When Max’s hands curved over her hip, Sophy knew she was in trouble. Big trouble.

They were right back where they were the other night but this time, she didn’t know if she could get up and walk away from him. Or even if she wanted to.

“Sophy.”

She looked him straight in the eye and was stunned by the heat she found there. Raising a hand to his face, she cupped his cheek with her palm, the tips of her fingers lightly stroking the delicate skin near his eyes. He was warm and smooth beneath her touch, and a muscle twitched near his temple.

She could see a private battle being fought behind his eyes, until he finally let go of her. His hands flopped to the floor at his sides and her body rose and fell with him as he sighed heavily.

“Sophy, get up,” he ordered flatly, turning his head to the side and staring at anything other than her.

She stilled. “What if I don’t want to?” she whispered. She meant for the words to be a joke. But they weren’t.

His head jerked back and he scrutinized her.

Sophy felt her face flood with embarrassment, but she didn’t take back the words. In fact, she repeated them.

His eyes darkened. “You’re playing with fire,” he warned her.

She slid her palm down his jaw and back to brush against the crisp dark hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe I’m cold.”

Max shook his head slightly, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. “No, you’re not cold.” His knuckles trailed along her thighs and over her hips to rest on her ribcage. “Definitely not cold,” he asserted.

She shivered as the warmth of his hands penetrated the heavy canvas jacket she still wore.

Could she succumb to passion just once? Just passion, just once? She sighed, faintly aware of Max’s hands busy behind her back, unbuckling the jacket. His fingers trembled against her and he swore under his breath as he tried to free her from the confining garment.

Maybe Mom’s right and I should go for it, she thought. But what about all my principles? My ideals? My... Oh hell, how am I supposed to think clearly when his hands are on me?

Max slipped the jacket away from her and a tremor went up her spine. Her t-shirt stuck to her and goosebumps broke out in the small of her back as cool air sluiced over her damp skin.

Breathing suddenly became a deliberate effort, as did thinking. She knew she only had the stamina for one or the other, so she picked breathing.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmured, his hands slinking under her shirt to stroke the curve of her breasts through her bra. Her nipples puckered and tightened exquisitely from the sensation of his hot hands on her chilled flesh.

“No.” Sophy groaned. “Yes! Noooooo.”

His hands clenched into fists at her side and his body stiffened underneath her. His entire body. “Which is it?”

She smiled at the seriousness in his gaze. She knew he would stop if she asked him to, but she had less faith in her own restraint. Her smile wobbled as insecurity rose in her throat. “This is passion, right?”

He nodded. “According to all the literature.” His hands rose to caress her cleavage and the swell of her breasts through her shirt.

“Of course, you’ve probably researched this, haven’t you?” she said sardonically. She was starting to wonder exactly how much Max Wright knew about passion. They hadn’t exactly traded magic numbers yet.

He raised an eyebrow. “Not as extensively as some... uh, scientists, but I think I have a firm grasp of the basics.” Grinning, he scraped his thumb across her nipple and Sophy gasped as the warmth pooled in her belly.

“Uh huh,” she said weakly.

“I do have a keen interest in the physiological process,” he added. His hands rose and slid up her arms to gently squeeze her shoulders.

“I’m sure.” The tingling in her limbs extended to her fingers and toes and she wriggled restlessly. His hands shot down to press against her hips, stilling her. Warning her silently. Her heart jumped in her throat as she realized the power she had over him. It was a heady feeling, a little like the thrill she got when she saw her first book published. Only the quivering in her body was a little lower down now.

“Research of this kind is very tricky, you know,” he continued lazily. “You must keep track of your progress carefully, noting each step and the results.”

Sophy swallowed tightly.

“For example,” he drawled, “If I do this—” He slid a finger under the elastic waistband of her leggings and drew an invisible line over the dent in her hip. “—You close your eyes,” he concluded. “A simple cause and effect relationship.”

Sophy’s eyes snapped open again and narrowed as his hand crept down between them to her belly.

“Do you really want to find out what I’ll do if you venture in that direction, Max?”

“In the interests of science, sure. When researching, you must develop your own methods, sometimes experimenting with materials you know no one else has explored.” His eyes narrowed at her. “Has anyone else, uh, experimented with these materials?”

She blushed and wondered whether or not she should tell the truth. She felt like a prehistoric specimen, a twenty-something virgin. “No. You could say it’s a... new frontier in science.”

He smiled gently and reached up to cradle her jaw in his hands. “What have you been waiting for?”

“Mr. Right.”

His eyebrow raised and his mouth twitched. “Dr. Wright,” he corrected.

Her arms curled around his neck. “What about a control group?”

“Consider this a double-blind experiment,” he murmured.

And then he kissed her.

Finally, she thought.

His mouth moved over hers hungrily, bruising her lips and blowing all her inhibitions to dust. He wanted her, and she knew it. There was no fencing about now, no more ‘research’ in this area. His objective was clear, even if his method was still a little fuzzy.

Sophy wondered if maybe he had the right idea about this. Maybe if she thought of this as strictly research for her book, she wouldn’t feel guilty about forgoing her romantic ideals for one night. She was a writer, right? As often as she heard the advice, “write what you know,” she was also very aware that it was entirely possible to make stuff up.

She didn’t have to be in love with him to make love to him. It was just research, that’s all.

She told herself to take mental notes, and then as his hand cupped her breast again, her brain shut down like a government office on Christmas Eve.

The sensations flooding her body both frightened and excited her, and she wondered if this was what she was supposed to be writing about. Nobody had told her it could be like this—intoxicating, overwhelming, and utterly, utterly addictive.

Max swiftly rolled her over until she was on the floor underneath him. A dark lock of hair flopped over his forehead as he hovered over her. He lifted her suddenly boneless arms and yanked her shirt over her head. She was temporarily blindfolded, still trying to get the t-shirt off when she felt his tongue trail across her collarbone and down into the vee of her cleavage.

Maxmara’s mouth branded her like the fires of a thousand holocausts, his teeth nipping at her skin. Clarissa was powerless under his ministrations—no wait—Clarissa was powerless under his heated touch, and her heart sang with an unfamiliar joy.

Sophy shook the fragment of prose from her mind and her hands fell to the floor with a small thud, the shirt still wrapped around her head. She knew she should take it off, but she didn’t know if she could move. A groan escaped her lips as he dragged a finger under the lacy material of her bra and found her distended nipple.

Okay, she could move.

Her head popped out of the t-shirt just as she heard the snap of her bra being undone and she shrugged it off her shoulders. Max sighed against her skin and tossed the scrap of lace away.

“You’re so beautiful.”

She smiled. This must be how Clarissa felt. Max devoured her skin in small nibbles and hot sweeping motions until she trembled uncontrollably under his touch. “Tell me you want me,” she gasped.

“I want you.”

What would her hero say? “Tell me you can’t stop wanting me, not if all the hounds of hell were on you.”

He paused and his gaze swept up her body to meet hers with undisguised curiosity. “What?”

She closed her eyes. “The hounds of hell,” she repeated breathlessly.

Max turned his attention back to her breasts, finally taking a nipple into his mouth. “I cad sto waning you, eben if aw de houm—”

Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Forget it.” She inhaled sharply as he flicked her nipple with the tip of his tongue. “And don’t talk with your mouth full,” she ordered.

“Yef, ma’am.”

His hands spanned her waist, then wandered underneath the waistband of her leggings as he continued his assault on her swollen and tender breasts, until she stirred impatiently underneath him.

“More,” she implored.

A flush rose on his cheeks and his eyes burned brightly at her as he released her nipple. “More?”

She nodded, gulping air into her throat as his fingers circled her ankles and swept up her calves, lingering on the tender skin behind her knee. It wasn’t until he gently kneaded her thighs that she realized she was almost hyperventilating. His hands lifted from her legs to cover her breasts, trapping her thumping heart inside her chest.

“Relax, Sophy.”

She nodded, her eyes fluttering shut. “I’m just...”

“Excited?”

“Mmmm.” Excited and aroused and completely brain dead. Her body had taken over, and it was a terrifying prospect. What if it didn’t do what she wanted it to?

“It will,” he assured her, and she realized that she had whispered the thought out loud. She could hear the dark laughter in his voice as he continued, “And even if it doesn’t, it will do what I want it to. I’ll take care of you, Sophy. I promise.”

Her eyes flew open again and took in the sensual twist of his mouth and the glitter in his eyes. In her mind’s eye, she saw him as Maxmara, all sleek muscles and threatening sarcasm. Sophy swallowed tightly, wondering if Clarissa would succumb so easily to the earl as she feared she would to Max.

He sat back on his heels, surveying her with narrowed eyes.

Raising an eyebrow, she reminded him, “I’m not a lab rat, Max.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replied. “You have a great tail.”

Her cheeks burned and she reached up to pull him closer. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she admonished.

Max nodded and reached behind him to yank at the back of the heavy white canvas jacket. A vein stood out in his temple as he struggled with the buckle and perspiration dotted his forehead. “I’ve almost got it. Just a little...more...”

Sophy propped herself up on her elbows and wondered if she should help him with his pants. She was great at undoing buttons.

“Damn it!”

She sat up straight. “What is it?”

“The sleeves are caught.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, his arms twisted behind him.

Sophy frowned, idly wondering if her hero would have such a problem with his skintight Regency clothing. “You look like you’re wearing a straightjacket.” She scooted towards him. “Turn around,” she ordered.

His cuffs were caught on the buckle, and she picked it apart carefully. It was an expensive jacket, and she didn’t want to damage it. “Okay, all done,” she announced.

“Thank god!” he cried, and flailed his arms in sweet freedom.

His left elbow connected with Sophy’s nose and she shrieked in a burst of pain as she was knocked backwards. Somehow, she had the feeling that Clarissa didn’t have to put up with anything like this.

Max gasped. “Oh my god, are you okay?” He took her chin in his hand and turned it to the side.

Her eyes smarted with tears, blurring her vision. “Nice shot,” she muttered, and tried to smile.

“Well, I guess that killed the mood.”

Her body was still throbbing. “Not at all,” she murmured. “Just a small scientific setback.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The concern in his eyes battled with a familiar gleam of dark arousal, and he stroked her face gently. His touch made her tremble, and her body ached for him. Except her nose, which just ached.

“I’ll live, but not for much longer if you don’t touch me. Now, where were we?” She dragged the jacket off his shoulders and made quick work of the buttons of his shirt.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, concern in his wide blue eyes.

“Promise,” she assured him, and slid her hands up his bare chest. His chest hair rasped against the palms of her hands and she could feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips.

He groaned and pushed her back onto the floor, burying his face into her neck.

She shook her head slightly and frowned as black spots danced behind her eyes. Maybe she had gotten knocked harder than she thought. Or maybe it was just passion. She had read a love scene once where the heroine saw a kaleidoscope of colors, but she thought it had just been poetic license. Who knew?

Max hovered over her, muscles bulging in his arms from the superlative effort of his restraint. Would the earl be so restrained, or would he grab Clarissa and devour her until she begged to be taken?

She felt the heat radiate from his body, and shivered. “More,” she pleaded.

He braced himself with his elbows, his hands hard as they cradled her head and his eyes gleaming softly. Her legs wrapped around his hips and they rocked together slowly.

When she moaned Max spun them swiftly and smoothly so that she was riding him.

Her fingers splayed out on his hard chest and her eyes snapped open again. “Max!” She breathed heavily and light danced behind her eyes again. She licked her lips and tasted blood. Blood?

“Uh, Max?”

He grunted, his hands clasping her hips as he rocked her back and forth on top of him.

“I think—ohhh—I think you may have hit me harder than I thought,” she said.

He tilted his hips in response and the thought flew out of her head as he pressed up against her.

“Oh god!”

She trembled, feeling dizzy and strange. Was this what everyone talked and wrote about, including her? She suddenly felt like laughing at the curious and unfamiliar sensations overwhelming her body.

He pulled her close, let out a groan and stilled, his face hot against her own.

Her heart was still racing as she took in his enormously pleased expression. “Now that’s passion,” he said.

Sophy blinked as he blurred in front of her. She wriggled slightly on top of him, trying to keep her balance.

“Uh, Max?” She tried to focus as something dripped from her nose. There was a frown on his face he melded with the carpet in a beige blur. “I feel kind of funny.”

And then everything went black.

* * *

When she came to, her head was cradled in his lap and her cheeks stung from the tiny slaps he was administering.

“Come on... that’s it...” His voice sounded far away and muffled, as though he was speaking into a cone of cotton candy. Slowly it came closer, and became clearer.

She opened her eyes.

He exhaled raggedly and smiled down at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She blinked. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

She smiled weakly. “I guess you’re better than you thought, huh?”

“Very funny.” He combed her hair back from her forehead in smooth soothing motions. “How do you feel?”

Sophy stretched, feeling a twinge in her thighs “Incredible.” But she couldn't help the blush that spread over her.

Max laughed. “You’re incredible.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she replied. She turned her head against his bare chest and breathed in the musky smell of his skin. “Really, thank you.”

He tucked a curl behind her ear and grinned at her. “My pleasure.”

“Not all yours,” she reminded him. “So that was passion?”

“Hmmm.”

She closed her eyes. “Then I passion you, Max. I really, really passion you.”

“Hmmm.” He handed her a damp facecloth. “Here.” She took it and frowned. What was she supposed to—? “Wipe the blood off your face,” he said.

The facecloth was pink when she dropped it back on the floor, but her face was clean and the horrible coppery taste wiped from her lips.

Max frowned. “I still think I should take you to the emergency room.”

“‘S’okay,” she murmured into his bellybutton. “I’m fine now.”

His fingers left their position on her forehead to drag through his hair. “So what do you think of passion?”

Sophy stiffened. Isn’t that what Clarissa asked Maxmara? “Dangerous,” she muttered, and attempted to sit up.

He steadied her with his large hands and raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous?”

“Dangerous,” she repeated, shivering suddenly. She reached for one of the fencing jackets and pulled it on. She drew her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

“I can see how some people might mistake passion for love,” she murmured.

Max’s eyes narrowed and he reached for his pants. “But you won’t,” he stated. He stood and yanked on his trousers, then reached for his crumpled shirt.

She was silent. She could mistake this for love if she didn’t know better. If she didn’t know Max better.

The disappointment flowing through her veins like ice water surprised her; she hadn’t expected him to declare his undying love for her, but some genuine affection would certainly have been welcomed.

“I won’t,” she finally said. “Just think of it as research,” she added jokingly.

“What?”

“Consider this research for your study. Cause and effect, remember? The power of romance?”

He let out a bark of laughter. “And I suppose you consider this—” He waved his hand absently at their half-naked bodies. “—research for your book?”

She reached for his shirt, avoiding his gaze.

“Oh my god, you did,” he breathed. His hands pressed into her shoulders and he jerked her around to face him. “Is this part of the deal?” he asked, realization dawning in his eyes. “You didn’t want me, you wanted whatshisname in your stupid book!”

“It’s not a stupid book!” Oh, she thought, seeing the horror on his face. Maybe that was the wrong answer.

“Sophy! Was I here with you? Just now? Please tell me that you weren’t fantasizing about your own hero!” Maybe she had managed to bruise his ego along with her nose.

“No, that’s not true!”

Was it? She wasn’t sure anymore. If she told him that she wanted him, wouldn’t she look like a hypocrite for refusing him the other night? She had told him then that passion wasn’t enough for her; that she needed love. And she certainly didn’t want him to think she was in love with him. She knew he didn’t love her, but she could at least pretend that the earl loved her.

“Isn’t it?” His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders. “Who am I, Sophy?”

“Max—” She broke off in shock. Oh god, had she been about to say Maxmara?

His grip on her eased and he stroked her upper arms. “Yes, that’s right, Max,” he said.

Sophy felt the heat crawl up her cheeks and didn’t protest when he pulled her into his arms.

Damn Clarissa! She didn’t have this problem, Sophy thought to herself. When she sighed and tilted her head back to meet Max’s suspicious gaze, she realized she was in even more trouble than before.

She was falling in love with him.

The only hitch was that she wasn’t sure if it was Max she was falling in love with, or the Earl of Maxmara.