Seduced The Unexpected Virgin - By Emily McKay Page 0,45

admired.

She must have read the tension in his posture, because she walked up and ran a hand along his back.

“Is it so hard for you to believe that none of that stuff matters to me? That when I want to be with you, it’s with you alone. That I don’t want to be with you in a crowd of people. I just want to be with you.”

“We’ve been over this before. I can’t be alone with you, without wanting to strip your clothes off and—”

But she interrupted him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

She didn’t have to ask twice. She didn’t really expect to. The words were barely out of her mouth before he’d pulled her to him and molded her body against his. His mouth was hot and hard over hers as the last of his anger melted into desire.

Yes, her entire being seemed to sing in response. Finally, inevitably, yes.

Every cell in her body seemed to call out to his. Her very blood pounded in rhythm with her need. This was what she wanted from him. What she needed. And if he just gave it to her, maybe her heart would forget all the stupid things it wanted.

His hands seemed everywhere at once, hot and needy. Slipping up under the edge of her shirt. Skimming over the backside of her jeans. Pulling her hips against his.

And everywhere he touched her, she was aware of the roughness of his fingertips. Of the mastery of his hands. Burning his mark onto her skin. Onto her very soul.

She trembled under his ministrations, all too aware of how clumsy she felt. How every aspect of this was new for her. And despite that, how right it felt to press her body against his. As if this was what she’d waited for all her life. As if this was what she was meant for.

She arched against him, unable to get close enough. To touch enough of him. And then he backed her up one step. And another. And another.

Finally, she realized his intention. Nodding toward the door, she wrenched her mouth from his. “Bedroom,” she panted. “That way.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, but swept her up into his arms and carried her there, as smoothly and as easily as the heroes from the romantic movies she’d watched as a girl.

He kicked the door open with his foot and strode into the room, then laid her gently down on the bed. Her room was relentlessly feminine, with it’s brightly colored quilt and sunny yellow throw pillows. Suddenly, she was aware that no man had ever been in this room. Not just this room, but any of her bedrooms.

But before she had a chance to feel self-conscious about that, he’d stepped back. She watched, fascinated as he stripped off his tuxedo jacket and let it drop on the floor. As he started on the shirt buttons, she rose up on her knees to help him. As each button slipped free, her pulse quickened and with it, her desire. She felt her blood roaring through her veins, her need thundering through her. Frustrated by his slow progress, she dropped her hands to his belt buckle. Her fingers trembled as she flicked it open, unfastened his pants and tugged his shirt free. She tugged the belt from his pants and then sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork.

Standing there before her, with his hair tousled and his shirt hanging open to reveal a narrow swath of skin, he looked like something from a fantasy. Or maybe an ad campaign for high-end cologne. In comparison to the other half-naked men she’d seen—entirely in a professional capacity—Ward’s body was stunningly masculine. The hair on his chest was sparse and dark, his muscles defined without being sculpted. This was the body of a grown man, fully in his prime. As sexual as it was powerful. Able to protect and provide.

But it was the expression on his face that sent shivers of pleasure through her. He gazed at her with such intensity, such powerful longing that she knew she’d made the right choice. It was as simple and as powerful as this: she wanted him. Desperately. And for once, she was going to give herself what she wanted.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Ward ordered, his voice rough with desire.

Ana’s gaze darted to his. “Like what?” Her voice was breathy.

“Like I’m a five-course dessert.” He flicked off his cuff links, letting them fall into his open palm