No Longer Forbidden? by Dani Collins

on to a rational thought. Rowan’s mouth was petal-soft and she smelled like a warm summer garden: earthy and rosy and fresh. He could feel little tremors striking deep within her as he kissed her. That delicious quiver fed the answering energy prickling under his skin as the taste of her nape was imprinted against his open lips. When she lifted her arms around his neck and pressed closer, delicately clashing into his achingly aroused flesh, his mind exploded.
    He tightened his hold on her, reveling in the restless, inciting quest of her mouth. With a groan, he picked her up, never having done anything so feverish in his life. She leapt into a firm bundle against his chest, like she’d done it a thousand times—which he dimly supposed she had, on the stage and possibly for other men.
    He ducked the thought, concentrating on how she was light and slender and so much more earnest than he’d expected. Performer , he reminded himself, but he responded to her passion all the same, fully involved in their kiss as he carried her into the room.
    He should have kept this on neutral territory, he thought dimly, but assured himself that Rowan wouldn’t have unrealistic expectations. She’d been around the block.
    Setting her on her feet, he pressed her away long enoughto open her jacket. They were both breathing hard, and she shrugged out of the short coat to let it fall to the floor with an impatience he applauded. He wished he could muster a smile of satisfaction, but desire was throbbing in him like an imperative. He threw his own shirt off and kicked away his shoes.
    Rowan grasped his arm and bent one leg to unzip her long boot. The second one was released and she stepped out of them, so much shorter than she seemed when her larger than life personality was on full display. This Rowan was …
    Vulnerable .
    For all her urgency there was a shyness in the way she hesitated with her hands on the snap of her jeans, her pillowy bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Should we … um … close the door?”
    Her modesty took him aback, turning over places in him he’d buried under years of jaded enjoyment of women without engaging with them. He had a distant thought to drawl a somewhat tasteless, Who’s going to come in ? but found a shred of a gentlemanly behavior instead. He turned to press the door closed.
    And as the click echoed in the silent room the word gentleman mocked him. “What are your intentions, Nic? Men like you …”
    Nic curled a fist against the seam of the closed door, fighting the invasion of the dark memory. He and Rowan had cleared the air. He believed her. They wanted each other; it was as simple as that. This had nothing to do with intentions and futures. It was two adults coming together in mutual desire. Not the sort of thing Olief should have had any disdain for, given the way he’d fathered a child from one mistress and lived in sin for nearly a decade with another.
    Rowan had fumbled her jeans open, but couldn’t bringherself to peel them down while Nic had his back to her. Having him watch her wouldn’t make it easier, but her self-confidence was draining fast as he leaned on the door like that, tension gathering across his naked shoulders. He had such a beautiful back, strong and tanned, powerful muscles shifting as though he was bearing up under a great weight.
    “Nic? Are you—?” Having second thoughts? She would die.
    He brought his head up and turned. Desire flared past whatever dark thoughts had taken him for a split second. His avid glance made her feel beautiful even though she wasn’t any kind of sex goddess. Her hair was wind-whipped, she wore next to no makeup, and was probably pale with the stagefright that was threatening on the periphery. But he strode forward with purpose and cupped her head, kissing her like he had in the car—like he would spontaneously combust if he didn’t do it this second.
    It was the reassurance she needed. Grasping his head, she kissed him back with