When those men looked at me with the same hunger Roman had in his eyes, my skin crawled.
But Roman’s gaze didn’t make my skin crawl. It heated my body, made my thighs clench.
I didn’t understand it.
When his eyes traveled down my body, I found myself wondering what his hands would feel like following the same path.
Even now heat coiled low in my belly, a traitorous ache building between my thighs as my mind replayed the way he’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
I’d been fascinated by the way his muscles flexed in his ink-covered forearms. I wanted to know if the tattoos continued—up his arms, across his chest.
My mouth watered at the thought, my breath coming faster.
Why was it getting harder to breathe?
Thankfully, my office was isolated. The men stayed downstairs with the prisoner, and they wouldn’t let Roman out of their sight.
He wouldn’t be trusted yet. Not by them.
Pulling my knees apart, I let my hand trail from my knee up the inside of my thigh?—
I wasn’t alone.
The air thickened. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
A girl raised in this life didn’t reach adulthood without learning to listen to her instincts.
Someone was here.
Getting closer.
I kept still.
One hand moved back onto the desk to support my head. The other stayed underneath it, fingers brushing the cold metal of the gun strapped there.
Just as I reached it, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, slamming it to the desktop.
Another hand seized my free wrist.
I didn’t hesitate. I broke his hold on my wrists and fought.
Clawed, scratched, slammed my elbow backward—anything to shake him off.
But it was like grappling with a wall.
He pressed his body against mine.
Heat and that dark, tropical scent enveloped me.
I knew who it was before he spoke.
Didn’t mean I stopped fighting.
Papers flew in every direction; my laptop became a sacrifice to the chaos engulfing us.
I kicked back, trying to knock him off me with the chair. He shoved it aside like it weighed nothing.
Now there was no barrier between us.