thoughts that Rowan was a better man for her, then by concerns for her health and how best to approach her in light of all she’d just told him.
Instead, she propositioned him when he was doing … absolutely nothing.
God, he would never understand Celia Patel. He’d also never been able to turn her down. “Are you sure this is what you want? It’s been a stressful couple of days and I want you to be certain.”
“I may have had a panic attack yesterday, but I am completely calm and certain of this.” Her fingers curved around the back of his neck, her touch cool, steady … seductive. “You and I need to stop fighting the inevitable. I could have sworn you felt the same.”
“I do.” His answer came out hoarse and ragged, and that had nothing to do with hours of singing. No second thoughts, he reached for her. He gathered her against him. Finally, he had her in his arms again.
Kissing her was as natural as breathing. She sighed her pleasure and agreement, her lips parting for him. A hint of lemon and honey clung to her tongue. His body went harder, his need for her razor-sharp after so damn long without her. No matter how many years had passed, he’d never forgotten her or how perfect she felt in his arms. Better yet, how perfect she felt coming apart in his arms.
Pulling her closer, he stood, guiding her to her feet, as well. Her fingers plowed through his hair, tugging lightly, just hard enough to increase the pleasure. She took his mouth as fully as he took hers. Owning. Stamping possession of each other.
The press of her body against him, the roll of her hips against his, the soft give of her full breasts against his chest ramped up his pulse rate. The heat of her reached through their clothes, tempting him with how much hotter they would feel skin to skin.
His hands roved up her back, into her hair—this woman had the most amazing mass of hair. The curls tangled around his fingers as if every part of her held him, caressed him. He swept the tangled mass over her shoulder and found the top of her zipper. He tugged the tab down the back of her lacy black dress, stroking along her spine as he revealed inch after inch of the softest skin. The scent of her soap, her light fragrance, teased him, and he dragged in a deep breath to take it in.
Hungry to feel more of her, he tucked his hands in the open V of her dress and palmed the satin-covered globes of her bottom. He guided her hips closer as she rocked against him in response, the perfect fit sending his pulse throbbing louder in his ears. The sound of her ragged breathing stoked the heat in him higher, hotter as he kissed along her jaw, the delicate shell of her ear. She whispered her need for more, faster, and damned if he could scrounge the restraint to hold back.
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