Her own nostrils flared like a deer scenting cougar. Warm brown eyes flecked with gold darted back to observe him. “I’m afraid I won’t be good company right now, Mr Gévaudan,” she muttered. “I have business to attend to.”
She turned her back full on him, muscles rigid with an anxiety she could not possibly understand. He admired that courage in her, even now. With one silent step he came up behind her, so close that his breath stirred the delicate hairs that had come loose from her braid. His eyes traced over the curve of her hips and rump, inward along the small waist and up the graceful line of her back and shoulders, his hands yearned to follow that path, and he clenched them with a soft intake of breath.
She jumped. She whirled about to glare at him, her face inches from his. He could see the throb of her pulse in the delicious column of her neck. It took every ounce of control he possessed to keep from seizing her there and then.
Before he could lose that control, she slipped to the side, out of the shadow of his body, and darted around the counter to pause in the apparent safety of the doorway to the storeroom. Her instincts, at least, had been the correct ones.
For a long moment he struggled with himself, fighting down the powerful urge to take the prey. Every shudder of her body, every indrawn breath, tempted him. But the moment passed. He willed his muscles to relax, one by one, by the time he felt capable of coherent and reasonable speech; he and Joey Randall were no longer alone.
Bill Jackson hovered just behind the woman, one hand hesitating just above her shoulder. She pressed back against him.
Luke’s eyes narrowed, and his lip curled. They joined forces to face him down, with all the self-preservation instincts of herd animals facing a wolf pack. But she—she was no herd animal. Not like the others. That was something he would make her understand, when she was his.
They were talking together in hushed voices now, and the woman was pretending interest in discussing some item she needed to order. The hunt was up for the day.
Luke turned on his heel, pausing with his hand on the door latch. Silence had fallen over the room again.
He pivoted to face her and caught her eyes watching him when she didn’t think he would notice.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Joelle Randall,” he said. “I hope we’ll see each other again soon.” With a final smile, he turned his back and left her staring after him.
Heat. Everything was heat, burning within and without. Joey shuddered with it, her body writhing to escape it yet yearning to be consumed by it.
His breath was hot on the back of her neck, inches away from her skin, sensitized nearly to the point of madness. His touch scorched her, long, callused fingers traced over her neck and shoulders, moved with aching slowness down her back, and spread out to circle the flare of her hips. No sound escaped her as he pressed his hard length against her back, though she could feel his arousal with aching clarity. As if in response to her unvoiced cry, the moist warmth of his mouth descended to brush the hollow where neck flowed into shoulder, his tongue moved in slow, delicious circles over her skin. Still she found her gasps and moans of pleasure and passion locked in her throat, even when his hands left her hips to slide over her belly and capture her breasts.
Her nipples were already erect as he cupped her in his big hands, rough against silky, yielding softness. His mouth sought the other side of her neck, licking and sucking, while she arched in desperate, blazing silence against him. When he caught her nipples between his fingers, it was more than she could bear. She struggled in his grip, and he obeyed her unspoken desire, turning her in his arms. Before she could see his face, he lifted her, pressing his mouth between her breasts, his hands holding her in place. She could do nothing but fling back her head, unbound hair cascading behind her, as his tongue moved in circles over her heated skin, catching her nipple between his teeth. He moved from one breast to the other, claiming each thoroughly, ignoring her hands as they clutched helplessly at his shoulders. The trapped cries in her throat were an exquisite torture.