LITMIR.BIZ

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was too late.

      His arm came around her, lifted her feet clear off the floor as he kissed her: hot, demanding, and all-encompassing.

      CHAPTER SIX

      HIS mouth was soft, hot and devastating. Megan let the shock ripple deliciously through her as she clutched his shoulders. There was a small thunk as the house key dropped to the step. Even through the layers of his tuxedo and her coat Meg felt the hardness of his body against her.

      It was the most wonderful thing she’d felt in her whole life. His lips did terribly skilled things to hers as he moved ahead a step, then another half so that she was pressed against the door with nowhere to go. But the stability meant that she could have her hands free, and once liberated she slid them beneath his lapels and pushed the jacket off his shoulders. His mouth left hers just for a moment and they stood, chests heaving, in the circle of the porch light. Clay’s eyes glinted darkly at her as he caught the jacket blindly and draped it in a haphazard clump over the railing.

      “Open the door,” he commanded, and something seemed to zing from Meg’s toes straight to the top of her head. She felt her eyes widen as she understood his intentions; when she said nothing he simply reached around her and turned the knob. She gave a little squeak as his hands spanned her waist and he lifted her over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him.

      “Clay …”

      “Be quiet,” he commanded, and she swallowed but obeyed. He was looking at her as they stood in the shadows, the only light in the entryway coming from porch light shining through the windows. In the semidark he appeared even more dangerous, more forbidden. Mysterious, which to Meg sounded ludicrous considering she’d known him her whole life.

      But not this Clay. Not the man who just now was reaching out, cupping her head in his wide, capable hand. She wanted this. She’d wanted it for so long, had given up any and all chances of it happening. Maybe another chance would never come. Maybe … she bit down on her lip as she looked at Clay. Cancer had taught her to live each day to the fullest. She was tired of being afraid. His thumb rubbed against her cheek gently. Why shouldn’t she take just this much when it was offered?

      So she released her lip and tipped her head up, silently inviting him to kiss her again.

      He cradled her face in both his hands now and Meg fought for breath as his mouth descended, not with the crash and fury of the first kiss but slowly, deliberately. He took his time now, teasing, tempting, settling into the contact with a sense of inevitability that rocked her world and made her yearn for far more than a good-night kiss or a single night to remember.

      “I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he confessed, and Meg’s body came alive hearing the soft but urgent words. His mouth was on hers again, making her weak in the knees. She pushed away the warning that sounded in her head when Clay lowered his hands and unbuttoned her coat. It was just a coat. It was fine. She let it fall to the floor and curled a hand around his neck, pulling him closer, tasting. He tasted like the chocolate mousse from the dessert, flavored with a hint of tart raspberry coulis.

      Clay slid one hand over her left shoulder and down, his fingertips sliding over her breast. At first Meg shuddered, feeling utterly feminine and sexual for the first time in months. But as Clay made an impassioned sound in his throat Meg came to her senses. He didn’t know, couldn’t know what surgery had cost her. It was too risky, too frightening. What if he’d used the other hand? He would have slid his fingers over something that wasn’t real. Clay mattered. For the sake of their friendship, it had to stop here.

      She pushed against him, making enough room that she could slide past his body and into the warmth of the kitchen. She hugged her arms around herself. How could she have forgotten so easily? Meg felt the color drain from her face as her body chilled. It was an embarrassment she had no desire to endure.

      “Meg.” Clay followed her into the kitchen. Just the way he said her name, soft but with a bit of wariness, put her on edge.

      “I can’t do this,” she said quietly, knowing he had no idea how much saying it was tearing her apart. The peace she’d made—with herself, with her disease—evaporated, leaving her angry and full of self-loathing. Now, when she finally had what she’d always wanted in her grasp, who she wanted, she had to push him away. “You don’t want this,” she said, stronger now. “You don’t want me. You should go.”

      He reached over and turned on the kitchen light, flooding them in brightness. Meg hated the glare. Hated the idea of being so visible, inside and out.

      “What the hell just happened?” He frowned at her, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion.

      Meg knew what he meant and deliberately misunderstood. “Why don’t you tell me? You were the one who insisted on walking me to the door. Who wouldn’t let me open …”

      “That’s not what I mean.”

      She looked away. There was irritation in his eyes but there was something more. Clay looked hurt. How could that be? “Why did you kiss me?” she asked, lifting her chin. Anything to keep him from searching for the real answer to his question. Anything but the humiliation of having to explain.

      “Because I wanted to,” he replied.

      They were both stubborn but Meg was no fool. “Now who’s deliberately dodging? You know what I’m asking. Why did you want to?”

      He took a step closer and Meg backed away, skirting around the table and putting it between the two of them. Clay’s face looked suddenly tired. “Good Lord, Meg. I’m not going to hurt you.”

      But he would. He would if she let herself believe in this fantasy. She knew his reasons and it was all her fault. He had to know them, too. Had to say them so he could see how foolish it all was. “Why did you want to kiss me, Clay?” She repeated the question, her hands braced on the back of the chair before her.

      “Look at you,” he admitted roughly. “You walked through the church today and every eye was on you. You have to know that.”

      “So it’s just physical?”

      “Of course not!” His shoulders straightened.

      She was relieved and not relieved at the same time. If it wasn’t just physical, then there was more. Friends with benefits? She knew Clay too well for that. He had to see how wrong this was. Even as her lips still hummed from his kiss, she knew in her heart that in the end someone was going to get hurt. Or both of them. “So you have feelings for me,” she dared.

      Clay paused. “It’s not that simple.”

      She knew it wasn’t, and that was the point. “Because if you’re going with physical attraction—” she braced herself for the next words, knowing they had to be said “—you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

      “What are you talking about?” His gaze darkened. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. I felt you in my arms. You practically melted.” He put his hands on his hips. “I might have started it, but you were right there with me. And then you pushed me away like I did something wrong. Unforgivable.”

      He really didn’t know. She let that bit sink in for a few moments, trying to figure out where to go from here. It explained a lot. She’d guarded the details of her treatment well, and so had her family. The knowledge warmed her just a bit. They’d stood behind her even when what she’d asked hadn’t been easy.

      Clay truly didn’t know the extent of her surgery. She had to think about how to say it just right.

      “This …” She swept her hand down at her dress. “This is not the real me, Clay. It was a mistake for me to pretend. You asked me to go with you and I had some silly idea to go all out and prove a point. But the makeup and dress and high heels … it’s an act. If you’d left me at the door I’d be in flannel sleep pants and a T-shirt by now.”

      “And that’d be sexy as hell,” he answered. “Good God, Meg, give

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