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In a suit he could stop traffic. It turned out that not wearing a suit, in fact wearing very little, he could stop the world on its axis!
The earth-stopping little consisted of a pair of shorts that hung on his narrow hips and revealed every inch of his muscle-ridged flat belly. He had the sort of lean, muscular, not-an-ounce-of-spare-flesh body that a professional swimmer spent a lifetime trying to achieve.
She could see his wide shoulders cleaving through the water and his long muscular legs... Actually, she could see them tangled in her own, which only added to the reality-meets-fantasy vertigo she was suffering.
‘I was looking for a candle,’ she heard herself say.
‘You found a few,’ he said, his eyes leaving her face but only for a split second. ‘Dance?’
Was he making fun of her?
‘There’s no music.’
‘I can hear it,’ he replied, taking her waist and the situation into his own capable hands.
His hand on her waist brought home belatedly her state of undress, which was equal to his... She panicked, then stopped as, holding her eyes, he caught hold of her right hand, placed it against his chest and stepped into her.
Before she could protest—she liked to think she would have—he began to move. At that moment even the theoretical possibility of resistance vanished.
He was tall, she wasn’t, this shouldn’t have worked but it did—the differences were part of the formula that made it work. He was hard, she wasn’t; even with her sharp angles and lack of curves she had never felt softer and more female in her life, as they continued to circle the floor, both hearing the same song.
As if in a dream Anna felt she was floating...it might even be an actual dream...
Jolted free of the lovely place she had inhabited by an extra-loud rumble of window-rattling thunder, she gasped and instinctively burrowed closer as his arms moved to encircle her. When she tried to pull away, he held her firm, one hand now splayed across the curve of her taut behind. The other moved to the back of her head and a finger at the angle of her jaw tilted her face up to his.
He looked so beautiful so predatory that she ached.
‘You’re a very good dancer,’ she said, making herself think about all the women he’d practised with—and she wasn’t thinking dancing—just to cool down the fire inside her. Masochistic, yes, and it didn’t even work. The fire carried on burning... He was just so beautiful.
One hand was trapped between them, the other she raised and laid on his shoulder, before allowing her fingers to slide down, feeling the quiver of surface muscles as she spread her fingers down his back.
He swore... They were no longer dancing, they were standing stock-still in the middle of the room, both barely breathing, staring at each other.
The thickness in the atmosphere had nothing to do with climatic conditions.
Bad idea, Soren!
He tried to listen to the voice yelling in his head, he made a genuine effort, but passion, lust, her passion-glazed eyes and parted lips drowned out the voice of reason.
He held her eyes and jerked her in hard, smiling a skin-prickling predatory smile when she whimpered as his erection ground into her belly.
‘I have a serious problem with your mouth.’
The electric touch of his finger on her lips made her quiver. ‘It’s too big, I know,’ she pushed out breathily.
‘It’s perfect. It just makes me so hungry...and you make me...’ The rest of his words were lost inside her mouth as his tongue slid between the seal of her lips, deepening the combative clash of tongues and teeth.
Outside the thunder crashed and a pane of glass cracked, causing the nearest candles to gutter and die in plumes of dark smoke. Neither of the figures engrossed in each other noticed; the touches and sighs, the deep, drowning, hungry kisses grew wilder and fiercer until Soren, breathing hard, put her from him.
‘My room,’ he said thickly, before he kissed her hard.
Anna wound her arms vine-like around him, revelling in the hard, hot heat of his body. Her face level with his bare chest, she pressed open-mouthed kisses against his golden skin, tasting the salt, loving the texture.
He dug his fingers into her hair, yanking her back to look into her face; a moment later he was sweeping her off her feet and into his arms.
Anna wound her hands around his neck as he carried her from the candlelit room. The dark closed in but he seemed to know where he was going; hedefinitelyknew what he was doing.
Occasional lightning flashes illuminated their route, throwing out eerie monochrome flickering images on the walls as they progressed up a flight of spiral stairs.
