Light came into his eyes. Again the air changed. His power surrounded her, not threatening, but hot and heavy, like a welcome cover against the cold. His thumb whispered over the trembling corner of her mouth, and the touch lit along her skin. When he spoke, his voice was a soft rumble tempered by tenderness.

“A kiss,” he said, “is a conversation.” Easing closer, he continued to speak as he caressed her cheeks with featherlight strokes of his thumbs. “A first kiss”—his lips neared hers—“is an introduction.”

And then his mouth brushed against hers. The contact sparked, sharp and bright like lightning. Yet his lips were soft, unexpectedly so. Her breath caught the same instant his did.

Against her mouth he whispered, “That was hello.”

His breath mingled with hers as he waited, his lips so close she could feel their warmth. For a moment she simply breathed him in, growing heady on the scent of him and the tight anticipation gathering in her belly. Then she understood. Nerves fluttering, she brushed her lips across his as he had done. Again his breath hitched as if he too felt that same spark, that hot need.

Her eyes drifted closed, and his voice poured over her like warm cream. “This is ‘I’m Jack.’ ” Another brush of his lips, but slower now, clinging at the last touch.

She liked that one better. The tightness within her spread down her thighs and up to her br**sts. Mary tilted her head slightly as he had done and repeated his kiss, soft, slow. I’m Mary.

Over too soon.

From under lowered lashes, dark-green eyes gleamed at her, and the corners of Jack’s wicked mouth curved in a slight smile. He held that look as he came back for her, holding her where he wanted. “This”—a gentle nip at her bottom lip—“is”—a nibble on her top lip—“ ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’ ” Another soft nuzzle, his mouth moving along hers in a languorous glide.

So very lovely. Her breath grew sharp and pained. She wanted to fall against him, grind her lips into his, so violent was her need. She held herself in check and gently, slowly followed his lead. Jack made a sound against her mouth. She eased her grip and slid her hand to his neck. A tremor rent along the muscles there, his skin dry and hot. Beneath her touch his pulse raced.

His fingers threaded into her hair as he came at her again with the same steady deliberation, exploring her as she explored him. Their breathing grew unsteady and fast. Mary clung to him, her head growing light. One muscled arm wrapped around her waist, and he drew her across his thighs. Her br**sts pressed against his chest, and she felt small, fragile, safe.

Jack’s heavy pant mingled with hers as he rasped, “This is ‘I want you.’ ” His kiss deepened. The warm, slick tip of his tongue glided along the edges of her lips, coaxing them open. Mary shivered. She’d never felt the like, as though his tongue touched more than her mouth, as though it licked at the tips of her br**sts, down her spine, between her legs. Whimpering, she opened her mouth wider, her fingers clutching the hard swell of his shoulder.

He responded with a low groan, his tongue delving deeper, sliding and coaxing. And she ignited. Her chin bumped his in her greedy haste to kiss him. Mary twined her tongue with his, learning his taste, loving the way he trembled under her touch, and he surged against her, all desperation and heat. I want you. How I want you. He’d been her enemy, teased and taunted her, made her blind with rage. And he kissed her as if she were the only thing in existence. As if she were his existence. And it was perfect.

Her world tilted, and then she was sinking onto the cold, hard floor. His warm, dense chest pressed against her, and his hot, clever mouth fed upon hers. She was dizzy again, her whole body trembling, her breath too short. Her br**sts ached, and her skin burned. She could do nothing more than hold on to him as her old world crumbled about her.

“Jack.” She needed more.

His hand was at her hip, the other one under her head, holding her to him. The lines of his face were severe, almost harsh in the blue shadows. The look in his eyes was pained. “I want you.” His lips shaped the words against her. “But I need you more.”

Blind need had her clawing at his shoulders, holding him as if he’d pull away. Her hands grasped his short, shorn locks, then lost purchase as he kissed his way along her check, down to the tender juncture of her shoulder.

Something in him must have eased a bit, for he suddenly gentled. Soft lips pressed against her skin, scattering shivers down her spine. His breath gusted warm and humid into the well of her neck. “Slowly,” he said as if speaking to himself. “I can go slowly.”

He leaned against her, his fingers opening and closing on her hip as if he fought with the impulse to let her go. “You deserve slow care.” Another shudder wracked him. “We deserve it.”

Mary wound her arms about his back and held him. “Slow, fast, as long as it is with you, Jack.” She’d never given proper voice to it, but the words were out, and she knew the truth. For better or worse, Jack Talent was the only man she’d ever wanted. And she feared that he was the only man she’d ever want again.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark and glittering. He studied her for a brief moment, and then he kissed her. It was no longer frantic, but something altogether different. Something more. The tender claim behind it was a kick to her heart, and some small part of her feared it would stop altogether if he were to leave her just then. But he didn’t. He merely kissed her again. It was no introduction, this kiss. He was telling her something new, something she couldn’t quite understand. But she felt it.

“It was always you, Mary,” he said. “From the moment we met, it was you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kissing Mary Chase. Mary Chase beneath him, soft, fragrant, and pliant. In his arms. How had it happened? Jack’s head reeled, and his thoughts scattered. It might have been a dream. But no. His dreams of her had never felt this good. Her taste was not light and sweet as he’d imagined, but dark and smoky, rich and complex. She was whisky and chocolate. Goddamn but he shook like a lad as he tucked her lithe body close and kissed her gorgeous, luscious mouth.

That she’d wanted his kiss, when she hadn’t wanted any other, lit him with joy and lust until he scarcely functioned. She had no idea what it meant to him. For the truth was, he’d only kissed one other woman in his life, and she’d been paid by Ian to do it. Ian, who had declared that all men needed to be taught how to please women, and that a good tup would set him to rights. While Jack had enjoyed his lesson, it had never felt right, knowing that his partner had been bought and paid for. Then he’d met Mary. And he hadn’t wanted any other.

Mary. She was his flavor, the only taste he wanted to indulge. His body was heavy and tender. Pleasure washed over him in a hot, rolling wave as he feasted on her mouth, slowly. So slowly that he ached. Sweat bloomed on his skin, making him shiver again. His fingertips glided along her fragile jaw as he licked her upper lip. He didn’t allow his hands to explore lower. It would be over too soon that way. He’d fought this for so long. Now he planned to drown in her and enjoy every moment.

She made a little sound of contentment every time he slid his tongue into her warm mouth. And his c**k throbbed in response. He lost track of time, forgot where he was, as they lay in a languid, heated cocoon of their own making, simply kissing, as if it were the only thing in the world. Even so, his fingers soon found their way to the clasp of her cloak. The grey wool slid open, revealing a lining of shimmering bronze silk. He smiled against her mouth.

“Why are you smiling?” A whisky voice to go with her whisky mouth. Like liquor, it went straight to his head.

“Because I am happy.” Wholly, incandescently. He kissed her again, lingering. “Because you cannot resist this small luxury.” He touched the cool silk. “You crave it.”

Her wide eyes crinkled at the corners. “Just as you do.”

Yes. Because they were more alike than either of them had known. And she cared. She’d come for him on that dark day, not out of guilt or duty but because she cared. Oftentimes he’d been tempted to ask what her motives had been, but base cowardliness had stayed his tongue. Now he knew. It felled him, made him want things he had no business wanting.

He burrowed against her neck, inhaling her fragrance. “This spot,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ve dreamed of this spot. Of kissing it”—he kissed her there, and she shuddered—“of licking it”—his tongue slid over silken skin—“sucking…” His breath came on hard and fast, his grip upon her growing tighter.

Mary moaned, arching against him. He shivered, laving that heated spot. “God, I want to bite you here, Chase.”

Her gentle laugh vibrated against his mouth. “Do you know, Jack Talent, I think I’ve wanted you to bite me there for some time.” Her voice lowered to utter softness. “I think I’ve always wanted it.”

Then she touched him, a small caress of his jaw as if he meant something to her, as if she could protect him with that simple hold. Jack lifted his head. Her eyes gleamed gold and bronze. Wide open.

His throat closed up, heat prickling behind his lids. A sharp blade of emotion scraped over his skin, down into his heart where it pierced deep. At that moment she owned him. She altered him, from blood to vein, to bone and sinew and flesh, reshaping what once had been into something new—hers. He was hers now. Irrevocably.

It did not terrify him as he’d long thought it would. It made him feel strong, larger and more infinite. He had a purpose now. And he had a home. Her. Always. Her.

He kissed her. Frantic. Deep. She knew the core of him, past all his blundering and foolishness. So bloody well. The feeling crescendoed. A perfect moment of clarity and peace. And then it crashed down around him, so painful and raw that he squeezed his eyes shut. Because she might own him, but he would never own her.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled back. His body protested, his arms moving too slowly, and his heart trying to pound free. “I can’t.” Just saying it cut into his throat. So he said it again. “I cannot do this to you.”

At first Mary thought she’d misheard Jack. She was almost certain of it. Save he rolled away from her and sat up, bending his knees and putting his head in his hands.

“I am the one, Mary.”

Instantly she went cold, her chest seizing. “You… you’re killing the shifters?”

He wrenched around to look at her over his shoulder, his brows drawn. “What?” Confusion melted, but he appeared more pained, his eyes red beneath those scowling brows. “No. Not… Hell.”

Jack stood and turned. She could only gape at his tall form looming over her. Strong. And glorious. He destroyed her concentration.

As if realizing this as well, Jack muttered a curse and stepped away, his movements graceful and lithe. He was beautiful. And he was distressed, all those lovely, dense muscles along his fine frame twitching as he moved.

Turning back to her, he stopped, his expression broken and helpless. He made a furtive gesture toward her but halted.

“Jack.” She caught hold of her skirts and stood as well. “Tell me what pains you.”

His chest lifted on a sigh. And then he turned to stone before her. Cold, distant Jack Talent was back. That more than anything else terrified her.

“Mary. The night you died. I was there.”

“What? No.” No, he wasn’t one of the men who had hurt her. She remembered each leering face. They’d been older. Good God, had he shifted into another identity? He couldn’t possibly have. She’d killed them all. She struggled to breathe.

“I killed you, Mary.” His voice was deadwood. “I was driving the gin wagon.”

Her scattered thoughts stopped. Jack’s haunted eyes stared back at her. “Me, Will, and another named Nicky. We’d stolen the wagon from a London gang. We… we worked for the Nex, Mary.”

She flinched. He’d worked for the Nex.

His mouth flattened. “I was driving the wagon, urging the horses faster. You ran out of nowhere.”

Before her lay the gaping maw of the alleyway. Her feet slapped over the cobbles, wet and cold, as she raced for it, for safety. She’d lost a shoe. Cold air hit her skin. Lamplight blinded her. The clatter of horses. She bobbled, her ankle twisting. And then the wagon racing down the lane.

Oh, but Mary didn’t want to remember that. Or what came moments later. A flash of wide, terrified eyes. A boy’s. The big, brown length of a horse’s snout. And then the hit. So hard she didn’t feel a thing at first. Just a jumble of sounds. And then the pain. Bright and blinding. She’d hoped she would feel peace. It had been so far from that. There had been nothing but regret.

“I didn’t stop,” Jack said. “Not for a half block. Couldn’t get the horses under control.” He looked away, the tendons along his neck standing at attention. “Nicky said to keep going, but you were lying there.” Jack ducked his head, and his lashes hid his eyes. “I knew what I’d done. I knew that if I left you there…” He bit his lip. “I was a liar, a thug. But I’d never killed a person.”

“How old were you?” She was surprised at the calm in her voice. Inside she was numb.

Perhaps so was he. His eyes were dry, clear, and direct when he looked up. “Fourteen.”

“And you—” She fisted her overskirt, her palms cold and clammy. “You recognized me? It was but an instant. When, Jack? When did you realize I was the one you’d run over?”

She didn’t want to know.

“Mary.” He stopped and started again, resigned. “Lucien’s barge.”