She responded by pressing closer, her body warm and pliant and perfect against his chest, her fingers fisting in his shirt as if she was afraid he might disappear.
The soft sounds she made—little gasps and sighs and whimpers that she tried to muffle against his shoulder—drove him to the edge of reason.When her tongue swept across his lower lip, tentative and bold at the same time, he groaned deep in his throat, the sound more wolf than human, more need than noise.
His hands found their way to her waist, spanning the narrow space between her ribs and hips, his thumbs brushing against the strip of bare skin where her shirt had ridden up.
Her muscles quivered under his touch like she was made of lightning, and she arched into him with a soft whimper that shot straight to his groin and made his vision blur.His palms skimmed upward along her sides, tracing the curve of her ribs, feeling the quick rise and fall of her breathing, mapping every inch of her like he was claiming territory.
The mate bond flashed between them like wildfire, racing through every nerve ending until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.Her scent wrapped around him, claiming him, marking him as surely as if she’d bitten down on him.
His hard cock pressed insistently against her, thick and demanding, and when she shifted to align their bodies more fully, the friction made him see stars and curse under his breath.
With one hand, he cupped the nape of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair.With the other, he traced the elegant line of her spine, feeling each vertebra, each shiver that ran through her at his touch.
She was all lean muscle and dangerous curves, her body a weapon that had somehow become his salvation, his destruction, his everything.When his fingers found the small scar below her collarbone—the one he’d noticed that first night in the ravine and dreamed about every night since—she gasped against his mouth, her hips rolling against his in a movement that was pure instinct and drove him half-mad with want.
Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, her palms burning against his skin as she explored the ridges of muscle across his chest and abdomen.Every touch sent fire racing through his veins, every caress made him harder, made him need her with an intensity that bordered on violence.
He backed her against the nearest wall, his body caging her in as his mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.
She tasted like moonlight and wild places, like everything he’d never known he was searching for.When he scraped his teeth against her pulse point, she made a sound that was half gasp, half moan, her back arching off the wall as her body sought more contact, more friction, more of everything he was desperate to give her.
His hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, learning the geography of her body like it was sacred text.
When his fingers brushed the hem of her shirt, she caught his wrist, her eyes dark with desire and something deeper—trust, maybe, or surrender.
The look she gave him was full of heat and hunger and a vulnerability that made his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name.
They were both breathing hard, and Conall rested his forehead against hers.Her scent surrounded him, mixed with the musk of arousal that made his cock respond with almost embarrassing enthusiasm.
What the hell am I doing?
This was Nadine Torrance, the woman who’d been hunting him and Quinton for a murder they didn’t commit.The woman whose presence was fracturing his relationship with his twin.
And he was kissing her like she was his salvation instead of his downfall.
Regret flooded through him, cold and sharp as a blade between ribs.He stepped back abruptly, his hands falling away from her.
That was—he started to say, then stopped as he caught sight of a figure in the doorway.
Quinton stood frozen in the archive room entrance, his expression shifting from surprise to shock to something that looked like betrayal.
He’d obviously come looking for them, probably concerned about the late hour and their extended absence from town.
Instead, he’d found his twin kissing the woman who’d accused them of murder.
Quin,Conall said, but his twin was already turning away.
Sorry,Quinton said, his voice expressionless in the way it got when he was trying not to reveal how much something hurt.Didn’t mean to interrupt.Malcolm’s looking for you both—wants an update on the archive research.
He was gone before Conall could respond, leaving only the echo of footsteps in the hallway and the sick feeling in Conall’s stomach that he’d just crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
Beside him, Nadine had gone very still, her professional mask sliding back into place with disturbing ease.
Your brother definitely doesn’t approve,she observed.
An understatement of epic proportions.
Quinton’s hurt, confusion and anger threaded through the twin bond.
