Page 25 of The Anchor Holds

And yet this small-town fisherman was keeping up with me, not missing a beat. Worse, he wasseeing me.

In a way not even those I shared blood with were capable of.

Which couldn’t be logical, given our scant interactions.

But it must’ve been true since he caught me off guard. No man, not sincethe event, had the ability to catch me unaware, to grasp the back of my neck and haul my body to his in order to kiss me.

I had learned to guard my body like a fortress, knowing how easily it was for a man to think he could conquer it. My defenses were impenetrable, fortified, perfected like my very life depended on it. Because it did.

Despite all of that, Elliot broke through.

I had the power to get him off me the second his hand settled on my neck. The second he invaded my personal space. I’d been trained by some of the deadliest people in the world in order to make myself into a weapon instead of a victim.

I could’ve broken his wrist, his nose, killed off a few million sperm with a well-placed knee.

But I didn’t.

I let him grab me.

Worse, I let him kiss me.

Just for a second, I told myself.Just to see what it tasted like. A man like him.

He tasted of mint.

He smelled of salt and spice.

He was warm, strong.

And then a second became more.

His hand stayed on the back of my neck, the other coasting to my lower back as he pushed his way inside.

Again, it was something I could’ve stopped.

Should’ve stopped.

Instead, I did the unthinkable, something I promised myself I’d never do with a man ever again.

I surrendered.

I let him slam the door closed, I let him push me against the wall, caging me in. Taking control.

All of these actions should’ve been spiking nerve endings long attuned to understand the danger of such things. And I did hear the alarm bells ringing in my head. But they were overpowered by the rush of desire unlike anything I’d ever felt… Ever.

Our hands and mouths crashed against each other until he grasped my wrists with one of his large hands, pulling them upward, lips at my neck.

He kept me there, restrained with impressive strength as his lips wasted no time in traveling to where my peaked nipples were damn near piercing the cotton of my tee.

I let out a gasp as his mouth covered the fabric, sucking at my nipple, the friction and sensation sending pleasure shooting through my veins.

His hand slipped underneath my tee, rough palm against my bare skin, over my belly button, skating upward to the underside of my breast, cupping it as he sucked my other nipple through the fabric.

Then his mouth was gone, his hand at the hem of my shirt, his eyes boring into mine.

“Keep your arms up,” he rasped.

I didn’t say anything, just kept my eyes on him and my hands up, my heart hammering in my chest and my pelvic region throbbing with need.

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