But Silas Norwood quickly changed his mind.
He was no Quinn Sinclair.
With a man's unique proportions, even the supposedly 'seasoned' Eldest Miss Sterling fumbled repeatedly. As she struggled, she used too much force and rumpled his shirt, which had been buttoned primly to the top.
Her soft body rose and fell on his. The hair he had clumsily tied up for her came loose as she dipped down, the strands scattering and tangling wantonly against the skin exposed by his rumpled shirt. The moment she leaned in, they were so close he could see the friction between the fabrics of their clothes. The girl's alluring fragrance was like a thousand ants, crawling over him with her every movement. A subtle, itching tingle spread across his tense body, and his steady, powerful heartbeat became erratic.
The man, who had always been restrained and self-disciplined, felt his palms grow slick with a thin layer of sweat.
Five seconds.
