She heads over to the bookcase and pulls out a book. "The Art of War by Sun Tzu."
"Victory belongs to the side that prepares before the battle begins." I can’t help but speak the lines which are stuck in my mind.
She slides it back, pulls out another. "Meditations by Marcus Aurelius."
"Control your mind. Control the outcome." I prowl toward her.
"You took that one literally," she huffs.
"Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain." She shoots me a glance. "Interesting choice of a book."
"Tristan’s gift to me. I think he saw before I did that I was going to become a chef. He wasn’t happy when I joined the Royal Marines, but he respected my decision."
I reach her.
And when she turns, she tips up her head. There’s a defiant tilt to her chin. And a seductive light in her eyes.
I step forward, so she has to flatten herself against the bookshelf.
I kick her legs apart.
She gasps.
I push up against her, and she whimpers. "James.”
"Hmm."
Without hurry. Making sure she can feel the ridges of my chest, the power of my thighs against hers, and between us, the thick, long, very insistent arousal that digs into the softness of her belly.
I wrap my fingers gently around her throat. She shivers, then brings her hand up to circle her fingers around my wrist. They don’t meet.
Her pupils dilate. She licks her lips, and a groan escapes me. I can’t take my gaze off that luscious, shiny mouth of hers.
"What am I going to do with you, hmm?"
Without waiting for an answer, I lower my mouth to hers. I lick her lips, and when she parts them, I slide my tongue over hers, drawing her fragrance into my lungs. The blood drains to my groin.
I tilt my head and deepen the kiss. Her softness, her sweetness, all of it makes me want to throw her down on the floor and rut into her. I tighten my hold on her throat, and a moan wells up her chest.
The sound cuts through the sexual haze in my head. It reminds me of where we are. The fact that I could lose control so easily when I’m with her sobers me up further.
I soften the kiss and pull back from her. “We should head down to dinner.”
47
Harper
James looks down at me, his fingers still a collar around my neck, a look of frustration on his features.
I was so sure he was going to lose control, but he didn’t.
He releases me and steps back. Then straightens my dress.
"Uh, I think you should attend to that." I nod toward the impressive tent at his crotch.
"Yeah." He surveys me again. Then, satisfied, he strides to the doorway of the room.
He jumps up, grabs the bar, and in his suit, with the jacket stretching over his impressive back, proceeds to do pull-ups.
