Praise for Lucy King

‘Simply fabulous! I couldn’t resist gobbling up

this delicious contemporary romance in a single sitting.

Lucy King has created a thoroughly modern and

believable character in Emily, and Luke is a gorgeous

Alpha male who will make women swoon with delight!

Refreshing, romantic and wholly enjoyable, this

fabulously uplifting, emotional and captivating tale

heralds the start of an exciting new voice in category

romance, and I cannot wait to read more sensational

romance by the hugely talented Lucy King!’

—www.cataromance.com on

Bought: Damsel in Distress

‘Fast-paced, sexy, poignant and deliciously enjoyable,

Propositioned by the Billionaire will go down a treat … the world over—and readers would do well to remember Lucy King’s name because she is a writer destined for greatness!’ —www.cataromance.com on Propositioned by the Billionaire

About the Author

About Lucy King

LUCY KING spent her formative years lost in the world of Mills & Boon® romance when she really ought to have been paying attention to her teachers. Up against sparkling heroines, gorgeous heroes and the magic of falling in love, trigonometry and absolute ablatives didn’t stand a chance.

But as she couldn’t live in a dream world for ever she eventually acquired a degree in languages and an eclectic collection of jobs. A stroll to the River Thames one Saturday morning led her to her very own hero. The minute she laid eyes on the hunky rower getting out of a boat, clad only in Lycra and carrying a three-metre oar as if it was a toothpick, she knew she’d met the man she was going to marry. Luckily the rower thought the same.

She will always be grateful to whatever it was that made her stop dithering and actually sit down to type Chapter One, because dreaming up her own sparkling heroines and gorgeous heroes is pretty much her idea of the perfect job.

Originally a Londoner, Lucy now lives in Spain, where she spends much of the time reading, failing to finish cryptic crosswords and trying to convince herself that lying on the beach really is the best way to work.

Visit her at www.lucyking.net

Also by Lucy King

Bought: Damsel in Distress

Propositioned by the Billionaire

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Crown Affair

Lucy King

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my parents

CHAPTER ONE

‘OH. MY. God,’ Laura muttered, her fingers tightening around her binoculars and her breath hitching in her throat at the sight that met her eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat and her entire body flushed with a heat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the early summer sun and everything to do with the view.

Because, wow, what a view …

There, approximately two hundred metres away, across a lush green field and over a drystone wall, in one corner of the extensive grounds of the manor house, was a man.

Standing with his back to her, bending down and hauling a hefty log onto a stump. Wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, heavy-duty work boots and a rather impressive tan.

Whoever he was, he was dark-haired and tall. Broad-shouldered and fit. The muscles of his shoulders and back twisted and flexed as he hammered the axe down on those poor helpless little logs, displaying such strength and control that every inch of her began to tingle.

When he moved round the other side of the stump and lifted the axe high above his head, the tingle turned to full-blown lust. For a brief frozen moment, in sharp definition, there was the most magnificent chest she’d ever seen. Tanned. Lean. Sprinkled with a smattering of dark hair that narrowed down his taut stomach and vanished tantalisingly beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Ignoring the little voice in her head telling her she really ought not to be doing this, Laura pressed the binoculars closer and bit her lip, largely to stop herself whimpering.

She’d never whimpered in her life, but if ever there was an occasion to start, this was it.

She could make out every rippling muscle. Every one of his ribs. Her fingers itched to trace the dips and contours of his body. What would he feel like beneath her hands? What would it feel like to have all that strength and control on top of her? Underneath her? Inside her?

At the bolt of desire that burst deep inside her, Laura’s temperature went through the roof. The breath shot from her lungs and her heart practically stopped. A weird kind of fizzing sprang to life in the pit of her stomach and she clutched at the curtain before her balance vaporised and she nearly toppled out of the window.

Good Lord, she thought dazedly as stars spun around her head. She was fantasising. Ogling. Virtually salivating. Since when had she started doing that? She dragged in a shaky breath. Crikey, maybe she really had gone off the rails.

Letting the binoculars dangle from the leather strap hanging around her neck, Laura sagged against the wall and willed her breathing to steady and her heart rate to slow.

Now, of all times, when she was by herself and inches from an open window with a ten-foot drop to the ground, would really not be a good time to faint.

Which was precisely why she ought to unwrap herself from the curtains, back away and pull herself together.

Besides, quite apart from her precarious position, she had no business ogling men, however hot. After the traumatic collapse of her last relationship she’d sworn off the whole lousy lot of them. And even if she had been in the mood, voyeurism had never been her thing. It was sneaky. It was reckless.

And kind of thrilling.

Laura swallowed and blinked to clear her suddenly blurry vision. Oh, for heaven’s sake. That little thrill currently whooshing around her body could stop it right now. She was interested in the house, that was all.

For the six weeks she’d been living in the village the manor house had been as silent as the grave, and her frustration at not being able to take a look inside had reached such a peak that if she weren’t such a law-abiding person she’d have contemplated a spot of breaking and entering.

So when she’d heard the sound of splintering wood coming from the other side of the village earlier this morning she’d barely been able to believe her luck. Grabbing her binoculars, she’d raced upstairs, wrapped herself in her curtains and scouted the landscape for the source of the noise.

Quite what she’d been expecting she wasn’t sure, but it certainly hadn’t been a sight as enticing as this.

As the thrill returned, more delicious and more insistent than before, Laura paused mid-unwrap, nibbled on her lip and frowned. She’d always appreciated beauty. Had always admired structure. Which was why she’d become an architect. Now here was the finest animate example of both she’d seen in a long time and given the current sorry state of her love life it was unlikely that she’d ever get the chance again.

Her heart thumping with illicit excitement, she edged closer to the wall, huddled deeper into the curtain, and fished her binoculars out from beneath the heavy fabric.

How could another second or two hurt? After all, it wasn’t as if he could see her, was it?

Matt swung the axe high above his head and froze.

There it was again. The flash.

Once. Twice. And then intermittently, like a sputtering light bulb. Like a beacon. Or like the sun glinting off a pair of binoculars.

Hell.

He thwacked the axe down on the log with such force that the blade scythed through the wood like a hot knife through butter and lodged in the stump.

Something hard and tight settled in the pit of his stomach. Couldn’t they leave him alone for one measly second?

Ignoring the stinging in his muscles and the sweat trickling down his back, he bent down, picked up the two halves of the log and hurled them onto the pile.

One last weekend of peace. That was all he wanted. One lousy weekend of privacy before he embarked on a role he wasn’t sure he was entirely prepared for, and life as he knew it turned upside down.

Matt grabbed the bottle lying in the grass, sloshed water over his head and flinched when the ice-cold liquid hit his burning skin.

Hadn’t he provided the press with enough stories recently? They’d been hounding him for weeks, ever since it had been announced he was the long-lost heir to the newly restored Sassanian throne. They’d been camping outside his London house and tailing him wherever he went. Shoving tape recorders and cameras in his face at every opportunity and demanding responses to questions about his private life he had no intention of ever answering.

By and large he’d played his part. Given interviews. Posed for photographs. And borne it with remarkable, if grim, tolerance. But by following him here, to the house in the Cots-wolds he’d almost forgotten he owned, they’d crossed the line.

As irritation escalated into anger, Matt shoved his hands through his hair and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

Enough was enough. No way was he just sitting back and letting some miserable low-life hack gawk at him all weekend. To hell with the consequences. He was going to go round, grab that pair of binoculars and wind the strap round their scrawny neck.

Ah, that was a shame, thought Laura, biting her lip as she watched that magnificent chest disappear beneath a swathe of navy cotton.

If she had control of the world, a man like that would be consigned to a life of naked-from-the-waist-up log-chopping. On permanent display. As a gift to the nation or something. And if she had control of the world, she’d rewind time and hit the pause button at the exact moment he’d taken that impromptu little shower.

Despite the heat simmering in her veins, Laura shivered as the image slammed into her head. Utterly transfixed, she’d followed the rivulets of water trickling down his chest and hadn’t been able to stop herself trembling with longing. The powerful lenses of her binoculars had picked out every glistening drop clinging lovingly to his skin and her breath had evaporated all over again.

Even now, when he was all covered up and striding across the lawn towards the house, as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels, she felt as if she were on fire. Tiny flames of heat licked along her veins. Her skin sizzled. Her stomach churned.

He disappeared inside the house and Laura blinked and felt a sharp pang of loss.

The unsettling shock of such an intense reaction snapped her back to her senses. She blinked. Rubbed her eyes and pulled herself together.

Right, she decided, unwinding herself from the curtain and setting the binoculars on her dressing table. That was quite enough of that. She’d indulged for far longer than was wise and she had things to do.

So no more thumping hearts and trembling limbs. No more tingling in inappropriate places and erratic breathing. And definitely no more fantasising.

Tucking a notebook and pencil in the back pocket of her shorts and slinging her camera over her shoulder, Laura pulled her shoulders back and headed downstairs.

If she was going to wangle an invitation inside what appeared to be a near perfect example of early seventeenth century architecture, she had to be charming, determined and above all, strong of knee.

One of the first things Matt had planned to do once installed on the throne of Sassania was open up the press and grant the country’s journalists more access to information.

Now, he thought grimly, eyes down as he strode along the path in the direction of the binocular-toting hack, he wasn’t so sure. Now he’d like to abolish it altogether and string up the entire lot of them. Starting with the one he was about to tear a strip off.

‘Good morning.’

At the sound of the voice a few feet in front of him, Matt skidded to a halt and his head snapped up. His gaze rested on the woman blocking his path smiling blindingly at him and for a second his mind went blank. All thoughts of journalists and Mediterranean island kingdoms evaporated; if someone had asked his name he’d have been stumped.

As his gaze automatically ran over her he felt the ground tilt beneath his feet. Blood roared in his ears and fire surged through his veins. His chest contracted as if he’d been walloped in the solar plexus, and for one horrible moment Matt wondered if he was having a heart attack.

But then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The ground settled, his head cleared, his lungs started pumping and his heart rate steadied.

Keeping his extraordinary reaction firmly behind the neutral expression that had helped him make billions, Matt shoved a hand through his hair and forced himself to relax.

No doubt it was the unexpectedness of her that had caused his violent reaction. The sudden interruption to his train of thought. That was all. It couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with the mass of blond hair, the big cornflower-blue eyes or the wide smile. Or, for that matter, the set of killer curves encased in the skimpiest shorts and tightest T-shirt he’d ever seen.

Because that would be as disconcerting as it would have been unusual. He’d never been distracted by a woman, however beautiful and however well packaged, and he didn’t intend to start now.

Reminding himself what he was supposed to be doing, he gave her a brief nod and the flash of an impersonal smile. ‘Good morning,’ he said, taking a step to the right to weave past her.

Which she mirrored.

Matt frowned. ‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, and took a step to the left.

Which she blocked, too.

He rubbed a hand along his jaw and stifled a sigh. Once might have been an accident. Twice was deliberate.

Matt bit back a growl of frustration. This was precisely why up until now he’d chosen to live in a penthouse in an exclusive apartment block in the centre of London, where none of the neighbours knew each other and no one was interested in wasting time on idle chit-chat. Everyone kept themselves to themselves and just got on with their own lives.

Here, however, out in the country, things evidently didn’t work like that. Whoever she was, she clearly wanted to chat. While he didn’t. Nor did he have the time to tango from side to side like this all morning.

Toying with the idea of clamping his hands round her waist and hoisting her out of the way, Matt dipped his eyes to the narrow strip of bare flesh between the hem of her T-shirt and the waistband of her shorts.

He wondered what it would feel like. Smooth. Silky. Warm. Undoubtedly. And what would it taste like? At the thought of his mouth against the skin of her stomach, moving lower and lower to see what she’d taste like, his mouth went dry and his pulse leapt.

Hmm, he thought, shoving his fists in his pockets. Perhaps putting his hands on her wasn’t the wisest course of action. Conversation, polite but brief, it would have to be. Assuming he could speak, of course.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, her brow creasing in concern.

Matt gave his head a quick shake to dispel the lingering fuzziness and cleared his throat. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘You went very pale for a second.’

‘You startled me.’

Her smiled widened and his temperature went up a notch. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought it would be safer to alert you to my presence rather than wait for you to barrel straight into me.’

At the thought of his body colliding with hers, of having all that softness and warmth plastered against him, a bolt of desire kicked him in the gut. A vision of the two of them tumbling down onto the grass, limbs entwined, mouths jammed together, hands everywhere, slammed into his head and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

So much for trying to kid himself that his reaction to her was simply shock. Shock had never given him an erection harder than granite.

Great. Scorching attraction. Just what he needed.

Matt’s jaw tightened. ‘I was deep in thought,’ he said, finally drumming up some of that steely control he was supposedly so famous for and hauling his body into line.

She tilted her head to one side. ‘I could tell. And not about anything good by the looks of things.’

‘Not particularly.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Is it?’

She nibbled on her lip and nodded. ‘I think so. Especially on a day like today.’

‘What’s so special about today?’ Apart from being the day he thought he might be losing his mind.

‘Well, for one thing, the sun is shining, and, this being Britain in May, that’s a cause for celebration. Plus the flowers are beautiful and the air smells heavenly.’

Were they? Did it? Matt had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice. Now his thoughts had been scattered to the four winds. Forget the flowers. Forget the air. She was beautiful. She smelt heavenly. And her mouth was something else. ‘Really?’ he muttered, trying not to imagine what it would feel like crushed beneath his.

She nodded. ‘A day like today should be all about lying on the grass, reading the papers and drinking rosé,’ she said, giving him another wide smile that had his control threatening to unravel all over again, ‘not marching around and glowering at the ground.’

At that timely reminder about where he was and what he was supposed to be doing, Matt pulled himself together. This was ludicrous. If the people of Sassania could see the state of him now, they’d have thought twice about their decision to reinstate the monarchy.

‘Unfortunately I don’t have time to read the papers or drink rosé,’ he said sharply. And as for sprawling over the grass, well, the less he thought about that the better. ‘So, if you’ll excuse me …’

She stuck out her hand. ‘Laura Mackenzie.’

Matt resisted the urge to grind his teeth. ‘Matt Saxon.’ He took her hand and ignored the leap of electricity that shot up his arm. ‘Look, is there something I can help you with?’

‘I hope so.’ Her voice sounded a little hoarse and she ran her hand over her hip as she cleared her throat.

Matt frowned. ‘If it’s directions you’re after I’m afraid I won’t be of much use.’ He spent so little time in the area he’d had to programme his satnav just to get here.

She shook her head and the sun bouncing off her hair, dazzled him for a second. ‘I’m not after directions.’ She shot him another smile that made his stomach contract. ‘In fact I’m after you.’

For a second Matt couldn’t work out what she was talking about. ‘Me?’

She nodded and a chill, as if the sun had disappeared behind a cloud, snaked down his spine. The lingering trace of desire fled and his body tightened for an entirely different reason.

Why would she be after him? How did she know who he was?

Unless she’d been watching him.

As suspicion slammed into him his pulse began to race. She couldn’t be …

He ran his gaze over her again, this time skating over the curves and the clothing. This time his eyes clocked the camera slung over her shoulder. The corner of a notebook and the pen sticking out of the back pocket of her shorts. The hopeful, eager look on her face.

The chill running through his body turned to ice. Oh, damn. It appeared she was.

His gaze trailed back up and he scrutinised her features, comparing them against the bank of journalistic faces he’d filed away over the past few months. But he drew a blank. Whoever she worked for, he thought grimly, she was new.

Stamping down hard on something that felt suspiciously like disappointment, Matt hardened his heart. Why was he surprised? Why was he disappointed? Once again life was simply proving that some people were only out for what they could get.

‘I’m glad we bumped into each other,’ she said.

He just bet she was. ‘Why?’

The smile faltered and her eyes widened a fraction at his tone. ‘I was on my way to see you.’

‘Were you?’ he drawled as a strange sort of numbness seeped through him.

‘You’ve come from the manor house.’

‘I have.’

Matt shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, deciding to wait and see to what lengths this one would go to wangle an interview. Her outfit was certainly designed to kill.

‘Nice place.’

‘Thank you,’ he said coolly.

‘Fabulous detail on the gabling.’

‘Really.’

‘Absolutely. And beautiful—er—grounds.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Are you the gardener?’

Matt frowned. The gardener? Hah. ‘I’m the owner.’ As if she didn’t know.

Her eyes widened. ‘Oh.’ And then she gave him a smile that had the ground beneath his feet tilting all over again before he could tell it not to. ‘Well, that’s even better.’

‘Of course it is.’

She frowned and blinked. ‘What?’

Oh, she did the innocent thing very well. ‘What do you want?’ he said.

Laura’s smile faltered. ‘If it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if I could come over and take some photos. Of your house,’ she added.

Too much trouble? Matt’s jaw clenched. The complete and utter gall of the woman.

‘It would only be for a second,’ she added, as if sensing his reluctance. ‘You know, just a few shots. If you wouldn’t mind …’

Matt’s tenuous grip on his patience snapped. ‘Yes, I do mind, and no, you can’t.’

The smile slid from her face and she recoiled as if he’d slapped her. For a moment she just stood there, staring at him in shock, her face draining of colour so fast he thought she might be about to pass out.

Matt steeled himself against the brief stab of guilt and the flash of distress in her eyes and told himself not to be so idiotically soft.

What the hell had she expected? That he’d welcome her into his house with open arms? That he’d want to be photographed lounging on the sofa in his drawing room? That he’d roll over and offer her a double-page spread of the new ruler of Sassania ‘at home’?

If she really thought that, she could think again.

Laura blinked a couple of times and then pulled her shoulders back. ‘Oh. Right,’ she said blankly. ‘Well. Sorry to have bothered you. Enjoy your weekend.’

Like that was a possibility now.

As she gave him a vague nod and turned to walk back in the direction she had presumably come from, Matt’s hand shot out and clamped around her upper arm. ‘Not so fast.’

CHAPTER TWO

WHAT the hell?

Laura felt Matt’s fingers dig into her arm and went rigid as alarm flooded through her.

Well, alarm and a whole lot of something else. But alarm was what she decided to channel at that particular moment. Because he might have eyes the colour of dark molten chocolate and thick brown hair that her fingers itched to thread through. He might have a voice that made her think of whisky and honey and warm nights in front of a fire. And he might have a body that she longed to get her hands on.

But he was clearly a psychopath.

All she’d wanted was a bit of a snoop and a few lousy shots of his house, for goodness’ sake. Anyone would think she’d been after his soul.

‘Ow,’ she muttered, wincing and trying to wriggle away from beneath his fingers.

His grip loosened and she pulled back and rubbed her arm where her skin burned. If she had any sense whatsoever she’d be spinning on her heel and racing back to the safety of her cottage. For although she’d been drooling over his house for weeks, at no point had she considered the fact that its owner would be anything other than congenial and cooperative.

Hah. How wrong could you get?

Laura glanced up to find him glowering at her and nearly swooned at the fierceness of his glare. Whatever his problem was, and he clearly had many, she wanted nothing to do with it. She had enough problems of her own. The biggest one at the moment being the treacherous way her body appeared to respond to him.

When he’d taken her hand she’d nearly leapt a foot in the air from the jolt of electricity that shot up her arm. And then when he’d looked her up and down, so thoroughly, as if he could see right through her clothes, every inch of her body had burned in the wake of his gaze. The heat that had whipped through her when she’d been ogling him through her binoculars had been nothing compared to the scorching heat that was thundering through her now.

In the face of such blatant hostility her reaction to him was perverse.

What exactly was it about that penetrating stare of his that pinned her to the spot? Why were her insides going all squirmy and quivery? And more importantly, why wasn’t she taking advantage of the fact that he’d released her, and running off just as fast as her size sevens would carry her?

That was what the old Laura, the one who avoided confrontation like the plague and never said no, would have done. And despite the assertiveness course she’d recently completed, there was enough of the old her still floating around to make her long to run and bury herself under her duvet.

But scarpering in the face of confrontation wasn’t an option any longer, was it? Laura squared her jaw. No. Now she dealt with stuff. Or at least that was the idea. Up until now she hadn’t had the opportunity to practise.

Channelling everything she could remember from the course, Laura took a deep breath, stuck her chin up and returned his glare. ‘What do you want now?’

‘Who do you work for?’ he snapped.

She blinked and inwardly flinched. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘What?’ His eyebrows shot up.

Laura bristled. ‘Well, who do you think you are hauling me around and demanding to know who I work for?’ She tilted her head and shot him a defiant stare. Her tutor would be proud. ‘You know, your small-talk skills leave a lot to be desired.’

Matt’s face tightened. ‘I’m not interested in small talk. Do you or do you not work for Celebrity magazine?’

Laura frowned. Maybe the mushrooms she’d eaten for breakfast had had a touch of the magic about them, because this conversation had her baffled. ‘Of course I don’t. Currently I don’t work for anyone.’

‘Freelance?’ he snapped.

Made redundant, but there was no way she was going into that. ‘On sabbatical.’

‘Right,’ he drawled, clearly not believing her for a second. ‘Then why were you watching me?’

Uh-oh. Laura’s mouth opened. Then closed. And then to her dismay she felt her cheeks begin to burn. ‘What makes you think anyone was watching you?’ she said, aiming for a blank look in the hope that it would counteract the blush. If asked, she’d attribute that to the heat.

Matt raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, let me see,’ he said dryly. ‘How about a pair of binoculars glinting in the sun and pointing straight in my direction?’

Oh, rats. Laura’s heart plummeted. So much for thinking she’d been discreet. She shouldn’t have pushed her luck and indulged for so long.

Her brain raced through her options and she realised depressingly that she had no choice but to confess. Since she’d already told him she’d come looking for him she couldn’t even bluff her way out of it.

She ran a hand through her hair and straightened her spine. ‘OK, fine. But technically I wasn’t actually—’

‘I’ll ask you one more time,’ he said flatly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Which scurrilous rag do you work for?’

Which scurrilous rag? Laura’s hand fell to her side and she blinked in confusion. What on earth was he talking about? Perhaps she ought to suggest he get out of the heat. What with all that bending and twisting while log-chopping, the sun must have gone to his head. Something had certainly gone to hers and she hadn’t even been in the sun. ‘I don’t work for a rag, scurrilous or otherwise,’ she said. ‘I’m an architect.’

A flicker of surprise flashed across his face and then vanished. ‘That’s one I haven’t heard before.’

Laura’s hackles shot up. ‘It’s not a joke.’

‘You’re absolutely right.’

‘Why would you think I was a journalist?’

‘I don’t think, I know you’re a journalist.’

Her mouth dropped open at the scorn in his voice and she had to dig deep and drum up the techniques to Embrace Confrontation to fight back the temptation to quail. ‘You’re insane.’

A muscle in his jaw hammered. ‘So explain the binoculars.’

Laura planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘I was about to when you interrupted me.’

Matt’s expression took on a ‘this’ll be good’ kind of look and indignation simmered in her veins. Why the hell was she bothering? Oh, yes, the house.

Laura tightened her grip on her manners. ‘I was going to clarify that I wasn’t actually watching you.’ Much. ‘I was really eyeing up your house.’

He stared at her. ‘My house?’ he said, his brows snapping together. ‘Why?’

‘Because it’s the best example of seventeenth century architecture I’ve ever seen. Certainly round here.’

‘That’s not uncommon knowledge,’ he drawled.

Laura couldn’t help bristling at his sceptical tone. ‘Undoubtedly,’ she said tightly. ‘However I have more than a passing interest. I specialise in the restoration and conservation of ancient buildings, and I’ve been coveting yours for weeks.’

‘Is that so?’

Matt folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. For so long and so intently that she began to drown in the heat of his gaze. She might be churning with indignation, but that didn’t stop her head swimming, her knees turning watery and her stomach fluttering. Laura silently cursed her treacherous body and hoped to God he couldn’t see the effect he was having on her. ‘Absolutely,’ she said with a coolness that came from who knew where.

Matt tilted his head. Raised an eyebrow. Gave her a lazily lethal smile that zoomed down the entire length of her body and curled her toes, and quite suddenly her skin began to prickle.

‘If you’re an architect as you say you are,’ he said, leaning forwards a fraction and lowering his voice, ‘prove it.’

Prove it? Prove it?

For a moment, all Laura could hear was what sounded like the faint hum of a tractor somewhere in the distance. But that could well have been the blood rushing in her ears.

‘What?’ she said, giving her head a quick shake. Presumably she’d been so distracted by the muscles of Matt’s arms flexing as he crossed them she must have misheard. Been hypnotised by his eyes or something. Or maybe he just had a truly warped sense of humour and was joking. Because what kind of man went round accusing random strangers of being something they weren’t and then demanding they prove it?

‘If you expect me to believe you’re an architect and want nothing more than access to my house, prove it.’

Laura blinked and stared at him. Nope. Gorgeous forearms and mesmerising eyes aside, she hadn’t misheard. And he wasn’t joking. That he meant what he said was etched into the stony expression on his face.

Her pulse raced. What exactly was his problem? Was he on some sort of lord-of-the-manor power trip? Was he completely paranoid? And frankly, did she even want to venture inside his house when he was obviously one pane short of a window?

The rational side of her, the one that was seething with indignation, pointed out that she had no need to continue this idiotic conversation. It was a balmy Saturday morning. She had plenty of things to be getting on with. Like finding a job and sorting out her catastrophe of a life. She really didn’t need this kind of headache, and no mansion was worth this amount of hassle.

However, the professional part of her, the one that had recently been so ruthlessly dismissed, so flatly rejected by the company she’d worked for, clamoured for the opportunity to justify her abilities.

The two sides battled for a nanosecond but the sting of rejection was still so fresh, the wound still so raw, there was no contest.

Laura pulled her shoulders back and stuck her chin up. He wanted proof? Then he’d get it. More of it than anyone not fascinated with old buildings could possibly want.

‘Fine,’ she said, hauling out her notebook and studying the notes she’d made over the past six weeks. ‘From my preliminary investigations I’d say your house was probably built some time between the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. The main structure has two storeys and, I believe, an attic.’

Possibly with a mad relative in occupancy to accompany the one who inhabited the rest.

‘It’s built out of squared and dressed limestone,’ she continued, ‘and has a stone slate roof. I believe it used to be a quadrangle, but it’s now “h” shaped with wings projecting forwards right and left of the central gabled porch. The right hand wing has been substantially rebuilt at the back. I’d say in the mid-nineteenth century.’

She paused to take a breath and glanced up from the pages to find Matt staring at her, a slightly stunned expression on his handsome face.

Good. That would teach him to leap to absurd conclusions and engage in all that sceptical eyebrow raising. And she had plenty more where that came from. She hadn’t even begun on the windows.

She arched a challenging eyebrow of her own. ‘Would you like me to go on?’

Matt frowned. ‘No. That’s fine.’

Stuffing the notebook back in her pocket, Laura pulled her camera off her shoulder and switched it on. ‘Then perhaps you’d like to see some pictures?’ she said. ‘I have one hundred and thirty photos of Regency Bath. I could take you through each one of them if you like. In great detail. I’m very thorough.

And extremely enthusiastic. Honestly I could talk about them for hours.’

The frown deepened. ‘Some other time perhaps. I’m convinced.’

Bully for him. ‘I’m so glad,’ she said witheringly, hauling her camera back on her shoulder and shooting him a cool glance. ‘So why would you think I was a journalist?’

‘Experience of binoculars.’

‘Are you really that newsworthy?’

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘I have been.’

She racked her brains to place his face, but drew a blank. He probably dated supermodels or something. Poor old supermodels. ‘Who are you?’

‘Ever read the papers?’

Laura shook her head. ‘Not often. Too much doom and gloom. Unless you’ve appeared in Architecture Tomorrow, I’m unlikely to have heard of you.’ So there.

‘How refreshing.’

Now she was naïve as well as everything else? Wow, he really knew how to make women feel special.

‘How patronising,’ she fired back, before she could remind herself that he still held all the cards and she was supposed to be being charming and polite.

Matt didn’t say anything. Just looked at her steadily with those dark eyes of his until the urge to kick herself became almost impossible to contain.

Rats. Had she gone too far? Been too demanding, and blown it? Laura caught her lip and frowned. Damn, that assertiveness course had a lot to answer for.

Then the glimmer of a smile hovered at his mouth and the tension that she hadn’t realised she’d been feeling fled her body. ‘It appears I owe you an apology.’

Phew. Thank God for that. She hadn’t blown it. ‘It appears you owe me an apology?’ she said, her eyebrows lifting a fraction as she gave him a broad smile.

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘More than one probably. You’ll have to bear with me, though, I’m a little rusty.’

That was the understatement of the century. ‘An apology would be good,’ Laura said, deciding to capitalise on his obvious unease and press home her advantage. ‘An invitation to take a look around your house would be better.’

Invite her to take a look round his house?

The faint smile tugging at Matt’s lips vanished.

That was absolutely out of the question.

Apart from the invasion of his privacy, with his judgement so skewed and his behaviour so unpredictable, who knew what might happen once she was inside his house and within stumbling distance of a bed?

Matt frowned as his mind raced. He was usually so measured. So careful in his decisions. He never went off the rails. Never made mistakes. So why now?

Maybe the memories the house held were more unsettling than he’d thought. Maybe the stress of the past six months had got too much. Maybe he was cracking up.

Because why else would he have leapt to the wrong conclusion and rushed over here? Why else would he have completely overreacted and lashed out at her? And why else would he be finding it so hard to keep his hands off her?

The flush of colour in her cheeks, the flashing of her eyes and the heaving of her breasts made him want to behave in the kind of prehistoric way that he doubted would go down well with a twenty-first-century woman. Even when he’d thought she was a journalist and had been burning with fury, he’d still wanted to throw her over his shoulder and cart her off to the nearest bedroom.

Which was never going to happen. Even if he’d wanted to explore the attraction that sizzled between them he didn’t have the time and really didn’t need the complication.

Ignoring the sliver of regret that pierced his chest, Matt set his jaw and pulled himself together. A tower of strength, that was him. Rock hard. Implacable.

Above all, he was absolutely not cracking up and it was about time he proved it. Giving Laura a polite smile, he hardened his heart. ‘I’m afraid that’s completely out of the question.’

Oh.

Laura’s smile faded and her shoulders sagged a little at Matt’s flatly delivered response. A flood of disappointment washed through her and a lump formed in her throat. Dammit, she could have sworn he’d been about to agree to her request. She’d thought she’d had it so in the bag.

But as she stared up at him, taking in the rigid expression on his face and his unyielding stance, it was blindingly obvious that Matt had made his decision, and it was equally clear that nothing she said would make him change his mind. He looked unforgiving, unbending and as immovable as granite.

She swallowed back the lump and inwardly shrugged. Ah, well. She’d tried. That was the main thing.

She’d given it her best shot and been defeated. Matt clearly valued his privacy and definitely wanted to be left alone. He’d made his decision and she’d respect that. So her curiosity would remain unsatisfied, but that didn’t matter. There were plenty of other equally interesting houses she could visit if she felt like it. It really was no big deal.

She was on the point of turning on her heel and leaving when her conscience suddenly decided to wake up and demand to know what the hell she thought she was doing.

Hang on a minute. She froze as her head began to pound. Was she really going to give in just like that? After all she’d been through? After all the self-analysis she’d done? After all the money and energy she’d spent on that course?

What was she? A wimp or a warrior?

Feeling determination begin to course through her, Laura stiffened her resolve. Hadn’t she vowed to banish her inner wimp and embrace her inner warrior?

She had. At length. So no way was she going to let the wimp win.

This wasn’t about the house any more. This was about her, and the promise she’d made to herself to shuck off the old Laura and embrace the new.

Matt might be standing there like Everest, but he was still a man, flesh and blood just like anyone else. Well, not quite like anyone else, she thought, letting her gaze roam over him and feeling her temperature rocket, but he was bound to have an Achilles heel somewhere. All she had to do was find it.

She’d get what she came for. By whatever means possible.

Why wasn’t she spinning on her heel and going?

Matt watched the emotions play across Laura’s face and his frown deepened. He’d made it perfectly clear his answer was no, so why was she still hovering there?

More to the point, why was he still hovering there? Just because she was running her gaze over him didn’t mean he had to stay until she’d finished, did it?

‘Oh,’ she said, her teeth catching on her lower lip as she finally lifted her face and batted her eyelids up at him.

Oh, no, Matt thought, steeling himself against the nugget of guilt that suddenly started tugging at his conscience. He was not going to be swayed by the disappointment swimming in the big blue eyes shimmering up at him. Or distracted by the wet red pout of her mouth.

No way. The guilt and the desire could get lost. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and dragged them through his hair. Dammit, this was precisely why he should have been the one to leave.

‘Please,’ she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, the pout curving into an enticing smile.

Matt’s gaze dropped to her mouth before he could stop it and he was thwacked by a vision of those lips roaming over his body, her hair fanning out and tickling his skin as she moved down him, her hands stroking everywhere. At the force of the desire that slammed through him his mouth went dry and his head swam.

And for the life of him he couldn’t remember why letting her loose in his house was a bad idea.

‘OK,’ he heard himself say. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Great,’ she said, the disappointment vanishing from her eyes and her smile switching from enticing to strangely triumphant. ‘Lead the way.’

Why not? Why not? God. He was definitely cracking up. Wishing he could give himself a good slap, Matt muttered a ‘Follow me,’ turned on his heel and marched off.

CHAPTER THREE

WELL, that had been something of a surprise, thought Laura, resisting the urge to punch the air and setting off in Matt’s wake instead. Having never employed such wily tactics before, she hadn’t really expected the pout and the eyelash flutter to work. But while she might be faintly stunned that they had, Matt, judging by the merciless pace he set as he stalked along the path, was fuming.

By the time they reached the front door of the house Laura was hot, panting and, without doubt, hideously red in the face. Matt, on the other hand, hadn’t broken a sweat.

If she was being brutally honest, her current breathlessness wasn’t entirely due to the unexpected exercise. She’d trotted along behind him, her gaze fixed to his lithe muscular frame as if magnetised, and her body had begun to hum with something other than adrenalin. The easy way he moved and the purposefulness of his stride had her thinking about all the other things he might do purposefully and easily, and her head had gone all fuzzy. She’d scraped her hair back into a messy ponytail in the faint hope it might cool her down but it hadn’t worked.

‘Where would you like to start?’ he snapped, dropping his keys onto the console table and whipping round to face her.

With the removal of his T-shirt ideally, Laura decided, totally distracted by the rippling muscles in his forearms as he crossed them over his chest. First she’d slide her hands beneath it and draw it over his head. Once she’d dealt with that she’d run her hands down his torso and tackle his belt. Then she’d undo the buttons of his jeans, hook her hands over the waistband and ease them down over his hips before pushing him down onto a deep soft sofa that was bound to be lurking somewhere around the place. And then she’d sink to her knees and—

‘Laura?’

Laura blinked and hurtled back to reality. God. She was doing it again. At the heat that rushed through her, her cheeks began to burn even more fiercely.

For the first time since she’d decided to become an architect she thanked God for the eighteenth century window tax that had bricked up thousands of windows and ultimately led to dark halls across the country. Including, to her eternal gratitude, this one.

‘Yes. Sorry.’ She blinked and swallowed and gathered her scattered wits. The house. He was talking about the house. Of course. ‘The—ah—attic, I think,’ she said. As far away from Matt and his disturbing effect on her equilibrium as possible.

‘I’ll take you to it,’ he said, heading for the stairs.

What? Alarm knotted her stomach. He was planning to accompany her? Laura shivered at the thought. With him watching her every move she’d never get anything done.

‘No,’ she blurted out.

Matt stopped, turned and stared at her in surprise. As well he might.

‘I mean, it’s fine,’ she added hastily with a quick smile. ‘I’m sure you have things to be getting on with and I should be able to find the attic. Top of the house, right?’

‘Where else?’

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing as if trying to work out if she was entirely trustworthy, and, what with the unorthodox methods she’d employed to inveigle her way inside his house, she couldn’t entirely blame him.

‘Well, quite.’ Laura swallowed hard and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Look, Matt,’ she said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, ‘I really do work better alone. And I promise not to run off with the silver.’

Matt frowned and then shrugged. ‘Fine. I’ll be in the library if you need anything.’

Oh, for God’s sake, Matt thought, scowling down at the report into Sassania’s fishing quotas that he’d been trying to work on and shoving it aside. How long did getting a few photos take? The house wasn’t that big, but Laura had been up there for an hour at least. She couldn’t have found that much of architectural interest, could she?

Something banged right above his head and Matt winced. Perhaps she had. Judging by the sounds of scraping furniture and the hammering on walls that had been coming from various parts of the house, Laura was taking the whole place apart.

While part of him reluctantly admired her thoroughness and determination, another, more persistent part of him had spent the past hour wondering whether her enthusiasm and passion for her work carried over into other areas of life. Like sex.

An image of her lying on his bed, naked, her hair spilling all over his pillows, her long tanned limbs tangled in his sheets, her eyes all slumberous and inviting, slammed into his head yet again and his body stiffened painfully.

Matt shoved his hands through his hair and ground his teeth in frustration. This was ridiculous. He was a sensible rational man of thirty-three, not a hormone-ridden adolescent. So why was he finding it so hard to concentrate? Why had he spent the past ten minutes reading the same page of that damned report with still no idea of what it was about?

It hadn’t been that long since he’d had sex, had it? He cast his mind back and tried to remember the last time he’d had a woman in his bed. Was it six months ago? A year? Surely it couldn’t be longer than that, could it?

Matt frowned. Even if it was, there was no need to panic. He’d been busy. That was all. And it wasn’t as if he needed sex. He’d gone far longer without it and had survived perfectly well.

Footsteps echoed down the stairs. His blood rushed to his head and he pushed himself away from his desk and leapt to his feet. He needed to get out, before he did something really rash like bundle her back upstairs and demand she show him the architectural features of his bedroom.

He’d go and chop what was left of those logs. The release of hard physical work after spending months in stifling meeting rooms had worked earlier. It would work now. Just to be on the safe side he’d stay out there until she’d finished. If he ran out of logs, he’d fire up the lawnmower.

And there was another benefit of his strategy, he thought, identifying the sound of a camera clicking coming from the drawing room and striding across the hall. Laura could let herself out. Once he’d told her where he was going he need never lay eyes on her ever again. And then maybe, just maybe, his body would stop twitching and aching and straining, and he’d regain some sort of equilibrium.

Good. Excellent. It was a brilliant plan. With every step he took he could feel his head clearing and his sanity returning.

Until he got to the doorway. Where he stopped dead.

As he’d figured, Laura was in the drawing room. What he hadn’t allowed for was that she’d be investigating the fireplace. With her back to him, on her knees. With her legs spread and her bottom in the air.

His gaze dropped, automatically zooming in on her bottom, and as his blood rushed to his feet and his body began to pound with lust the breath whooshed from his lungs and his brilliant plan turned to dust.

Laura sensed Matt’s presence a nanosecond before she heard it. The nape of her neck pricked, her pulse skipped and goosebumps sprang up all over her skin. And then she caught the sharp exhalation of breath and the muttered oath, and with utter horror the picture she realised she must be presenting flashed into her head.

Barely a minute ago she’d walked into the drawing room and immediately spied the ornamented fireback of the fireplace. She’d rattled off a couple of photos before hunkering down to take a closer look. As a result she was on her hands and knees, face to the stone and bottom to the air.

Oh, God. A cold clammy sweat broke out over her entire body as mortification flooded through her. It was so not a good look. Heaven only knew what Matt must be thinking.

Desperately seeking to claw back some kind of dignity, Laura clambered to her feet as elegantly and quickly as she could.

Which would have been absolutely fine had she not been tucked inside a four-foot-high fireplace.

Realisation came way too late.

As did Matt’s shout of warning.

With a sickening thud her skull cracked against solid seventeenth century stone. Her yelp of shock ricocheted around the fireplace. For a second she could feel absolutely nothing. Could see nothing but a fuzzy sort of blackness dotted with stars. Could hear nothing but the hammering of her heart.

Then as the blackness faded an excruciating pain shot the entire length of her body and spread throughout her limbs. She let out an agonised gasp. Her stomach churned and sent a wave of nausea rolling into her throat. Her knees buckled and she crumpled. She screwed her eyes tight shut and braced herself for more unimaginable pain.

Which didn’t come.

How strange. Where was the agony? Where was the shock?

Faintly bewildered, Laura just hung there for a second, suspended by two bands of steel that had come from who knew where and snapped round her waist. Come to think of it, what exactly was the solid thing she was pressed up against and why was her body suddenly zinging with electricity?

Her heart beginning to pound even faster, Laura gingerly opened her eyes. And found herself staring straight up into Matt’s, so close, so dark and so focused on her that she nearly saw stars all over again.

When he’d caught her he’d evidently had to clamp her to him. Now every inch of her body was plastered up against his and awareness fizzled along her nerve endings. She could feel the tension in his muscles as he held her. She could feel his heart banging against the palm of her hand. The intoxicating scent of him enveloped her, seeped into her head and made her dizzy.

He was so close she could see flecks of gold in the brown of his eyes. So close his mouth was barely an inch from her own. The lingering traces of pain and shock receded and slow drugging desire began to hum in the pit of her stomach.

Laura’s pulse leapt. Her lips actually tingled. All she’d have to do would be to lift her head a fraction and she could put an end to the speculation and find out exactly what he tasted like. Perhaps she could blame it on concussion, because, Lord, it was tempting.

But it was also just not on, Laura reminded herself, dragging her gaze from Matt’s mouth and fixing it firmly on the wedge of tanned flesh exposed by the V of his T-shirt.

The only reason she was in his house was because she’d guilt-tripped him into it. He didn’t really want her here and, as was clear from the scowl on his face, he wasn’t exactly ecstatic about having had to jump to her rescue.

A kiss from her would be about as welcome to him as UPVC windows were to her. No doubt about it.

Unfortunately knowing that wasn’t apparently enough to stop a deep sigh of longing escaping her lips.

Heat rushed to her cheeks in the silence that followed. God, she really hoped Matt hadn’t caught that. And she really hoped he couldn’t feel her swelling breasts and hardening nipples press against his chest.

But as his arms tightened around her any hope she might have had that he hadn’t noticed her reaction to him evaporated. Her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes jerked up and met his just in time to catch something flaring in the brown depths. Barely a flash, but it was enough to set her heart galloping and her head spinning. And then she felt another part of his anatomy flaring and the bottom fell out of her stomach.

Oh, good Lord.

It wasn’t just her. He felt it, too. Laura’s heart thumped. Judging by the impressive evidence swelling against her hip, Matt was as attracted to her as she was to him. His head was moving forward. His eyes were darkening as they roamed over her face, lingering on her mouth before sweeping back up to meet hers.

For a split second delight shot through her and then quite suddenly panic elbowed the delight aside and thumped her squarely in the chest. Her nerves started to twist into a tangled mess.

Oh, God. If Matt did want her as much as she wanted him then she ought to leave. As soon as possible.

Because if he did make a move and kissed her, she’d never be able to resist. One thing would lead to another and another and another, and before she knew it she’d be back where she started, assertiveness course or no assertiveness course.

It would be even worse if he didn’t kiss her. Because then the danger was that what with her highly unstable behaviour of late she’d be the one to make a move.

Either way the outcome would be a disaster of epic proportions.

So why wasn’t she pushing him away? Why was she letting him get closer?

Time seemed to skid to a halt and Laura couldn’t move. Matt’s hand came up to cup her face and her skin burned as if he’d branded her. Anticipation thundered through her and her bones melted. When he slid his hand up and threaded his fingers through her hair Laura couldn’t help lifting her face. Couldn’t stop her breath hitching and her lips parting.

God, who cared if she couldn’t resist? If this was wrong, why did it feel so right? Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her heart hammered. Desperation to taste him clawed at her insides and she had to bite on her lip to stop another whimper of need escaping.

‘It doesn’t look as if you need stitches,’ he murmured, ‘but you’ll have quite a bump.’

What?

Laura froze. The whimper died in her throat. For a moment bewilderment besieged her brain. And then clarity dawned and she went scorchingly hot.

Agh. The bump on her head couldn’t possibly be any bigger than the one she’d just had crashing back to reality.

What on earth was the matter with her? How could she have got it so wrong? Thank God Matt had drawn back before she’d lost patience and grasped the initiative.

At the thought of just how massive a fool she could have made of herself mortification roared through her and made her cheeks burn. God, was there no hope for her?

Suddenly desperate to get away, Laura wriggled in his arms and pushed against his chest. When his arms loosened she stepped back. And nearly collapsed all over again.

‘Steady,’ he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and keeping her upright.

Laura summoned strength to her watery limbs, shook herself free and forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Look,’ she said with a calmness she really didn’t feel. ‘Thank you for catching me and everything, but you must be busy and I’ve imposed quite long enough. I think I should go.’

Ten minutes ago Matt would have been first in line to agree. Now, with lust ricocheting around him so violently it made his head spin, he wasn’t so sure.

He could still feel Laura in his arms, all that warmth and softness crushed up against him. Her scent, something light and jasminey, was still floating around inside his head. The memory of the smoothness of her cheek beneath his palm and the silkiness of her hair winding round his fingers made his hands itch to touch her again.

When she’d looked up at him with those extraordinary eyes of hers, her mouth parting and her breathing shallow, practically inviting him to kiss her senseless, it had taken every ounce of control he possessed not to do exactly that. Quite apart from the fact that he’d decided he really couldn’t go there, she’d just banged her head. She might well have concussion.

Matt gritted his teeth and fought back the desire to haul her into his arms. Maybe he’d banged his head, too. Maybe he had concussion. What else could be causing this pummelling urge to disregard his common sense, throw caution to the wind, drag her down to the sofa and sink himself inside her?

It would be utter madness. He was about to disappear off to another country. He could promise her nothing even if he’d wanted to.

But it would also be fantastic. Dynamite. It would certainly beat chopping logs the whole weekend. It had been too long since he’d had a woman in his bed and who knew when the opportunity would next arise? Who knew when he’d have the time?

Desire pounded through him and his control began to unravel.

‘Matt?’ she said with a sexy kind of breathiness that had him envisaging her saying his name in a whole lot of other ways.

At the images that spun through his head, the last vestiges of his resistance crumbled and Matt gave in. He wanted her. She wanted him. Why shouldn’t they go for it and to hell with the consequences?

Ruthlessly ignoring the little voice inside his head demanding to know what on earth he thought he was doing, Matt tilted his head and gave her a slow smile. ‘I think you should stay.’

CHAPTER FOUR

STAY?

Oh, goodness.

Laura hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to beat more rapidly than it had when she’d been draped in his arms, but she’d been wrong. It was now galloping so fast she feared it might leap out of her chest.

The atmosphere had turned electric. Something about the way Matt was looking at her made every hair on her body leap to attention and quiver. The intensity of his gaze, the tension in his body and the smouldering smile … A lethally attractive combination that made her stomach lurch. God, if she wasn’t careful she’d be in so much trouble.

‘For what?’

Matt shrugged, but his eyes glittered with intent. ‘Lunch. The afternoon. Whatever.’

Lunch she could do. The afternoon would probably be manageable, too. It was the whatever that concerned her.

‘I can’t,’ she said a little hoarsely, and cleared her throat.

‘Why not?’

‘I have plans.’ That sounded good.

‘Cancel them.’

‘No.’ Excellent. Firm and uncompromising, that was the thing.

‘Why not?’

‘I’m on sabbatical.’

‘From lunch?’

‘From everything.’

‘Why?’

No way was she spilling out all the details of her disaster of a life. ‘I have my reasons.’

Matt’s eyes darkened. ‘I’m not suggesting you give up your sabbatical altogether. Just take a quick break.’

He ran his gaze over her and her body burned in the wake of its trail. Her breasts swelled. Her nipples hardened and molten heat pooled between her legs. Desire whipped through her and she had to fight not to tremble.

A one-night stand. That was what he was suggesting, wasn’t it? How disgraceful. How offensive. And, what with the lust hurtling around inside her, how completely and deliciously tempting.

‘That’s outrageous,’ she breathed, sounding less than convincing.

‘Is it?’

‘I might be concussed.’

‘Are you?’

‘Well, no, I don’t think so, but that’s not the point.’

‘Then what is?’

‘We barely know each other.’

‘So?’

‘I don’t do that sort of thing.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Then why me? Why now?’

A muscle ticked in his jaw and his eyes burned with desire. ‘Because of this,’ he muttered fiercely, closing the short distance between them, wrapping her in his arms and slamming his mouth down on hers.

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