Page 60 of Taken Away

He shifted even closer, his large frame completely blocking out the rest of the party. He didn’t just stand beside her; he turned, crowding her back against the iron railing until she was pinned there by the raw heat of his chest.

His forearm came down on the railing beside her hip, boxing her in. His free hand settled at the small of her back, his calloused palm warm through the silk of her dress as he eased her closer.

He breathed her in slowly near the curve of her throat. Citrus. Champagne. His dark gaze lowered heavily to her mouth, his breath warm against her lips.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice a rough, low growl that vibrated straight through her ribs. “I think I might like that.”

Her pulse kicked so violently her knuckles turned white around her glass. “Yeah, well,” she managed, her defenses fracturing into dust, “I wouldn’t.”

His mouth curved slowly, a lazy, dangerous tilt. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. He could see the frantic beat of her pulse at the base of her throat, feel the slight tremble in her frame, and he was clearly loving every single second of her stubborn resistance.

“Really?” he murmured, “Because I seem to remember us on a patio before. There’d been tequila involved.”

Aubrey narrowed her eyes immediately, desperate to grab onto her anger before she completely melted against him. “Oh my God.”

“And I kissed you.”

“You assaulted me with charm and bad judgment.”

“And your knees buckled.”

“They absolutely did not.”

His smile deepened, lazy, lethal, and entirely victorious. He dipped his head a fraction more, his mouth hovering a breath from hers—so close that if she took a deep breath, her lips would brush his.

“You stumbled and fell, right, Princess?”

“I tripped.”

“Mmhm.”

“You are outrageous.”

"And yet," Bennett murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth again, "here you are. Standing here, trying so damn hard to pretend you don’t want me to do it again."

Aubrey lifted her chin, staring back into his eyes with a fierce, defiant glare that said she would rather dive off the edge of the ridge than confess he was getting to her. “I don’t want you to do anything, McCrae.”

His eyes flashed with pure amusement. “Liar,” he whispered.

The fire popped softly behind them, sending a small shower of orange sparks up into the mountain night. Jazz curled around them, low and slow. Everything suddenly felt too close, too suffocatingly warm, too charged.

Aubrey swallowed once, her eyes involuntarily fluttering shut for a brief second as his scent entirely consumed her. He noticed. His playful expression faded into something darker, hungrier, his gaze fixed on her mouth.

Every sensible nerve told Aubrey to move.

“The night’s still young,” he said, his voice dropping into a register so low it was practically a whisper against her lips.

And God help her—she was starting to think that might be a problem.

Somewhere behind them, someone laughed too loudly about allocations.

Bennett didn’t move away immediately. Instead, he let out a slow, frustrated breath against her skin, his thumb giving one final, heavy pressure against her waist before he slowly pulled his hand back.

For a second, Aubrey’s mind flickered back to Blackwood—the shadow by the barn, the cold weight of the lock in her hand, and the note. Who had left it? And what did they actually want from her?

A cold chill threatened to break through the heat, but she pushed the thought away, choosing instead to cling to the much hotter, far more dangerous problem standing right in front of her.

This man. This patio. This night.