They sure can…especially when she discovers she’s a closet nymphomaniac and he’s a shape-shifting explosion of animal magnetism she simply can’t resist.
“You aren’t afraid of me?” His voice sounded rough, even to himself. If she stayed much longer, he might not be able to resist her, as deliciously sweet as she smelled.
Chellie drew in a deep breath. OMG! The mouthwatering smell of rich red earth and fresh air and sage and some sort of heady herb filled her nostrils. Was that him? She should be terrified but she was actually aroused by the way he’d closed the cabin door and now stood there, as if waiting to pounce.
Am I fucking crazy or what?
The aura surrounding the man was pure sex, pure male…pure danger. If she had any sense at all, she would be diving head-first out the damn window. But she could not, for the life of her, move.
So much for sense.
In the dark interior of the cabin, lit now only by the late-afternoon sun slanting through the window, his face was half in shadow, but she had seen enough as he had stood in the doorway to know that he had a wicked scar on the shadowed side of his cheek and jaw. She truly ought to be terrified of the man, but something stopped her from feeling afraid. His aura was confusing—intriguing. She sensed great power dammed up inside.
And great hunger.
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