Darker than destruction.
There was no escaping the vision of him, either.
His body pressed against mine. His hand on my breast. His kiss on my mouth. The words he’d whispered.
If only for one night…
Another roll of desire whisked beneath my skin, a drip of honey on my tongue.
Sweat gathered across my flesh.
I flopped around onto my stomach, pressed my face to the pillow, and groaned.
With all of me, I tried to will it away.
It throbbed and grew.
Flinging myself onto my back, I tossed off the covers in search of cool.
It only caressed and murmured.
Crap.
I pressed my eyes tight in a vain attempt at blocking the onslaught.
Wave upon wave of the need I’d repressed.
Seven years.
Seven years.
No longer dormant.
Lying there, I swore I could actually feel the soft press of Logan’s thumb turning my nipple to a hardened, sensitive peak. Could hear the growl in his throat. Could sense the need radiating from his pores.
It was a battle I couldn’t win, and my fingertips were running over the same breast where he’d touched me, where he’d stoked that fire that I was afraid could not be doused.
Alive.
Every nerve.
Every cell.
I panted a soft breath as I gave over to the sensation. To the fantasy of a man I had no business fantasizing about.
Visions of those green eyes spread through my mind like tendrils that sank in and took root.
Beautiful depths and darkened hollows.
In that moment, I was no longer Jarek Urso’s wife, nor was I Andres Costa’s oldest daughter.
I was his.
His.
A phantom touch slipped down my belly, and I bit down on my lip to suppress a moan when I let my fingertips follow the perception. My knees angled and my feet slid up to plant on the bed.
Everything shook when the silky material of my gown slipped high, and my fingers crept beneath my lacy underwear.