AUTHOR
In the guest wing, Paige was a storm of frustrated energy. The impossibly soft Frette linens were a tangled mess around her.
She punched a pillow with a grunt of pure exasperation, then threw it across the room where it landed with a soft thump against a sleek B&B Italia armchair.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it again—the demanding pressure of his kiss, the heat of his skin under her hands, the low, husky promise in his voice. 'I won't touch you again until you beg me to'.
A shudder, equal parts desire and fury, wracked her body. It was a physical ache, a relentless thrumming that left her tossing and turning, chasing a release that wouldn't come.
Down the hall, in the master suite, Reomen was fighting his own battle. He lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other fist clenched in the sheets.
