want to take this on, if you don’t trust me to come to you when things are hard and figure them out, then you are not the man I want to date. And I’m wasting my time here if that is the case.”
I storm past him and reach for my shoes. I’m about to put one on when Xander grabs my arm and whirls me around.
Then, before I can say a word, his mouth crashes down on mine.
I drop the shoe. I ignore the way my face feels like it is being exfoliated with sandpaper and open my lips for him. Xander’s tongue wars with mine. His kiss is hot. Powerful. It is a kiss of need and want and pure passion. It is hard and swift, and my whole body is lit with excitement. This kiss is branding me as his.
And I’m going to brand him back.
I fight for control, my kiss matching his in ferocity and intensity. I plunge my tongue deeper, tasting the Scotch on the velvety smoothness of his tongue. Oh, I want this, to be drunk off him, to drink him in for hours.
Xander’s hands are in my hair, pulling on it. God, this is a turn on. He tugs my head back and then bites my lower lip, sucking on it as he does. A groan of pleasure escapes my lips, and he growls in return.
Suddenly, his hands reach for mine, clasping them together, and he abruptly breaks the kiss.
We’re both gasping for breath. I watch as the flames from the fireplace illuminate his skin, almost like candlelight dancing across it. God, he’s so beautiful, he takes my breath away.
My eyes lock with his. I see desire and passion but also a vulnerability that nearly stops my heart from beating.
“You’re right,” he says, his voice raw and rough. “I don’t want you to go. I can’t let you go. I can’t.”
“I’m not going now. I’m not going tomorrow. And I’m not going the day the press goes through my bins and counts out the massive number of icing sugar bags I dispose of in a week. I’m not going when your mother plays hardball. I’m. Not. Going.”
His breathing picks up. Xander’s chest is rising and falling at a rapid rate, and his eyes are flashing with intensity.
“I’ll find a way for you to keep your baking,” he says, his voice determined. “I promise you, I will find a way to make that work if we get serious.”
Emotion for this man fills every fibre of my being.
This man would move heaven and earth for me, I realise with a thundering heart. Xander would already go to war for me. I’ve only known him for a few days, but I know this as much as I know my own name.
“I believe you,” I say.
Suddenly, a primal need I have never experienced before kicks in. I need his mouth on mine. I need his body. I need his passion to fill me in a way I’ve never known.
“Kiss me like you just did,” I blurt out. “I want you to kiss me like that again.”
Xander’s mouth claims mine. Again. And again. His hands move to my hair, down my back, and then I feel it. The heat and roughness of his hand sliding underneath my shirt, across my skin.
The sensation is electrifying, his masculine hand stroking my waist. It’s warm and caressing and inching up towards my breast.
In one move, he drops into the chair and pulls me on top of him, his tongue urgently drinking from mine as he does. I’m straddling him in the chair, losing myself in this moment, in his heat, in his need for me.
I feel his body grow hard underneath me, and goosebumps prickle my skin. I’m making him feel like this. Me! I tug at the bottom of his jumper, working my hand underneath it, and pure, white-hot heat shoots through me the second I feel his hard muscles quiver from my touch. A ragged gasp escapes his lips.
“Your touch,” he whispers against my mouth, “feels so good.”
I let my hands go up, travelling to his chest. Across his pecs. To his nipples. Xander growls and tightens his grasp on my waist, his fingertips gliding and stroking. His mouth continues to devour mine, and I kiss him back in the same way.
Xander removes his hands, and the second he does, I yearn for them to be back on my body. As he kisses me, I feel his hands move to