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haven’t slept with anyone since…” His voice caught and he cleared his throat. “I had hoped I could let myself be with someone. Then I realized how crazy that was so I planned to come in here to apologize and leave, but… No. This wasn’t a mistake.”
    His body was flush against hers, and for the first time in a long time she knew what being desired felt like.
    “But we tried this before,” she said.
    He lowered his head and brushed his lips along her jawline. She gasped. Oh. “I see your point. Before was clumsy fumbling in the dark.”
    His laugh rumbled in his chest. “Yes.” He nipped at the corner of her mouth.
    Her breathing deepened. “And I shouldn’t hold that against you? Us?”
    He worked his hands beneath her robe and worked the soft material over her shoulders. He trailed his tongue down to her neck. “Exactly what I’m saying.”
    And then he sucked right between her collarbone and neck.
    She grasped his shirt, moaning. This is what she’d wanted. No seduction or sweet words, just desire and need taking over anything. For once, Layla wanted to be the person ruled by passion and who didn’t give a shit about the fall out. She’d booked a night in this hotel to be wanton, to be anything other than the woman who was cheated on.
    She’d already taken the first step by coming here. Was she brave enough to take the next one? To be taken, no questions or doubts?
    Layla let go of his shirt, and loosened the belt on her robe, letting it fall to the floor.

HUNGER
    She smelled of lavender. Her dark brown skin was the texture of silk. Chris drank her in and let his hands rove over her spine, down to her ass and cupped the lush flesh. She was pressed along his front, her breasts a soft, taunting cushion against his chest.
    Ever since his wife died, he hadn’t been able to touch anyone else without feeling guilty, not feeling like an adulterer. He’d come here convinced something meaningless would push him past his reservations.
    Doubts crept in as he checked in, showered. By the time he stood outside the door he’d known there was no way he could lay with someone, anyone else, but then he’d opened the door. There stood Layla, back lit by the distant city lights looking like a waking wet dream. Six years and the sharp contours of her body had curved. He’d known her when all she wore were tennis shoes to get across campus, but tonight she wore black, strappy high heels. The robe had parted and the soft curve of her hip peeked out.
    Lust, need and a familiarity hit him right in the solar plexus. They’d tried sex before but she’d made him nervous. They’d both been nervous. What could have happened never did.
    But not tonight. Tonight he’d get past guilt to touch her, give her whatever fantasy that had brought her to The Beaudelaire and back into his life. He wouldn’t be a widow but a man who had needs. He’d start feeding those primitive cravings with the curve of her ass beneath his palms.
    He nipped the sensitive skin of her neck. She moaned again. His cock pressed against his jeans, begging for release. He raised his head. She’d put her hand on his chest and brought the other up to pluck open a button. Her fingers were trembling, fumbling over them.
    “Look at me,” he demanded again. She did and his gut twisted. “Layla, close your eyes.” He smiled because she listened. Years and different life experiences filled a chasm between them but it was like being back in college. They were trusting each other, leaning into the other when they needed it most.
    “Imagine we’re in the library,” he said. “I’ve just said something goofy and you snorted.”
    She laughed, but kept her eyes close. “I’m trying to be all sexy.”
    His laughed joined hers. “You are. Even after three hours straight of nothing but studying. You’ve taken your hair out of the ponytail.”
    He ran his hands through her silken strands. Her hair was black as night but soft. He drew it in a fist. “Just