How did this glorious, stubborn, infuriating man get so far under her skin? How did that happen? How can it feel like each kiss is as vital as drawing the next breath? She doesn't know, and if she thought about it, it would scare more than a bit.

But she can't think, can't do anything but exist in this moment, feeling the softness of his mouth against hers, feeling those long wicked fingers slipping over her slick flesh, pressing up into her body like a key in a lock. Her knee rises, giving him more room to play, and her hips roll against his hand, the motion rippling through her body until she's moaning into his mouth again.