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Authors: Cait London
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he tugged her to himand took her mouth with enough heat to make her forget everything but taking as he was taking….
Mikhail’s lips were hard and open and savage and claiming and hot, so hot and fierce and possessive that Ellie arched up to meet him. Everything that she had sensed hidden beneath Mikhail’s sleek cold exterior was just beneath the surface, hot and real, and it was hers at last. She knew exactly why she had to fight him, to taunt him, to find this man, raw and true and strong within her arms. His passion was enough to burn away everything else.
He was just what she needed, as strong as she was, as fierce in his dark mood, the balance she needed to anchor her. He was big and hard and real and hungry.
Ellie sank into the hunger, the taste, the wild, free need to meet Mikhail, to capture him, to devour him—no gentle, sweet claiming, but a primitive reality of needs and heat. She pushed him away slightly, an instinctive feminine test to see how much the male desired, how much he would take in the game, the hunger, and Mikhail brought her closer.
Mikhail held her tight, just as she wanted, locked against him.
She found his hair with her fingers, gripping hard to hold him, to keep what she wanted close and hers.
Mikhail slanted his kiss, taking it deeper, one hand cupping her head, the other open and possessive on her body. The kiss was glorious, wild and free and strong. It was as if she were being devoured and returning the favor, as if the lid had been torn free from everything she wanted and all she had to do was take and take.
His breath was rough and uneven against her skin, but the amazing heat—
Mikhail’s hand slid up her body, found her breast beneath the light cloth and then his coat was open and she was inside, pressed hard against him, her arms around his waist, her hands reveling in that taut powerful back, clawing at the cloth, wanting the flesh beneath.
“So now it has begun,” he whispered roughly amid other bitter, rushing words she didn’t understand.
She sensed him easing away, and in the aftermath of the storm could only weakly seek shelter close to him, her face against the warmth of his throat. Instinctively, she bit him lightly, partly because she wanted him to remember this moment, and because she wanted to mark him as her own. She wanted to tear away the woman who had hurt him deeply and yet she had to protect herself, because Mikhail was not an easy man. “Nothing has begun. If you think you can scare me with that, think again.”
She could feel his smile against her cheek. And this time, his kiss came more gently, seeking, asking….
Four
F adey opened the door to the Stepanov home and grinned widely at Mikhail’s scowl and the squirming, furious woman dressed in his peacoat.
“Here, take her,” Mikhail said roughly as he entered the house. He tossed Ellie into Fadey’s arms and walked toward the kitchen. His mother’s kitchen had always soothed storms, with its blend of solid wood Stepanov cabinets and Texas influence. Right now, Ellie’s temper matched the string of red chili peppers beside his mother’s stove, and his own mood was not far behind.
Mikhail had instinctively wanted to bring her to his parents. That need shocked him, because Jarek had carried Leigh to the Stepanov’s home in just the same way—as if he’d found the woman whom he intended to keep.
Keeping Ellie… He was asking for disaster, Mikhail brooded, and yet the feel of her in his arms had created an ache for more.
Fadey grinned widely and tossed Ellie back into Mikhail’s arms. “No, you take her back. I already have a woman.”
“Augh!” Mikhail found himself snarling.
“How…dare…you….” Ellie was hissing, pushing against his shoulders with her hands.
He wanted to take her to bed—his bed. He wanted to finish what had begun on the beach…he wanted to taste and take and possess and be possessed, because now with her twisting in his arms, he knew that Ellie was
Mikhail’s lips were hard and open and savage and claiming and hot, so hot and fierce and possessive that Ellie arched up to meet him. Everything that she had sensed hidden beneath Mikhail’s sleek cold exterior was just beneath the surface, hot and real, and it was hers at last. She knew exactly why she had to fight him, to taunt him, to find this man, raw and true and strong within her arms. His passion was enough to burn away everything else.
He was just what she needed, as strong as she was, as fierce in his dark mood, the balance she needed to anchor her. He was big and hard and real and hungry.
Ellie sank into the hunger, the taste, the wild, free need to meet Mikhail, to capture him, to devour him—no gentle, sweet claiming, but a primitive reality of needs and heat. She pushed him away slightly, an instinctive feminine test to see how much the male desired, how much he would take in the game, the hunger, and Mikhail brought her closer.
Mikhail held her tight, just as she wanted, locked against him.
She found his hair with her fingers, gripping hard to hold him, to keep what she wanted close and hers.
Mikhail slanted his kiss, taking it deeper, one hand cupping her head, the other open and possessive on her body. The kiss was glorious, wild and free and strong. It was as if she were being devoured and returning the favor, as if the lid had been torn free from everything she wanted and all she had to do was take and take.
His breath was rough and uneven against her skin, but the amazing heat—
Mikhail’s hand slid up her body, found her breast beneath the light cloth and then his coat was open and she was inside, pressed hard against him, her arms around his waist, her hands reveling in that taut powerful back, clawing at the cloth, wanting the flesh beneath.
“So now it has begun,” he whispered roughly amid other bitter, rushing words she didn’t understand.
She sensed him easing away, and in the aftermath of the storm could only weakly seek shelter close to him, her face against the warmth of his throat. Instinctively, she bit him lightly, partly because she wanted him to remember this moment, and because she wanted to mark him as her own. She wanted to tear away the woman who had hurt him deeply and yet she had to protect herself, because Mikhail was not an easy man. “Nothing has begun. If you think you can scare me with that, think again.”
She could feel his smile against her cheek. And this time, his kiss came more gently, seeking, asking….
Four
F adey opened the door to the Stepanov home and grinned widely at Mikhail’s scowl and the squirming, furious woman dressed in his peacoat.
“Here, take her,” Mikhail said roughly as he entered the house. He tossed Ellie into Fadey’s arms and walked toward the kitchen. His mother’s kitchen had always soothed storms, with its blend of solid wood Stepanov cabinets and Texas influence. Right now, Ellie’s temper matched the string of red chili peppers beside his mother’s stove, and his own mood was not far behind.
Mikhail had instinctively wanted to bring her to his parents. That need shocked him, because Jarek had carried Leigh to the Stepanov’s home in just the same way—as if he’d found the woman whom he intended to keep.
Keeping Ellie… He was asking for disaster, Mikhail brooded, and yet the feel of her in his arms had created an ache for more.
Fadey grinned widely and tossed Ellie back into Mikhail’s arms. “No, you take her back. I already have a woman.”
“Augh!” Mikhail found himself snarling.
“How…dare…you….” Ellie was hissing, pushing against his shoulders with her hands.
He wanted to take her to bed—his bed. He wanted to finish what had begun on the beach…he wanted to taste and take and possess and be possessed, because now with her twisting in his arms, he knew that Ellie was
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