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came at her door, Keenan jumped, her head
    snapping up. She knew precisely who had come to call and thought of ignoring the
    interruption. She had been engrossed in the hot sex scene between the hero and heroine
    in the book, had been turned on by it, and the interruption exasperated her. When the
    knock came again—louder this time—she hissed and swung her feet off the loveseat,
    snatched the bookmark from the side table to mark her place as she moved to answer
    the door. Even before she reached the portal, that insistent knock sounded once more.
    “All right already!” she snapped. “I’m coming!”
    The moment she opened the door, she knew what he wanted. She read it on his
    face, in the cruel set of his full lips, in the look he gave her. Hell, she could even smell it
    on him. His eyes were glowing with a preternatural light that practically singed her.
    That stare made her heart rate increase, her blood race, and caused a pool of heat to
    form between her legs. She shook her head. “No,” she stated emphatically. “Don’t even
    think you’re going to…”
    “You have no choice,” he said, and barged right past her, “and it’s what I want, and
    I always get what I want.”
    “Excuse me!” she declared, eyes snapping green fire. “I did not invite…”
    Fallon whipped out an arm to encircle her waist, dragging her to him so quickly
    Keenan barely had time to bring her hands up to slam against his chest wall. But her
    strength was nothing compared to his and she could not stop him from molding his
    body to hers. His mouth swooped down to claim hers, slanting across her lips with
    hard, unrelenting pressure, his tongue slipping past the soft flesh as smoothly as a hot
    knife through warm butter. With careless ease he kicked the door shut and backed her
    against it, pressing into her without breaking the possession he had of her mouth. His
    hands dropped to her buttocks and he cupped her, aligning her to the hard bulge in his
    jeans. He ground himself against her, one hard thigh insinuating into the V of her legs.
    He growled low in his throat and all will to resist him flowed out of Keenan
    McCullough.
    The romance book fell to the floor.
    She ran her arms up to wrap around his neck. She lifted her legs to drape them
    around his lean hips, locking her ankles together. Her mouth took his with just as much
    heat and need, and when he turned around, started through the great room with her
    straddling him, her only thought was on what the weight of his body would feel like
    upon hers.
    Fallon blinked, blinked again and lost it completely. He’d gone there to scare her—
    nothing more—but something else entirely was happening, something he’d damned
    sure never expected, and he found he had no control whatsoever over it. What was
    worse, he didn’t want to.
    Fallon carried her into the bedroom and propelled them onto the patchwork
    coverlet like a man possessed. The bed vibrated beneath their weight but all he could
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    Charlotte Boyett-Compo
    think of was writhing upon the soft body under him, entering the sweet, hot warmth
    between the long legs wrapped around his middle and pumping his flesh feverishly
    into hers. He wanted to rip the silken blouse from her and taste her nipples, remove her
    slacks and see if the nectar down there was as delicious as the honey from the lips his
    own assaulted. Jerking his hands from under her rump, he slid one onto her breast to
    knead her flesh—at first urgently then with thoughtful gentleness—his mouth still
    locked on hers.
    Keenan loved his hand on her. His thumb was stroking over her engorged nipple in
    such a way she felt it all the way down to her bare toes. His weight was sublime and the
    knee he had thrust between her legs to push them apart made her want to draw her
    unsheathed nails down his broad back. But when he pushed up and put his hands on
    the front of her blouse—his intent apparent in the glittering depths of his amber eyes—
    she shook her