kisses over her mouth.
Startled, her lashes lifted and her gaze collided with his. Her heart nearly stopped beating. One little touch and she was nearly in meltdown, forgiving everything, every insult, his overbearing, arrogant ways. Forgiving him for leaving her alone, frightened and angry for the last four days.
"Kiss me back, Hannah," he coaxed, an ache in his voice.
She heard his raw need and her body responded, even when her brain told her there was some mistake. His mouth was sheer magic—just as he was. Dark and sensual and so soft when everything else about him was hard. No one kissed like Jonas, she was absolutely sure of it, his tongue sliding along hers until she was lost in his taste and scent and his pure masculine sensuality.
His hand cupped her face, thumb sliding over her skin, his body moving closer, arms tightening with possession. He was gentle, tender even, and she felt cherished—wanted and cherished.
Jonas lifted his head and looked at her, into her large blue eyes. A man could get lost there, trapped for all time—and he had. He didn't even care. He didn't want to escape. Her lashes were blond, but thick and curly and so damned feminine it made him ache inside. Her skin was the softest thing he'd ever touched. She was so soft, so fragile. And the look on her face, she looked frightened of him, but she wanted him. He saw it there, right along with the fear.
He could deal with her fear. He just had to go slow, not letting her see he wanted to devour her, share her skin, lock himself inside her until all the troubles of the world dropped away and he found peace again. He just had to stay in control—and wasn't he famous for control?
He traced her classic bone structure with the pads of his fingers, trying to absorb her into his own skin. No one had bone structure the way she did—it was one of the things that made her so famous and sought after. Her skin was every bit as soft as it looked, so flawless he was always amazed to see the sprinkling of light freckles across her small, straight nose. Her mouth was lush, made for kissing, made to bring a man straight to his knees, to bring him more pleasure than he ever deserved. He'd had enough fantasies about her mouth to fill a library.
He shifted his weight, and brought his head the scant few inches separating them to take her mouth again. What had he been thinking about control? The minute he sank into her dark heat, his tongue stroking along hers, taking her sweetness, tasting her, he knew all control was going to be lost fast. He needed more, needed her skin against his, her body wrapped tightly around his. He had known all along it would be like this, nothing ever enough until he had all of her—until every last inch of her belonged to him.
She trembled, somewhere between desire and fear. He stopped the hand inching up beneath her shirt and pulled back to look at her again.
Hannah took a deep breath and flashed him a tentative smile. "Come with me to New York," she invited, her gaze shy—hopeful—the invitation unexpected. "Come to the fashion show and see what I do."
Everything in him went still. He drew away from her, putting space between them because he sure as hell couldn't touch her now and he wanted—no needed—to do just that and it would be disastrous. Hannah was an empath and they had suddenly gotten into very dangerous territory. "I can't go to something like that." He winced at the sudden harshness in his voice, but damn it all, she'd shocked him. She'd never so much as suggested he accompany her. He didn't dare appear in public with her. Duncan was certain no one had leaked his name, but Jonas wouldn't take a chance with her life.
Her face closed down, hope retreating. She nodded. "I understand."
"No, you don't. I want you to stay home, Hannah. There, is no reason for you to go. Stay here where you belong."
With me. Stay with me. Save me. Be my everything
.
"I have a job."
It was a tired argument and they both knew it.
Startled, her lashes lifted and her gaze collided with his. Her heart nearly stopped beating. One little touch and she was nearly in meltdown, forgiving everything, every insult, his overbearing, arrogant ways. Forgiving him for leaving her alone, frightened and angry for the last four days.
"Kiss me back, Hannah," he coaxed, an ache in his voice.
She heard his raw need and her body responded, even when her brain told her there was some mistake. His mouth was sheer magic—just as he was. Dark and sensual and so soft when everything else about him was hard. No one kissed like Jonas, she was absolutely sure of it, his tongue sliding along hers until she was lost in his taste and scent and his pure masculine sensuality.
His hand cupped her face, thumb sliding over her skin, his body moving closer, arms tightening with possession. He was gentle, tender even, and she felt cherished—wanted and cherished.
Jonas lifted his head and looked at her, into her large blue eyes. A man could get lost there, trapped for all time—and he had. He didn't even care. He didn't want to escape. Her lashes were blond, but thick and curly and so damned feminine it made him ache inside. Her skin was the softest thing he'd ever touched. She was so soft, so fragile. And the look on her face, she looked frightened of him, but she wanted him. He saw it there, right along with the fear.
He could deal with her fear. He just had to go slow, not letting her see he wanted to devour her, share her skin, lock himself inside her until all the troubles of the world dropped away and he found peace again. He just had to stay in control—and wasn't he famous for control?
He traced her classic bone structure with the pads of his fingers, trying to absorb her into his own skin. No one had bone structure the way she did—it was one of the things that made her so famous and sought after. Her skin was every bit as soft as it looked, so flawless he was always amazed to see the sprinkling of light freckles across her small, straight nose. Her mouth was lush, made for kissing, made to bring a man straight to his knees, to bring him more pleasure than he ever deserved. He'd had enough fantasies about her mouth to fill a library.
He shifted his weight, and brought his head the scant few inches separating them to take her mouth again. What had he been thinking about control? The minute he sank into her dark heat, his tongue stroking along hers, taking her sweetness, tasting her, he knew all control was going to be lost fast. He needed more, needed her skin against his, her body wrapped tightly around his. He had known all along it would be like this, nothing ever enough until he had all of her—until every last inch of her belonged to him.
She trembled, somewhere between desire and fear. He stopped the hand inching up beneath her shirt and pulled back to look at her again.
Hannah took a deep breath and flashed him a tentative smile. "Come with me to New York," she invited, her gaze shy—hopeful—the invitation unexpected. "Come to the fashion show and see what I do."
Everything in him went still. He drew away from her, putting space between them because he sure as hell couldn't touch her now and he wanted—no needed—to do just that and it would be disastrous. Hannah was an empath and they had suddenly gotten into very dangerous territory. "I can't go to something like that." He winced at the sudden harshness in his voice, but damn it all, she'd shocked him. She'd never so much as suggested he accompany her. He didn't dare appear in public with her. Duncan was certain no one had leaked his name, but Jonas wouldn't take a chance with her life.
Her face closed down, hope retreating. She nodded. "I understand."
"No, you don't. I want you to stay home, Hannah. There, is no reason for you to go. Stay here where you belong."
With me. Stay with me. Save me. Be my everything
.
"I have a job."
It was a tired argument and they both knew it.
Similar Books
