(By Eve Summers)
Miles reached for her hair again and this time he did touch it, light strokes at first, then a handful at a time. ―Soft,‖ he said. She felt a gentle tug and his wolf mouth got closer. ―Spiky.‖ His fingers were in her hair, pinning it up, exposing her neck. The words came out hoarse, squashed with sexual craving. ―Would you offer your throat to a wolf with the red roses?‖
That song never failed to set her senses on fire. Her heart still drummed against the cage of her chest, but it wasn‘t a symptom of panic anymore.
―There,‖ he said stepping back. His trailing fingers brushed her nipples. ―I think it worked.‖
It damned well worked… and not only the way he meant. Angelica‘s nipples felt bare without his touch, her stomach knotted with sheer lust. She hadn‘t had sex with anybody except her cheating ex–husband, now over a year ago.
She was on the wrong side of forty. Miles probably still on the right side of thirty. But hell, it was Christmas, and she owed it to herself.
―Would he offer me his mouth?‖ she quoted right back, as though there had been no interruption.
His thumb tilted her face, his forefinger drew a slow teasing line around her lips. She tasted him with the tip of her tongue. Zing! Pure chemistry.