Willow woke to warmth, a slow spreading warmth across her back, her hips, and the length of her legs. It was so soft and steady that for a disoriented heartbeat she believed she was still on the plane, cocooned in the muted drone of engines and the dull safety of distance. But as her senses sharpened, memory returned with sudden force, cutting through the haze with the sharp clarity of lightning tearing open the dark.
Zane's hands and his mouth came back to her in flashes: the remembered impact of her back striking the wall, the uneven edge of his breathing against hers, and the heat of the bed beneath them. She remembered the way she had clung to him when she finally surrendered to what had been building between them for weeks, and the things she had felt and allowed herself to want. What unsettled her most was not the memory itself but the intensity of it, the shock of how completely her body had answered him without hesitation or restraint.
