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stalked through him with such alacrity, even he didn’t know when it would pounce and consume them both.
    The mere notion the scroll Doc had translated could be real, what it foretold could actually come to pass, made spending another moment alone, without who and what he wanted, seem like the most foolish thing in the world.
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    The way the warrior looked at her, his smoky eyes dark and consuming and completely focused on her. It made her forget why she’d come down here. Awoke parts of her she’d never known existed until now. A surge of feminine allure flooded her senses, nearly stealing her breath before it settled over her like a net, becoming part of her. A low throb pulsed in her sex. The overwhelming need to feel something inside her, moving inside her, laying claim to her became a palpable, tangible thing.
    He sensed it. He must have. His eyes darkened by degrees, the solid black of his iris eating up the silver until it was all she could see.
    When he took a step forward, Sparrow instinctively shuffled back. However, the cold and unyielding expanse of the wood desk behind her dug in to her hip. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to go. He stepped again, his eyes blazing hunger, their focus never wavering from her face. The scent of him enveloped her, musk, man and power. Unbidden and salacious visions of them, bodies entwined, his scent marking her skin, flashed in her mind. She gasped, unsure if they were his emotions or her own.
    In that instant she knew what she not only had to, but what she wanted to do. Part of her rational mind branded her a fool for even thinking it. The other lauded her as a genius. Sparrow decided the reality hovered somewhere in the middle. Yet even she couldn’t deny the truth of her plan. If she kept him occupied, kept him here, with her, tonight.
    In that bed.
    Then he couldn’t fight and possibly be killed.
    Slowly her fingers moved to the collar of her white coat. As she tugged it over her shoulders and down her arms, the sound of her heart jackhammering in her chest filled her ears. The fabric hit the ground, pooling at her feet. Although she still wore a button-down blouse and skirt, she felt utterly and completely exposed.
    He stilled. “Doc, what are you…”
    â€œDon’t.” She stepped up, closing the distance between them. So close, her skirt brushed his leg. She reached out, her hands closing around his sinewy biceps, pulling him closer. He came willingly, his chest brushing against hers in a featherlight caress. At the contact, the steady ache he’d wedged inside her grew at a frenzied pace until it seemed her entire body vibrated.
    Gods, she needed something. Needed him to press his body against hers, to put those heavy arms around her. Just once.
    What the hell was wrong with her? She should be angry, scared, worried, anything but riddled with the intense desire to mate. Yet the need for him saturated every pore, rippling out to him in a silent plea. One she had the distinct impression he heard loud and clear.
    A warm hand cupped her cheek, forceful, yet tender. Demanding, yet imploring. Sparrow sank into his embrace. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted this. Wanted to be his.
    â€œJust…please,” she said on an exhale, her fingers circling his wrist. Slowly she steered his hand down her neck, guiding it over her hammering pulse. Lower until, warm and strong, his hand closed around her breast. Her nipples tightened, jutting into his palm. Pure unadulterated heat settled hard and heavy in her core.
    â€œGods.” He sighed, his fingers cupping her gently. “Please what?”
    She whimpered, unable to say aloud what she needed. A large hand framed half her face, his thumb smoothing over her lips.
    â€œYou’re so delicate,” he murmured. “Beautiful.”
    Sparrow blinked up at him, a shiver passing through her body at the sight of him, tall, hard and gorgeous in front of her.