Blurb: Marco Donati is rich, ruthless--and more often than not--indiscriminate. Interested only in satisfying his sexual needs casually and frequently, he has no intention of changing a thing about his life. Natalie Lambert is alone, broke, and new to the city when a chance encounter leaves her under the power and control of Marco Donati.
Excerpt: Natalie took refuge in the upstairs powder room of the mansion in River Oaks and held her tube of lip-gloss with hands that shook. She desperately tried to control the trembling in her fingers so she could reapply the color to her lips.
As she looked at herself in the mirror, she knew her inner turmoil was well hidden behind a façade of soft silky hair, a sleek designer dress, and perfect make-up that lacked only the gloss she sought to repair.
The door began to open with not even a hint of warning and her eyes flew to the knob that she’d sworn she'd locked. Her breath lodged in her throat as Marco slipped inside, secured the door that she had failed to lock only minutes before, and came to stand behind her in the tiny room.
He pressed his chest against her back, propelling her forward a few inches until she was crowded against the vanity. Her nerves shifted restlessly, and the impact of his body against hers made the lipstick fall from her fingers and land in the sink in front of her.
He caught and held her eyes in the mirror. The furious look on his face jolted her heart and her pulse skittered alarmingly and began pounding in her chest.
He towered over her, the muscles beneath his designer suit corded and strained. His eyes were narrowed and he held his lips tightly closed over teeth she knew were gritted in anger. She struggled to control her features, to keep all expression from her face. She would be damned if she let him see how badly she was hurting. She refused to take responsibility for the scene that had just taken place downstairs; she was innocent of all wrong-doing.
She began to open her mouth to tell him so.
Before she could get one word out, his hand snaked out and covered her mouth and suppressed her words in a grip so ruthless that it made her nostrils flare and her eyes widen in barely controlled panic.
He lowered his mouth to her ear and held her eyes with his while he hissed out his fury. "I told you not to wear this dress." He held her silent and immobilized with one steely arm while his other hand reached in front of her and encapsulated her flesh. He captured her between his finger and thumb and held tightly, just short of pain, in a display of ownership and control.
Natalie sucked in oxygen through her nose and closed her eyes against him and the erotic picture they made in the mirror.
His hands tightened as he continued, "I told you how Kennedy would react if you wore it. He can't keep his eyes off you. . . but when he tried to touch you--" He dropped his hand inside her neckline and delved inside her lace-edged bra until he was holding her breast in a possessive grip. "I knew I shouldn't have let you buy the dress. I'm burning it when we get home."
Natalie held her eyes closed and tried not to be controlled by his intimate touch on her naked flesh. It was almost impossible to fight against. It had been this way since the day she'd met him, and she very much feared it would be this way until the day she died.
"Open your eyes," he growled in her ear.
She didn't comply quickly enough to suit him and his hand dropped from her mouth to land on the pulse beating rapidly in her throat, in a sexually intimidating move. Her eyes flew open at the demanding touch and tangled with his in the mirror as his hands caressed her neck with firm, possessive strokes. She licked her dry lips and tried to get her throat to work. "It's not the dress," she argued softly.
"No, it's not the dress. It's you--" Marcos's Redemption; keywords, contemporary romance, alpha-male romance, billionaire romance
Blurb: When Courtney Powell is orphaned at seventeen, she loses everything and goes to live with her widowed godmother in St. Louis. From the beginning, the woman's grown children accept her into their family. . . but there's something about the middle brother that causes an inexplicable wariness within her. When she finally emerges from her grief several years later, it becomes apparent that somewhere along the way, without her input and much to her anxiety, she's become Nick Rule's exclusive property.
Excerpt: Nick crossed his arms over his chest. "What are your plans? You're coming home, right?"
"Yeah, probably," she answered, uncertain.
His jaw clenched. "Probably? What does that mean?"
At his tone, her spine stiffened. "I need to find a job. If possible, I want to be in a place that's familiar to me. That's either Florida or Missouri."
"St. Louis," he narrowed it down emphatically.
She nodded her head, but negated that with, "Maybe."
With her answer, he pushed off the wall and began to head toward her. Her stomach clenched with hot anticipation. His footsteps stalled when he was less than two feet away and he seemed to shake himself. His features became strained as he held himself in suspended motion. "You promised me you'd come back to St. Louis."
"I know," she agreed softly.
"You need to make good on that. Your promise was the only reason I let you leave in the first place."
At the look in his eyes, she felt like she had to settle something with him. "Nick," she began slowly, "You didn't let me leave. I wasn't yours to control." She studied him, noting the anger that slowly spread across his face at her words. She continued, trying to show a bit of independence, that truthfully, she couldn't care less about. "I want to go back to St. Louis. If I don't get a job here, then after graduation, I'll--"
He cut her off when he stepped into her personal space with a glare. "Not mine?" She backed up a step and he followed her until she bumped into the back of the sofa. He didn't touch her but the threat was there. When she came to a halt, he repeated incredulously, "Not mine?" and reached down and fingered the necklace that she always wore. Her heart beat loudly in her ears as he gripped the charm that dangled from it. His eyes narrowed and he asked for the third time with a ferocity that couldn't be ignored, "Not mine?"
The oxygen stuck in her throat and she shook her head, as she remained trapped by his gaze.
He tilted his head as if in sarcastic thought. "If you don't belong to me, who the hell do you think you belong to?" he asked in a far-too soft voice that didn't reflect any gentleness at all.
When she remained mute, he continued, "I don't see anybody else taking care of you. I don't see anybody else flying halfway across the country to make sure you're all right and that there's nobody trying to take advantage of you." He sucked in oxygen and continued, "And who, exactly, do you think pays your bills?"
She swallowed and leaned away from him, feeling the pull from the chain around her throat, but he didn't let go. She glanced down at the tendons corded in his neck and then back up to the fire in his eyes as he continued, "Who do you think paid for these useless little pajamas you're wearing? Who do you think pays for all your clothes, the food you eat, the allowance you get?" His eyes held hers with ruthless intent. "Who do you think paid for that pretty little car you drive?"
Guilt running through her from all the things his family had supplied over the years, she licked her lips and whispered, "The corporation."
He began shaking his head as if she had it all wrong and a new agitation took hold of her senses. "Not the corporation?" she asked quietly.
"Nope. Not the corporation." His eyes blistered into hers. "Me. Just me." Rule's Property. Key words: contemporary romance, alpha-male, House of Rule, series romance
Blurb: First Crush . . . First Kiss . . . Only Love. Hannah McIntyre has been infatuated with Josh Turner . . . well, forever. But he's older than she is, quiet and intense and . . . way out of her league. An Alpha-Male in the making. Josh Turner wants Hannah more than life itself. She's perfect, shiny and new . . . but she's a McIntyre. She's from the richest family in the county, and he's a Turner, from the wrong side of the proverbial tracks. And to make matters worse, there's no love lost between their families. So what do you do when someone else is going to step in and take the girl you'll die if you can't have? There's only one thing you can do. . . you reach out and take her.
Excerpt: Hannah attempted to stay away from the small strip of fencing that separated the border between the McIntyre and Turner lands. But almost every afternoon, when the weather allowed, she climbed on one of the four-wheelers and drove the fence line until she ended up at the place that overlooked Turner property. She did this for weeks and never saw anyone.
And then one day, she hit pay dirt.
Josh was working on the old well house that stood twenty or so feet over the fence line.
She saw him glance up when he heard the hum of the engine and nerves tightened in her stomach as he stood to his full height and turned toward where she approached the fence. She’d been waiting for this, no matter how much she lied to herself, and when he began wiping his forehead on his shirtsleeve and walking over to the fence, she let the engine idle and waited.
She couldn’t read the expression on his face, but she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that said it wasn’t good.
He came directly in front of her, and stood on the opposite side of the barbed-wire fence, his brilliant green eyes running over her. She stayed silent and concentrated on the tic in his cheek, and tried to calm her raging heartbeat.
His words when he spoke were low, controlled, and as smooth as whiskey. “I’m thinking this can’t be a coincidence, princess.”
Embarrassed by the truth, Hannah immediately thought to deny it, but she didn’t want to lie. She remained silent as she tried to think of a response that wouldn’t completely humiliate her.
She waited too long and he began to remonstrate, “I kind of had the idea I’d already made myself plain. Maybe you didn’t understand?” His words were low and heated and even though she heard the controlled anger, his voice washed through her like cold water on a hot summer day.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to softly apologize.
Josh continued to stare at her without speaking, and then in a rush of movement, his booted foot stepped on the second rung of barbed-wire and forced it down as his gloved hand simultaneously pulled up the third rung, and that easily, in a move that ranchers had been using for decades, he bent down and slid unscathed through the treacherous wire and stood in front of her.
He pulled the leather work gloves off one at a time and stuffed them in his back pocket. Then he reached out and cut the engine with a twist of the key.
He stood over her where she sat on the cracked vinyl seat of the four-wheeler, her body turned slightly to his. He was so close she could see the beads of perspiration on his face and smell the heady, delicious aroma from the sweat that drenched his t-shirt. The masculine combination was almost more than she could stand.
Her eyes started to slip closed in a sharp, shocking, agony of arousal.
They flew open again when she felt his rough fingers on her chin.
His eyes glittered down at her, his nostrils flaring. “Hannah baby, we have to get this straight between us. Maybe I should have spelled it out better. Do you know anything about the deadbeat who calls himself my father? He’s always drunk. He’s in and out of jail--all the time. The sheriff watches me like a hawk because he thinks I’m just like him. He expects me to cause trouble one way or the other.” His thumb caressed her chin gently in direct opposition to the fierceness of his voice. “Now what do you think the sheriff would do if I suddenly took up with the fifteen-year-old town princess?” His eyes glittered down at her, giving her a moment to digest his words before his hand tightened on her jaw once again and he continued, “You need to stay away from me. Don’t make this harder on me than it already is. You don’t know what it’s doing to my insides--knowing I can have you, but I can’t.” His fingers unclenched from around her jaw and then became caressing once again. “You understand?”
Hannah tried to answer. She licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak but the words stalled again as Josh’s eyes fell to her mouth and his fingers tightened on her face. Her throat closed up and no words came.
His eyes tangled with hers and seconds slipped by until an agonized, ferocious look crossed his features and he bit out, “Repeat after me, princess. Josh wants me.”
Shock and heat hit her system and she gasped.
His fingers shifted, slipped into her hair and his voice hissed out, “I’m serious. Repeat it. Josh wants me.”
“Now!” he barked and she jumped.
“Josh w-wants me,” her voice came out shaky and soft.
“Josh wants me so bad his guts are tied in knots of constant pain,” he pounded the words through his teeth and waited.
His eyes seared into hers and she attempted to answer. “Josh wants me s-so bad—“ she found it impossible to say and her words dwindled off.
He reached up and his fingers twisted through her hair until he was holding her face in both of his strong hands. He continued to punch out his words in third person. “He thinks about me constantly.” As he spoke, his gaze ran over her lips, her nose, and the hair that he held in his hands. “He lives from one hour to the next for the day he can sink into me.”
Hannah’s insides were lacerated by his primal words. It was almost more than her youth and innocence could handle. At the same time, an exquisite pleasure infiltrated her system at what he was telling her. He was telling her the truth. He wanted to be with her just as much as she wanted to be with him. Her body shook as the depth of his need and what he was trying to convey to her sank in.
He continued in a harsh biting tone, “But I don’t want Josh to go to prison.”
She was silent as she trembled in his hold.
“Say it,” he bit out.
A single tear escaped from her eye.
“Say it,” he growled, even as his thumb shot out and wiped away the tear.
Hannah sucked in a shuddering breath. “I d-don’t want Josh to go to p-prison.” Her eyes closed as more tears welled over.
His hands lifted from her and he took a step back.
“Good girl," he praised. "Do us both a favor and remember that the next time you come looking for me. Repeat it to yourself if it helps. I’m dead serious, Hannah. You may feel grown-up, you may even know what you want, but the State of Texas doesn’t agree with you.”
He took another step toward the fence and turned once more to stare into her eyes. His voice softened only slightly. “You have to have mercy on me, princess. There’s only so much I can take before I’ll snap.” Josh and Hannah, Redwood Falls, Book One. Keywords: New Adult, contemporary romance, Bad boy-good girl, alpha-male, virgin, series romance
Excerpt: Lauren bent and grabbed her purse and Logan stood to his feet, frowning. "You're wearing that?" he asked with a grimace.
Lauren glanced down and looked at herself. She wore a red blouse with the shoulders cut out, black pleated shorts and stilettos. She glanced back up and saw his intent stare and had to smile. "This outfit is conservative. I'll have you know these are lined, linen shorts."
He didn't comment and Lauren received the impression that he couldn't. She almost laughed; she'd never even remotely seen him speechless before.
His eyes continued to run over her and when he didn't speak, she said, "We're going to a dance club. I'm twenty-five years old and you know what they say: you're only young once. I'm going to be among friends and besides, I'm sure you wouldn't let any harm come to me, right?"
His gaze slid back to hers and examined her thoroughly. His look became territorial and Lauren was hit with the same shaky feeling she always got when he was this close to her. Butterflies started fluttering in her stomach and her knees weakened. He walked forward with a purpose and picked up a lock of her hair and twirled it around his finger until he stopped at her scalp. She felt the tug on her hair center all the way to the juncture between her thighs. "Did I just hear you correctly?" The words rattled from his throat in a brusque, possessive tone. "Did you just grant me the right to be the man who protects you?"
Lauren's heart began beating viciously in her chest. She heard his question through a roaring in her ears. Her remark had been off-handed. She hadn't really meant anything serious with her question, so why was he taking it so seriously and why did she think this was suddenly a pivotal moment in their relationship? She tried to think, tried to get her brain to function. She licked her lips and tried to put the ball back in his court. "Do you . . . do you want to be that man?"
His answer was a silent one. A glimmer of heat exploded in his eyes and he began nodding his head, slowly, up and down. With one hand wrapped around her hair, his other hand snaked up and wrapped around her cheek and lifted her face to his. He bent down and kissed her, quickly but firmly, before raising his head again. "Okay. It's a done deal."
The intense look in his eyes was scaring her. Scaring her and exciting her all at the same time. Her mother had never told her that there were men like this one living on the planet. Nobody had ever warned her. "Okay, yeah, but--" she began.
He cut her off. "No buts."
Lauren was excited and nervous and panicky. "Yeah, there's a 'but'."
"And what would that be?" he questioned slowly and succinctly, only seeming to be humoring her.
"I guess this means we're . . . exclusive--" she began, but he cut her off again.
"You got that right," he breathed out in a possessive hiss.
"Okay, so it's just you and me, but that doesn't mean . . . "
"Doesn't mean what?" he questioned shortly, obviously wanting no conditions on the relationship whatsoever.
She narrowed her eyes and gathered her nerves together. "It doesn't mean that you make the rules. You need to understand that going in. You're not the boss of me, you don't tell me what to do, what to wear, or what time I have to be home. We're together, but we're not married or anything like that, and I'm all grown-up and have been for some time and I make my own rules."
His eyes impaled hers but Lauren could tell he was listening to her mandate carefully and strategically. Oh, man! She'd been right! It had been a strategy all along! And suddenly she knew that whether she'd given him an opening or not, he'd planned on having a confrontation with her tonight about . . . boundaries. And she'd played into his hands with that statement about him not letting her come to any harm. She really needed to watch what she said around this man.
His hands stayed plastered to her skull, and his body filled with a tension that was palpable. "All right, I agree," he answered in a voice that reflected his mercurial mood. "We're not married and I don't own you. You're a big girl and can live by your own rules, for now. All I'm going to say is one thing: You called it. We're together." His hand left her face and slid down and cupped the heat between her legs firmly and aggressively. "And this is mine." His fingers tightened. "Nobody touches you but me, and if somebody lays so much as a finger on a single strand of your hair, they'll wish they were dead."
Lauren's jaw dropped and she couldn't seem to close her mouth as he stared down at her.
"You got that, babe?" He hissed out while his hand between her legs held her in an unyielding grasp.
Lauren sucked in a ragged breath and nodded her head, too stunned to speak. Oh, dear God. She'd just released the Kraken. Pursuit: Keywords, contemporary romance, alpha-male romance, steamy romance, Logan and Lauren
A Victim of Circumstance-- Katie Turner has no reason to trust men, especially not a merciless multi-millionaire like Zachary McIntyre who controls and manipulates situations with his vast wealth. But to her dismay, Zach feels her family has wronged him, and Katie is horrified when she suddenly becomes the pawn he's determined to capture. A Man on a Mission--Zach McIntyre wants Katie Turner for one reason: Restitution. He has a score to settle with the Turner family, and only one thing will make them even: Katie Turner, in his bed and at his mercy. He won't be satisfied until he's attained his goal, and he knows exactly the way he wants her: Under contract, under covers . . .under his control.
Excerpt: Zachary ran his eyes over the girl in front of him. She wasn’t as young as his sister, and the two years difference in age was a very important two years. It was the difference between girl and almost-woman. He saw the hint of that in Katie's eyes. She was already, undeniably beautiful. With her dark hair and slanted green eyes, she was beautiful in a sultry, exotic way.
Even though she was a decade younger than he was, he'd always been aware of her existence; he even had a vague memory of picking her up and taking her home when she'd hurt herself as a child. She'd been a pretty little girl even then.
But he'd first noticed Katie sexually only a few months before, when she began hanging around his little sister, about the same time that his wife began banging Chris Turner. The cheating hadn't been much of a secret around town, and he knew that this girl had known about the affair.
Zach admitted to himself that he had messed-up feelings about Katie, even back then. Every time he'd seen Katie at his parents’ ranch house, he'd wanted to steal her away. All he could think about at the time was the fact that Chris Turner had stolen his wife, so didn't it seem fair that Zach should have Katie? An eye for an eye, that was the way he looked at it.
But there was one thing that stood in Zach's way from doing something stupid, something crazily impetuous. He hadn't had a choice at the time; it had to stand in his way. Katie Turner was too young. And Zach had still been too angry. Livid with it. Even now, long months later, he still couldn't give Katie the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was a nice, decent person, but he refused to consider it. All he could think about was the fact that she was a Turner. A female Turner, and one he wanted so badly it made thinking of anything else almost impossible.
Yeah, the feelings he had for Katie were borderline insane and he knew it. She should be his. She should belong to him, because she was owed to him. And even though it was imperative that he let her grow up some first, someday it would happen. He'd bide his time because he'd have to, but one day, he'd feel her underneath him . . . at his mercy. An Eye for an Eye: Zach and Katie's story. Redwood Falls, Book Two. Keywords, series romance, billionaire romance, damaged hero, damaged heroine, alpha-male romance, contemporary romance
Garrett Rule has no room in his life for conniving women. When he finds himself inconveniently obsessed with Maria Alvarez, the most conspiring woman of them all, he doesn’t know which is stronger, his need to punish her or the need he feels to have her under his complete sexual control. Luckily for him, he doesn’t plan on choosing; he’ll take both.
As Maria stood in the break room, she heard the click of the door shutting and the lock sliding into place. Without turning and looking, she knew who'd done it; she knew who stood behind her. Her hands shook as she made a fist around the coffee filter she'd just pulled from the box.
"You knew Villareal was coming today, I believe I mentioned that yesterday." Garrett rasped in a low, heated tone.
She had braced herself for a bark, but when he began speaking, that's not what she got. His voice was low and quiet, and the fact that she knew more about his personality wasn't something that was soothing her now. No, it was scaring the crap out of her. Garrett always barked when he was angry. The fact that he felt he had to keep his vocal chords under ruthless control now only proved how furious he really was.
"Turn around," he bit out in a voice that brooked no denial.
She turned slowly and leaned against the counter for support.
"You understand his reputation with women?"
Not fully understanding the question, Maria narrowed her eyes and shook her head.
"He’s indiscriminate. He’ll do anything on two legs," he elaborated, gritting the words through his teeth. “I told you that once before—he’s a player.”
She sucked in a breath. "And you think this has something to do with me, how?"
He stared at her for the count of three beats and then pushed off the door. Without hesitation, he advanced on her until he was standing only inches away, invading her personal space. He lifted her chin and his eyes contained a fire that almost scorched her where she stood.
His voice when he spoke reflected only a small slip of control, but Maria knew him well enough to know how affected he truly was. "We have a lot of crap going on between us," he announced as his eyes ran over her face, down her neck and landed on the madly beating pulse in her throat. Sliding his hand from her chin, his thumb landed on the spot that told of her rapidly beating heart. He pressed on it, with just a hint of his strength, and raised his eyes back to hers. "I get that you've made it your mission in life to continue to keep me off-balance.” His thumb slid up and down her throat before pressing into her pulse-point again. "Why you feel the need, I don’t have a clue.” He took in a deep breath. “But this dress . . . " His voice trailed off before he began again. "You, in this dress. You know how good you look in it. You knew I’d remember it. You had to know what I’d be thinking about the second I saw you in it." His eyes turned into gleaming slits of accusation. "And you knew he would be here today, watching you. You did it on purpose."
"No, I--" She began, knowing he spoke the truth, but not about to admit to it. Why had she worn the freaking dress? Why was she playing with fire? Was it because she’d let him have his way in so many areas that she needed some sort of affirmation of her own control?
He interrupted her thoughts and her fiercely beating heart. "You need to be careful with the game you're playing. I’ve been letting you have the upper hand, been letting you win your little game, because it humors me. But be careful, Maria—don’t take it too far." His hand spread out over her neck and his fingers pulsed against her windpipe in a shocking, sexual threat. "Trust me when I tell you that you don't have to go out of your way to provoke my jealousy. I'm already jealous. I already want to kill every man who looks at you. I already want to take you home to St. Louis, tie you to my bed, lock the door and throw away the key."
Preparing to fix what she’d screwed up, Erin opened the bathroom door of the private jet and took a few steps forward with the sheet still wrapped around her like a sarong. She gasped and stopped in her tracks when she came face to face with . . . her husband?
She sucked in a breath as her feet came to a stumbling halt. As she felt color flush her cheeks, she noticed that he didn’t smile but only raised a single, mocking eyebrow. His gaze pierced hers, sending her stomach to her feet in a mess of stupid feminine weakness. Then his eyes trailed down her body, stopping at her breasts and thighs, before sweeping down to her bare ankles and feet before slowly moving back up again.
Erin’s heart rate kicked up to a vicious degree, and as Max took one step forward, for the life of her she couldn’t stop herself from taking one step back.
He obviously noticed and thankfully, he immediately stopped. His lips twisted diabolically as he drawled slowly, “You look beautiful, sweetness.”
Her pulse accelerated alarmingly with both the compliment and the endearment. Oh, yeah. It was damn well obvious why she’d waltzed into that freaking wedding chapel with him. Even now, with her composure under attack, hating herself for what she’d done the night before, he still made her knees weak. Could her emotions be any more screwed-up? She wanted to scream at him; she wanted to throw herself in his arms and hope he kissed her senseless once again. But she did neither of those things—she was too confused to do anything but stand on her own two feet while she kept her mouth clamped tightly closed.
He prowled another step closer and then another, and with each step he took she scooted backwards until her spine was flush against the built-in bureau. The magic of his touch was blaring in her memory—it wouldn’t help her case in the slightest if she were to feel it now, when she desperately needed to retain what little brainpower she had left.
He was dressed for the new day in a crisp suit that screamed Savile Row, and he came so close that she was forced to lift her face to maintain eye contact. When she did, he put a single finger under her chin and lifted it further, jarring her nerves alarmingly. “You are fucking gorgeous—and undoubtedly the best coup I’ve pulled off in my lifetime.”
Blurb: Damian Rule is an ultra-staid businessman who likes his life just so. He wears his hair cut short; he demands his business affairs be organized, and he insists that his women be impeccably groomed and conservative in both speech and appearance. When he meets Angie Ross for the first time, he sees a hot, beautiful, gothic mess. With her fishnet stockings and spiked leather cuffs, she's wildly inappropriate for his long term needs. But for the short term? She'll do just fine.
Excerpt: Angie followed Damian's secretary across what seemed like miles of plush carpet and walked into the office when indicated. She was still in a state of shock; she'd found out in the reception area that he didn't merely work in the downtown high-rise, he owned the building.
She heard the door snap closed behind her, and with her heart catching, she faltered just inside the large room. Her gaze was caught and held by dark eyes as Damian leaned against a desk of solid mahogany while standing completely still, obviously awaiting her arrival. His eyes were both sharp and hooded, his body held in a pose of relaxation that seemed inconsistent with the almost tangible electricity that radiated from him in waves.
Her pulse pounding, her footsteps stalled completely. Before she could get a word out, he pushed off the desk and began to track her across the office, his muscles corded and his eyes reflecting a sheen of purpose. The space between them narrowed rapidly as his eyes fell to her throat and then scanned her body quickly before lifting to her face again.
Any semblance of a smile dissolved as his expression hardened imperceptibly; a raw sizzle filled the air as his brooding features reflected a harsh, atavistic hunger that almost brought Angie to her knees as he stood not six inches away in all his tall, masculine glory.
He stood almost indolently for the beat of three seconds before reaching out and seizing her with a dominant force that gave her not an ounce of choice in the matter.