaps he was a gentleman and not a rogue at all. She shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. This man and Alexander were all mixed up in her head. He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured them both a glass. "How about talking? Is that safe territory?" Talking? Talking was fine. Kissing would be even better. Kissing fell within her boundaries. But she couldn't really say so without sounding desperate. "What do you want to talk about?" "You're a writer, right?" She nodded, wary. He moved closer and passed her a glass of champagne. His fingers grazed over hers, intimate and purposeful, and any remaining doubts about his desire for her vanished in a puff. "I thought maybe you'd be interested in an intellectual evening. We could discuss literature." "Literature?" She didn't believe him for a second, but neither could she guess what he was up to. "Maybe Victorian era erotic literature?" His voice had changed, it was lower, rougher. Suggestive. A trill coursed up her spine. How easy for him to reduce her to quakes and quivers. "I ... I don't really know anything about it." "No? Too bad. How about kissing?" His eyes bore into her without blinking, his desire obvious but still unspoken. She licked her dry lips and looked at the floor. "Kissing?" she repeated stupidly, unable to think of anything else to say. What had seemed like safe territory only a moment ago suddenly seemed dangerous. Wonderfully appealing, but undeniably dangerous. Her legs wobbled and the wall no longer seemed capable of holding her up. She stumbled to the bed and sat on the edge, her hands folded primly in her lap, a reminder of what she wasn't going to do with him. "I thought we could talk about kissing. Is that okay?" She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. But he could talk all night about kissing if he wanted. That wouldn't break any rules. Talk? Hell, he could kiss her all night. He lowered himself onto the bed next to her, close enough that his taut thigh muscles pressed against her. She focused on taking nice, normal breaths. But the more she tried to ignore his heat against her, the more flustered she became. When he leaned back on the bed, she hesitated to look at him. "It's too hard to talk sitting up next to each other. I promise I don't bite." She drew a steadying breath and turned her head. He was lounging behind her, propped up on one elbow. He patted the space in front of him. "Come on." Then he grinned, slow and self-assured. "Unless you don't trust yourself with me." As a matter of fact, she didn't. Not even a little bit. But she probably shouldn't mention that. She leaned back and scooted up the bed until her face was even with his. She had to admit it was a much better position for talking. It was a much better position for kissing, too. How convenient. "Now, about kissing." With one fingertip, he traced her lower lip. Her pulse throbbed and she tried to steady her breathing. "Did you know that some people think kissing is more intimate than sex?" A small sound of interest was the most she could manage. "There are times when I think that's right," he said, flashing her a lazy grin. His finger teased her lip, then slid inside her mouth to graze the top of her teeth. She closed her eyes, fighting to keep from closing her lips around his finger. "Not that I'm knocking sex, mind you," he murmured. "I certainly can't deny the intimacy of being naked next to a woman who makes your heart pound as it's never done before, sheathing yourself in her, filling her up, taking her places she's never been and watching her skin flush when she finds satisfaction." Paris squirmed on the bed, her thighs pressed tight together to try and forestall the liquid urgency that he was creating inside her. She lost the battle with his finger, and closed her lips over him, suckling, hoping that giving in just a little bit would douse the flames that were beginning to consume her. Gently, he pulled his finger from her mouth. She heard herself whimper. "But a kiss, a kiss can be sweet and gentle. Or hard and desperate. A kiss is fast and hot and deep, or slow and lingering. A kiss is sharing breath and soul." Something soft brushed her lips. When his evening beard tickled her cheek, she realized he'd brushed her mouth with a kiss. "Tell me what you think about kissing," he whispered. She quaked, imagining his lips on hers, his breath mixed with hers. A piece of his soul. And she so wanted to see into his core. She needed to know if he could really be the man she'd dreamed of. "Paris?" She opened her eyes. "Just one kiss."