earnest scowl, I wonder if my mind has gotten looped instead of his—especially when he moves with such startling speed, my yelp of surprise springs from it.
And then…arousal.
A lot of it.
By the Creator.
I have heard it said that fear and lust balance on the same razor’s edge, but never believed it…not until now. Not until, in the space of three seconds, I am pulled from shivering in a sheet to falling against sculpted muscle, my nipples mashed to golden pecs, my hips held by forceful fingers, my thighs spread—
And fitted around the most glorious erection Cassian has ever had.
He pulls me closer with an effortless tug, calling to all my feminine instincts. I feel so small in his arms, though our new positioning places me slightly higher than him. The angle gives me a chance to explore the beauty of his upturned face—and enjoy the fit of his arousal, moistening my panties as he punches against my sensitized cleft.
Ohhhh…my.
How are we doing this? Why are we doing this? There are pressing things we must discuss. What were those things? I will remember…in a moment. I have to remember…
Cassian pushes his face up another inch. The edges of his lips curve, once more all Italian artwork god come to life, before he scrapes the curve of my chin with the edges of his teeth. Rasping quivers. Heated vibrations. Melting limbs. Oh, Creator help me…
What on Earth did we need to talk about?
He finally speaks again, lips still along my skin. “I have an interesting idea about your answer.”
“Oh, dear.” I half-laugh it, letting the sound husk from my throat. “You and me and our interesting ideas…”
“I think you’ll like this one.”
I run my hands up his arms. Over the bulges of his shoulders. Plunge them into his hair, savoring the thick softness between my fingers. “I certainly like how it has started.”
His hands roam up my spine. The gauze of his bandage adds extra abrasion, making me writhe from the vibrations. “Why don’t we figure out what she’s after?” He answers my shot of a quizzical stare by deepening the smile. “All by ourselves. Right here. Right now.”
I study him harder. Bring fingers down, stroking across the proud planes of his temples. “Hmmm. Your proposal is certainly interesting so far, Mr. Court.”
His head tilts, lending him a smug air—a tactic I imagine him using on business partners in the boardroom. And why not? It is sure as hell working on me. My senses revel in him. My body tightens and pulses and aches for him.
“I’m very happy to hear that, Miss Santelle.” His fingertips dance down the dip of my spine. Tease at the back of my panties. “Do you prefer Miss Santelle? Or may I call you Mishella?”
I rock backward by a little. “Excuse me?”
He dips his head the other direction. The boardroom rogue is still having his fun. “Well, which is it?” he charges. “Chantal will ask, you know.”
Comprehension teases like the flick of a match. I let it spark the edges of my own lips. “Ah…yes. She probably will.”
“And…?”
I lean back in, looping my arms around his neck. Engage his gaze from just inches away, playfully nibbling on his bottom lip. “I prefer to be called ‘sweet armeau.’ Or ‘my precious Ella.’”
His gaze narrows. “Anyone in that studio calls you either, they’ll be visiting our friend Yago in the ER.”
I am tempted toward a feminine preen. Funnel it into a feigned gasp of scandal, while lifting an invisible microphone between us. “Hmmm. This is quite an interesting side to you, Mr. Court.” I jab the “microphone” toward him, adopting my best Chantal Dunne face, with wide eyes and overly pouting lips. “Normally, you take up pen and ledger for your battles. Care to comment for our viewers about accessing your inner warrior?”
He chuckles. Jabs his head up to bite into the flesh between my thumb and forefinger. “Warrior?” Soothes the damage with a seductive lick. “Why stop there, Chantal? Why not go with…caveman?”
“Hmmm.” I barely maintain the teasing guise, especially as he loops that talented tongue between the bases of all my fingers. “Primeval over medieval. That is…an interesting choice.”
He lifts a sultry stare through his gold lashes. “I like to eat what I hunt.”
I swallow hard. My womb clenches. My breasts pebble. “Freshly…plucked?”
“Sure. That’s good.” He tugs on my hand. Kisses over my palm and onto my wrist, never setting me free from his tiger-bright stare. “But I prefer it finely prepared too. Heated up…to the perfect