Darcy Branwyn

Lothar reached out, catching her off guard. She jerked back before realizing his intentions. His palm formed neatly around the back of her head. He drew her closer, Danielle having to take two steps to meet up with him. She looked at his face as he hovered there over her, his scent obliterating Nick’s.

“I…” He stopped, and a shudder rolled through him. It seemed to carry her along with it and she felt a burst of awareness over her skin. Her face felt warm and the air too thick to breathe. She was suddenly hyperaware that there was no bra under her sweater and the firm heat of him through it. “I can’t.”

She shook her head, wishing for not the first time that he was better at communicating himself. “Can’t what?” she asked, her throat hoarse.

His other hand pressed the small of her back, and then she was crushed mercilessly against him, her softer body forced to form to his. His fingers twitched as if with restraint against the back of her head and at her hip. He bent her neck further back, exposing her throat to him.

Danielle growled deep in her throat as he smelled her scent straight off her skin. Heat erupted within her and her stomach tightened like a hard ball—no, that wasn’t her stomach clenching so hard it ached. Damn it, Lothar, can’t you see what this is doing to me? He lifted his head and looked at her, still arched to him in submission.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. She heard her own low growl as if coming from someone else.

His lips pressed hotly against the center of her forehead for a moment, and then he let her go. His gaze flicked once, briefly over her, and then he backed away—leaving her gasping for air.

She could still feel him touching her. She brushed her hand down her stomach, swallowing hard. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

Hey, Lothar, would you mind, oh, I don’t know, dragging me into the other room and ripping my clothes off, because I’m impossibly virginal, and I know you can do something about that.