to use it, showing him how little this meant to her, even if she couldn’t convince herself of it.
Only when his hand captured hers, stopping her from lowering her zipper, did she realize that he had moved. Startled, she lifted her head and collided with his gaze.
“I think you’re forgetting one thing: I’m in charge here. I decide when you get undressed and how. Are we clear on that?”
His voice was a low rumble, but she could barely concentrate on it, because he suddenly stood too close. His scent wrapped around her like a blanket, making it impossible for her to breathe. Little electrical charges seemed to dance on his skin and jump to hers, scorching her.
His hand suddenly came up, sliding underneath her mane, capturing the back of her neck in a firm grip. Effortlessly, he pulled her head closer.
“Do we understand each other . . . Rose?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Had she imagined it, or had his last word carried the same kind of tenderness as that night she’d become his wife?
She searched his hazel eyes, looking for an answer to her questions, but he gave nothing away. Whatever had been there only a split-second earlier, was gone. Or maybe it was simply an illusion, a trick her tired mind played on her.
That same mind now urged her to give in, to surrender. Maybe it was best that way. After two hundred years she was tired of running away, of hiding. She had to do this for Blake, because she had promised Charlotte, she told herself.
With a sigh, she brought her body flush against his. “I understand. Go ahead, take what you want.”
Quinn’s lips crushed hers before her last word was out. He wasn’t tender, not the way he’d been that night in London, and she was glad for it. Tenderness would have crushed her courage and crumbled her resolve to guard her heart. Yet his kiss had another effect: it stoked her desire.
His lips plundered, explored, and demanded. They were both hard and soft as they slanted over her mouth, urging her to surrender. Her skin sizzled under the impact, and his masculine breath only fanned the flames in her body.
Forgetting her plan to remain uninvolved, she slung her arms around his neck and parted her lips under the imploring command of his tongue. A rush of heat charged through her, setting her ablaze, robbing her of the ability to think. When his tongue forged into her, invading her mouth, she felt her brain disintegrate into a gooey mess.
She felt his silky tongue slide against her teeth, coaxing her to respond to him. Without thinking, she did. With the same perfect rhythm they had danced in the ballrooms of London, their tongues now twirled to a music she could sense reverberating through her entire body. The melody carried her away, cradled her in safety, yet hurtled her toward the inevitable.
Underneath her bra, her nipples chafed as he pressed her harder against his rock-hard chest. The ache was unbearable, but relief was nowhere in sight, because Quinn seemed to have no intention of letting go of her mouth yet to devote his energies to her aching breasts.
One hand was still at her nape to assure she didn’t escape the devastating talent of his mouth, the other one palmed her backside as he rubbed his groin against her sex. She felt the hard outline of his cock, but the towel still clung to his hips, preventing a closer connection.
With one swift move, she pulled on it and freed him from it.
A startled gasp was his answer. Then his kiss intensified as if he wanted to punish her for what she’d done. Did he really think he could silence her, take the lead in this? She would show him that she would not be the timid playmate he had once had, the one who’d looked up to him with wonder in her eyes. No, she would take what she wanted.
Digging her nails into his backside, she ground her sex against his hard-on.
Quinn ripped his mouth from hers. “Fuck, Rose!” His eyes were red as he glared at her. “I told you—”
“Fuck you, Quinn! You think I’m
Only when his hand captured hers, stopping her from lowering her zipper, did she realize that he had moved. Startled, she lifted her head and collided with his gaze.
“I think you’re forgetting one thing: I’m in charge here. I decide when you get undressed and how. Are we clear on that?”
His voice was a low rumble, but she could barely concentrate on it, because he suddenly stood too close. His scent wrapped around her like a blanket, making it impossible for her to breathe. Little electrical charges seemed to dance on his skin and jump to hers, scorching her.
His hand suddenly came up, sliding underneath her mane, capturing the back of her neck in a firm grip. Effortlessly, he pulled her head closer.
“Do we understand each other . . . Rose?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Had she imagined it, or had his last word carried the same kind of tenderness as that night she’d become his wife?
She searched his hazel eyes, looking for an answer to her questions, but he gave nothing away. Whatever had been there only a split-second earlier, was gone. Or maybe it was simply an illusion, a trick her tired mind played on her.
That same mind now urged her to give in, to surrender. Maybe it was best that way. After two hundred years she was tired of running away, of hiding. She had to do this for Blake, because she had promised Charlotte, she told herself.
With a sigh, she brought her body flush against his. “I understand. Go ahead, take what you want.”
Quinn’s lips crushed hers before her last word was out. He wasn’t tender, not the way he’d been that night in London, and she was glad for it. Tenderness would have crushed her courage and crumbled her resolve to guard her heart. Yet his kiss had another effect: it stoked her desire.
His lips plundered, explored, and demanded. They were both hard and soft as they slanted over her mouth, urging her to surrender. Her skin sizzled under the impact, and his masculine breath only fanned the flames in her body.
Forgetting her plan to remain uninvolved, she slung her arms around his neck and parted her lips under the imploring command of his tongue. A rush of heat charged through her, setting her ablaze, robbing her of the ability to think. When his tongue forged into her, invading her mouth, she felt her brain disintegrate into a gooey mess.
She felt his silky tongue slide against her teeth, coaxing her to respond to him. Without thinking, she did. With the same perfect rhythm they had danced in the ballrooms of London, their tongues now twirled to a music she could sense reverberating through her entire body. The melody carried her away, cradled her in safety, yet hurtled her toward the inevitable.
Underneath her bra, her nipples chafed as he pressed her harder against his rock-hard chest. The ache was unbearable, but relief was nowhere in sight, because Quinn seemed to have no intention of letting go of her mouth yet to devote his energies to her aching breasts.
One hand was still at her nape to assure she didn’t escape the devastating talent of his mouth, the other one palmed her backside as he rubbed his groin against her sex. She felt the hard outline of his cock, but the towel still clung to his hips, preventing a closer connection.
With one swift move, she pulled on it and freed him from it.
A startled gasp was his answer. Then his kiss intensified as if he wanted to punish her for what she’d done. Did he really think he could silence her, take the lead in this? She would show him that she would not be the timid playmate he had once had, the one who’d looked up to him with wonder in her eyes. No, she would take what she wanted.
Digging her nails into his backside, she ground her sex against his hard-on.
Quinn ripped his mouth from hers. “Fuck, Rose!” His eyes were red as he glared at her. “I told you—”
“Fuck you, Quinn! You think I’m
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