Mitch and Samantha from Captive Hero.
Excerpt:
“Aren’t you
afraid I may have a radio in my room?”
“No.”
No? Wanting to see
his face, she used the slight slackening in his body to push back and twist
around.
Chalk up another
mistake for Samantha the stupid.
A quick recovery
had Mitch plastering her against the wall, every solid, hard inch he possessed
rubbing her sensitized form. Strong and fierce, wicked cravings cancelled the
fight from her mind. She stilled.
Talk about
captured.
Damn, he
felt…damn. She never experienced anything so incredible. Her gaze dropped to
his mouth so achingly close. She’d love nothing more than for those delicious
lips to seize hers again.
Stay strong, her mind
ordered. You can get past this. In an attempt to regain control,
Sam closed her eyes and inhaled.
Mistake number
four.
He smelled hot,
woodsy, manly. Ah hell, she was in trouble. The man oozed testosterone like it
was free. Okay, so it was, but damn. All her combat experience with said male
affliction couldn’t help her now. Her trusty immune system against rockin’ hot
men failed her for the first time. Ever. She didn’t have a defense against it.
Not with him. Her control slipped further, and when she opened her eyes, her
heart literally performed a defensive spiral in her chest.
He’d switched
gears too. Hunger deepened his gaze to mirror warm Bermuda waters and devoured
the remnants of her strength.
Trouble. She was
in deep. Liquid heat throbbed through her core, aching to consume the thick,
bulging erection now pressing her belly. God, she never wanted anyone this bad
before. Never ached with such force.
Lack of control
was completely new.
Maybe if she’d
had sex just once in the past seven months she could combat this dangerous
desire. But she hadn’t. And she couldn’t.
Breath clogged
her dry throat. What was he waiting for? Why didn’t he do something?
With escape no
longer a thought, Sam’s need to set the mistaken pilot straight, to make him
understand the truth, flew into the wild blue yonder as a greater need, a
deeper, stronger need prevailed.
Her need
for Captain Mitchell.
“Shit,” someone
muttered, a second before their lips met in a heated, mutual, frenzy.
Hands still
captured by his, she leaned into him and rejoiced at his low, guttural groan.
He kissed her again and again with mind drugging precision, and she met the
give-and-take demands with equal zeal, his lips drawing a response clear up
from her curled toes.
If hot had a
taste, it was Mitch. The man melted her bones. Oh, he was good. He threw down
desire’s gauntlet and need commanded she returned the pleasure.
She did.
~--~--~--~--~--~
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