His eyes dipped, following the movement of her tongue. Time stretched as if made of wire, pulled taut by conflicting forces. Slow motion became slower. How was that even possible, when your blood throbbed faster, harder, your ears ringing with the sound of the blood pumping around your body, blocking out the sound of the rain pelting down outside.
Theo looked down at her, his dark eyes tortured and wild like the tempest outside. He muttered two strained words. ‘Princess,’ he said gruffly. ‘Isabella.’
His lips brushed hers in a pass as tender as a butterfly’s kiss yet still enough to make her entire body tremble. Her back arched, her arms winding more tightly around his neck, her lips melding with his, welcoming the contact. Parting softly when he ran his tongue along the line of her mouth. As if tasting her. Inviting his kiss.
Her tremor seemed to trigger something inside him. He made a sound, a low groan that came from the back of his throat, a groan that spoke of uncoiling need, of letting go. Then his arms suddenly tightened around her, collecting her closer as he deepened the kiss.
And like the storm raging around them, his kiss stormed her senses, sending her thoughts into turmoil, challenging everything she thought she knew about this man. Challenging everything she thought she knew about kissing. His lips were warm and yet surprisingly soft, his mouth was hot, his tongue knew how to do things she’d never imagined. Her senses were full of him, his taste, his heated touch, his breath mingling with hers, his own masculine scent, musky and warm. It was an onslaught to both her body and her senses. Every part of her—every cell it seemed—was attuned to him. Preparing for him. Nipples straining. Her thighs thrumming. It was almost too much but at the same time, she never wanted it to end.
And it was like everything she’d planned. Only better.
Seducing the bodyguard.
This is what she had wanted. This is what she had planned, hoping to bend Theo to her will.
But planning and execution were two different things.
Execution was threatening to make her forget what her plan actually was…
Right now she didn’t care about her plan. All she cared about was the feel of Theo hard up against her, his mouth on hers, his big hands spanning her waist, his long fingers achingly close to the breasts that hungered for his touch, her nipples jutting hard and straining against his chest, the humming between her thighs becoming a symphony.
And she wanted more.
‘Theo,’ she whispered breathlessly between kisses, her hands framing his whiskered face. The man was a masterclass in contrasting textures. Soft yet firm lips, a whiskered jaw, the hard wall of his chest and abs and the heat of his hands. So much to explore. So much to discover.
If he’d heard her utter his name, he made no acknowledgement. He was under the same magical spell that she was, the outside storm moved inside.
His mouth moved back to hers, his lips meshing with hers, his tongue dancing with hers, and Izzy lost the will to think and gave herself up to sensation.
The sound of his name came as a vague intrusion on his thoughts. But only vague. He had more important things to consider. Like the woman he held in his arms. Her taste was like a drug and now he was addicted. An addict that wanted a fix.
An addict who was seriously in need of a fix.
And he intended to get it.
The crash outside tugged at his senses, senses that were fully diverted elsewhere. But the sound was as unsettling as it was unwelcome. The sound said something was wrong, and no mere desire to ignore it—not even this woman melting into his arms and body—could make it go away.
With an iron will he put his hands on her shoulders, stood back, and took a deep breath.
She stood in front of him, her hazel eyes looking dazed and confused, her pink lips plumped and parted. And with the force of a sledgehammer, it hit him. He’d been kissing the Princess—the woman he was engaged to protect—the woman he’d wanted to make love to.
And red-hot anger—at her for being who she was—but mostly at himself, for forgetting who she was—surged through his veins.
What the hell had he been thinking? He dropped his hands from her shoulders and turned away. That was an easy question to answer. He hadn’t been thinking. Not with his brain.
Instead, she’d looked up at him with those innocent hazel eyes, uttering her words of thanks from that lush mouth, and relief that they’d escaped the storm had only served to ignite yet another storm. A storm that had been brewing ever since he’d laid eyes on the Princess. A storm between the two of them.
Gamo!
She was a princess.
She was his responsibility.
He had no place kissing her.
He spun back. She was still looking confused. ‘What’s wrong,’ she said, looking like she was about to slide down the wall behind her. Which only served to remind him of how liquid she’d felt in his arms.
Vlaka!
