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But this close she saw nothing but strength. There was strength in the arms that caged her, in the dip and swell of muscle, in the width of the powerful shoulders that blocked her view of the world. There was strength in the lines of his cheekbones and in his jaw, shaded by stubble.

Her gaze met his and his eyes made her think of long summer days filled with blue skies and endless possibilities.

“I don’t mind the rain.”

His mouth hovered dangerously close to hers. “I forgot you were British. We probably have a different relationship with rain.”

“Rain and I are intimately acquainted.”

“I never thought I’d envy the rain.”

He lifted his hand and stroked her damp hair back from her face. She felt the tips of his fingers brush across her skin, lingering, and knew this wasn’t about clearing her vision of damp hair and rainwater.

It was about exploration. Possession.

It had been so long since she’d been touched like this and she was super-sensitive, her imagination and her senses keenly aware of every touch.

Dear Aggie,

There’s this guy I find impossibly sexy, and when I’m with him I forget everything. He doesn’t want a relationship, so I know that anything we share will be short-term. I’m worried he’ll break my heart. But if I walk away I’m afraid I may be losing something special.

What should I do?

Yours,

Light-headed.

The rain was coming down harder now, but only the occasional drip managed to squeeze its way through the cascading branches of the weeping willow. They were sheltered in their own private glade, protected by the tangled labyrinth of green and gold.

She’d thought there would be plenty of people seeking shelter, but it seemed everyone else had chosen to leave the park. They were alone—or at least it felt that way— trapped by the weather and cocooned by nature. It was as if someone had drawn curtains around them, concealing them from the world.

She was aware of the muted thud of raindrops as they pounded the canopy of the trees, of the rustle of leaves and the whisper of the breeze through the branches. And she was aware of the beat of her heart and the uneven note of his breathing.

She raised her hand and brushed a raindrop from his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble under her fingers.

Dear Light-headed,

None of us can predict the course of a relationship. All we can do is go into it with an open heart and trust our instincts.

It’s hard not to worry about being hurt, but when we insulate ourselves from hurt we also risk insulating ourselves from the very thing we are seeking. Love. Instead, have confidence in your ability to handle whatever comes. You can fly, but first you have to trust your wings.

As he lowered his head she rose on tiptoe and lifted her mouth to his, meeting him halfway. Or that was what she told herself. Truthfully, from the moment his mouth met hers there was no doubt who was in control.

He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her with slow, leisurely purpose. There was something aggressive about the way he held her prisoner, but something infinitely gentle about the coaxing pressure of his mouth on hers.

With each brush of his mouth and each stroke of his tongue he stoked the heat until she was shaking and dizzy with desire. The pleasure was disorienting—a low drag in her belly, a shimmer of electricity across her sensitized skin.

Her fingers speared the soft silk of his hair as she tried to pull him closer.

Reason and logic were drowned by the rising tide of arousal. She was unable even to pose a question—which was a good thing, because she wouldn’t have been able to speak. All she could do was feel.

The world around them vanished, until there was only the erotic touch of his mouth and the soft patter of rain on the leaves.

She melted under the dizzying strokes of his tongue, swaying against him, and felt his hand stroke down her back and linger on the base of her spine, pressing her close. That touch confirmed everything she already knew about his body. That it was hard and strong, conditioned and athletic. The unyielding pressure of his muscles suggested he did more to keep himself fit than just chase a dog around the park.

She didn’t know how she’d got there, but somehow she was trapped between the sturdy tree and the power of his frame.

And still he kissed her.


Tags: Sarah Morgan From Manhattan with Love Romance