Hero: Jack Talent. A man whose need for revenge wars against his overwhelming need for a certain woman.

Heroine: Mary Chase. Her past history with Jack places them at odds. She’s never sure if she wants to kiss him or punch him in the throat.

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Crystalline beads of water trickled over his skin, found the valleys between his muscles, coalescing and traveling down to the dark thatch of hair just peeking out above the line of his drawers. Linen drawers that were growing wet from his bath, growing transparent against his long, large…

Fear tingled through her. Had he sensed something amiss? But he did not look up. The wide column of his neck shone wet as he kept his head bent. And though the fan of his lashes hid his eyes, the direction of his gaze was unmistakable. As was the growing bulge beneath his drawers. The shaft thickened and rose, curving in a painful looking bend as it met with the resistance of the fabric. Idly, he scratched the skin of his taut belly, his fingers drifting nearer to his burgeoning cock.

Mary’s being went utterly still. Surely not. Surely he wouldn’t.…

But he did. The rag fell back into the basin with a loud plop as his hand went to the ties of his drawers. The linen snagged on his cock before he eased the fabric away. And then, good God, but his member rose up, proud, ruddy, and straight, so lovingly displayed between a dark nest of hair and his heavy cods.

She almost fled, dissipated right then and there, save she could not look away. Not from that glorious, rude cock, nor his firm arse and powerful thighs. He was extraordinary.

Ignorant of being watched, he gave himself a slow stroke, skimming it really, as if contemplating further intimacies. He caressed it again, up and down, clutching the wide shaft in the circle of his fingers with absolute authority, going slowly as if letting his pleasure build. Up. Down. A chuff of breath left his parted lips, and his eyes fluttered closed, his thick brows furrowing. His speed increased, the tendons on his forearms shifting and straining as he moved.

Mary stayed. Transfixed. Yearning. I want to be the one doing that. She coalesced further, until she could feel her ghostly palms pressing against phantom skirts. It made no sense. He was horrid. She didn’t care. She wanted to fondle Jack Talent’s cock.

The soft slap of flesh working against flesh, and his’s light pants, filled the air. One arm came down to the basin, bracing, his muscles flexing. His expression was one of near agony, his lips parted.

His hips were working now, rocking and thrusting his cock into his clenched fist, and he grunted, small, helpless sounds. He undid her with his magnificence and the unfettered passion he let loose. It felt strangely intimate, as though she were locked in the battle with him, sharing the moment in some small way. Equally, she was utterly apart from him, watching without touching, spying without his knowledge. The divergence rattled her soul.

The massive muscles of his thighs twitched and bunched, and his heavy cods swayed with the force of each tug. The knuckles bracing him up turned white with strain. And that cock, so engorged now that the fat head was nearly purple. As if it were weeping for release, a gleaming drop of moisture welled from the tip and rolled down like a tear. Talent’s thumb swept over it, spreading it around, making the head gleam. Mary’s soul flared white-hot. Had she a mouth, she would be crying out, begging for mercy.

A pregnant stillness settled over the room. Jack leaned forward, shaking and hunched over the basin as if his legs might give out. His chest heaved, his abdomen taut and quivering with each breath. And then his dark eyes, glittering in the reflection of the mirror, looked right at her. As if she were flesh.

Sheer terror, tinged with hot humiliation, prickled through her being as his husky voice lit over the room. “Was it good for you, too?”

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Read my review of Shadowdance by Kristen Callihan here. I can’t recommend this series enough for action packed adventure, luscious emotional romances, and some hawt steamy loving.

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