She held her ground as he prowled toward her, his movements sensual and predatory, just as they’d been that first night when she’d seen him at the club. When he reached her, she lifted her arms to welcome him. With an undulation of her fingers moving across his scalp, she tangled them in the strands of his hair as she flattened her breasts against his broad chest and welcomed his mouth returning to hers with an urgency that spoke volumes regarding his own desires. She was the object of them, the focus.

They weren’t engaged in a simple mating between two individuals, but a mating between Aiden Trewlove and Selena Sheffield. The individuals mattered. It was his eyes of dark brown into which she wanted to gaze. His coarsened palms she relished skimming over her skin. His groans that were music to her ears. His roughened voice growling her name over and over like a benediction that caused her heart to pump more madly, joy to spiral out from her core until it encompassed the entirety of the world.

Even if that world at present was small, only them, ensconced in a bedchamber in which she’d never before slept.

Oh, how wise he was to insist they come to a room that held no memories. None of their stolen moments here would be intruded upon. Through the years as she took them out to savor them, they would mix with no other remembrances, would forever remain their own, pristine and untouched by anything that had come before.

She was barely aware of his backing her up until her knees hit the mattress. Lifting her as though she weighed nothing at all, he tossed her onto the velveteen duvet and followed her down, covering her body with his as he once again plundered her mouth.

His flavor was rich and dark, oaky. Scotch had recently passed his lips, and she wondered if the remnants on his tongue were responsible for the drunkenness she was experiencing or if it was merely his nearness that made her dizzy and breathless. He was the finest of liquors, and she feared she’d never have enough of him. That she would always long for another taste, another sip, another joining.

He trailed his wicked mouth over every inch of her as though he were memorizing the words in a book so if the tome were no longer available to be held in his hands, he could still find pleasure in recalling every sentence that made up the story. A lick here, a nip there, a stroke of his velvety tongue where her skin was its silkiest.