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Rowan paused, for one breathless moment, and let the situation roll over her. She was throwing herself at someone she barely knew. Sure he was a “hot as hell” someone, but still. Rowan didn’t do shit like that. Not anymore.
Rowan had perfected the masquerade that had become her life over the last six years. She’d grown into the skin of someone who bore no resemblance at all to what she’d been. In California Rowan James was average. Ordinary. Less than ordinary. She’d morphed form a hell-raising teenager into the kind of woman who dated someone like Mason and had a pet gerbil named Tiger.
She’d not used magick in years, and she sure as hell hadn’t contemplated getting naked with a tall, god of a man who held more secrets than she did.
And yet there she was. Back in Salem, knee deep—hell, ass deep—in magick, men, and danger. And she liked it. The thrill. The power.
It was as seductive as she remembered.
But Azaiel . . . she gazed up into golden eyes shot through with black . . . he was more dangerous than all of that. She should be running the other way, yet . . . her fingers trailed over his taut, hard chest . . . she couldn’t move.
He made her feel things that she shouldn’t. Not with the threat of Mallick hanging over her head. Not with her mother returned to Salem. Not with Samhain so close.
And yet . . . it felt amazing to feel again.
Azaiel shuddered beneath her fingers, and as she slid along his body, the evidence of his passion was hard to ignore. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, so what was the problem? He was a man. She was a woman. They were both adults.
For a second reality punched her hard, and she paused, breath held in her throat. He wasn’t like anyone she’d met before. She felt his power. Felt how his energy bunched and pulsed with something she’d never experienced before. What was she doing? Was she as crazy as her mother?
But then his hands were on her body, traveling down her back, past her waist, until he cupped her butt and pulled her in closer. She gasped at the intimate feel of him. He was hard, unyielding. One hundred percent male.
Rowan opened her mouth—to protest? To pull away? But it was too late. Azaiel’s lips descended, and he opened her mouth with his own, his tongue probing, seeking the heat inside her.
He tasted like heaven, and waves of hot, wet need rolled over her, weakening her limbs until she leaned into him. Until her breasts were crushed to his chest, and that moist, throbbing place between her legs was intimately introduced to the hard bulge at his groin.
His large hand kept her anchored, fingers splayed across her butt, while his other sank deep into the thick hair that clung to her neck. He held her so that she couldn’t move—a little too tightly, truth be told—so that when his lips trailed red-hot fire across her neck, she could do nothing but whimper. When his tongue licked and suckled near her ear she surely would have fallen if not for his ironclad grip.
Shivers of delight wound their way across her skin, and she shuddered as his mouth clamped down near the pulse that burned at the base of her neck. Her hands crept up, and she clung to his powerful shoulders, animalistic sounds falling from her lips as she moved against him.
And when he licked his way back to her mouth she opened wide and claimed him. Tongues slid, teased, and tasted. They heaved against
each other and, with a growl, Azaiel picked her up, and they moved deeper into the shadows. He shoved her against the shed, his large frame hovering against hers as his tongue swept along her mouth before plunging deep inside once more.
Rowan’s head spun. Her insides were hot, like molten lava, feeding the ache between her legs until she could barely stand it. She tried to close her legs, tried to put out the fire, but his knee was there, pushing into her, rubbing against her . . . and warmth flooded her in a wet weep of desire.
“Oh God, Azaiel,” she whispered, her hands capturing his face so that he stilled for a moment. So that her eyes connected with his and said the words she couldn’t. Stop. This is crazy. This is amazing.
His had morphed to full-on black but they glittered, as if backlit with specks of gold. Thick strands of dark honey-colored hair fell over his brow, and she brushed it back as she gazed up at him. Their hearts pounded heavy, a rhythm that was in sync, and the thin sheen of sweat that coated his skin only emphasized the perfect features of his face.
The man was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. He looked as if he’d been carved from angel’s stone.
His gaze never wavered, and she caught a glimpse of the intensity that ruled the man who held her. It scared her. His strength. His total control.
Suddenly a tingle of apprehension shot through her. A warning that maybe she was pulling on the tiger’s tail. It was a cold shot of reality, and her heart turned over. Shame scorched her cheeks.
What the hell am I doing?
Rowan’s throat constricted, and she pushed against his chest, but his large frame didn’t budge. She needed to jump off the crazy train and get away from him. She needed to clear her head.
“I warned you.” His voice was harsh and held a hint of something that was dark.
Rowan opened her mouth, wanting to explain. Wanting to apologize for her behavior, but he gave her no chance. His mouth was on hers once more, and he moved so that she was crushed between the shed and the hard wall of muscle that was his large body.
His hands were everywhere, on her face, in her mouth, caressing her breasts, and flickering along the quivering muscles in her lower belly. His mouth wreaked havoc, his long, sensuous tongue spreading fire across her neck, and she shuddered when he blew against her ear and suckled the tender spot just below.
“I warned you,” he repeated, his hands tugging at her shirt, and with a curse he ripped it from neckline to hem. She froze when she felt cool, crisp air rush across her naked skin.
“Azaiel,” she whispered.
