Warrior Untamed - Shannon Curtis Mills & Boon Nocturne

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The hands of a musician with the strength of a warrior. The thought came out of nowhere, distracting and disturbing, and she shook it off. She was the Scion of the White Oak Coven; she could more than handle herself with any man in this room.

      She clutched her skirt, lifting it slightly to step outside without falling flat on her face. The night air was warm, with a slight breeze that was like a sensual trail of ethereal fingers across the skin. Her brows dipped. Surprisingly balmy for December—but Reform balls were always held in October. She was sure it was snowing outside...again, something fluttered in her mind, easily ignored. Small starbursts of color bloomed in the pots evenly spaced along the balustrade, white roses unfurling under the stars.

      She stepped out of the light of the doorway to face the stranger. “So tell me, which Prime family are you associated with?”

      He shrugged. “Does it matter?” He grinned, and she stared at the sexy tilt of his lips, the flash of white teeth. “Honestly, I never really got into these events. Always thought they were too pompous. Didn’t realize the company could be so beautiful.”

      Her cheeks warmed as his dark eyes flared with a heated appreciation that was hard to miss, despite the mask. An appreciation that was returned. Despite her champagne, her mouth felt dry, and something lazy and sensual uncurled deep within her.

      “So, you’re not really a fan, huh?” she whispered, intrigued someone else viewed the marriage mart and alliance negotiations with as much disdain as she did. Intrigued by a man who seemed neither vampire nor lycan—or any of the other shifter breeds.

      He took the glass from her hand and placed it on the ledge of the stone balustrade that bordered the terrace, his gaze dropping to focus on the cleavage revealed by her low-cut bodice. His lips curled higher, his gaze grew hotter and her heart thumped in her chest. “I could be changing my mind about that,” he whispered, raising his hands to cradle her face, turning her until the base of her spine pressed against the balustrade. Her heart thumped a little faster. She didn’t feel physically threatened, but something whispered to her, something full of warning and wickedness, and yet it didn’t frighten her. It excited her.

      His scent, something wicked and musky, with patchouli and a faint undertone of amber, enveloped her, entrancing her, and she slowly raised her hands to his broad shoulders—not sure yet whether she was pushing him away or drawing him closer.

      Then he lowered his lips to hers.

      * * *

      There was no soft teasing or gentle awakening, Melissa realized. His mouth demanded, and she delivered, parting her lips as his tongue swept in to rub against hers. His hands delved into the intricate curls on top of her head, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss. Over and over, his mouth moved against hers. Her pulse began to throb in her ears as a sensual warmth swept over her. He pressed against her, and she could feel the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in the biceps that bunched as he pulled her closer, ever closer. She moaned softly, tilting her head back as he explored her mouth, her heart thumping in her chest, her breasts swelling as arousal, hot and hungry, flared within her.

      He bent down, his hands sliding over the back of her skirts, and she felt the earth shift as he lifted her up and settled her on the balustrade. His lips left hers to trail a hot caress down the side of her neck, and moist heat gathered between her legs as she tried to wrap her thighs around his waist, the cumbersome skirts an aggravating barrier between their bodies. Cool air teased against the moist trail, and her nipples tightened at the sensation. He pressed his hips against hers, and damp heat flared between her thighs. She tilted her head back as he rubbed himself against her in a carnal dance that had her aching for more. Now.

      The erotic heat spread from her chest to her thighs, and she writhed against him, craving skin-on-skin contact and deliciously frustrated by their clothing. He nipped, his teeth sharp but delicate, causing the pinpricks of sensation to dart down to her nipples and farther. He licked his way across the swell of her breasts to the edge of her beaded bodice, hot licks that had her trembling, her breasts swelling even further at the attention. Desire, arousal, a deep yearning couched in hot hunger flooded through her, hot and demanding.

      Her eyes opened, and she glanced down as her nipples tightened, craving his touch—any touch. His dark hair was so stark against her pale skin, like some carnal demon having his wicked way with a virgin.

      She smiled. Only she wasn’t a virgin. Her hands slid to his hair and she tugged, tilting his head up and claiming his lips with a hunger that rivaled his. Their tongues tangled, dueling for domination. This...this was heady, wanton... She’d never felt this free, this shameless, with anyone. Not even Theo.

      Theo. The last time she’d been to a ball, she’d been with Theo.

      But this wasn’t Theo.

      She tore her mouth from his, panting as she stared at the handsome face, his lips wet from her kisses. She knew those lips.

      “No,” she gasped.

       Chapter 4

      Melissa jolted awake, her body tight with need, craving a satisfaction she’d just denied herself. She rolled over in her lonely bed, groaning with frustration.

      Her heart pounded, her nipples were tight and longing for the touch of a man’s hands and her thighs were damp. She sat up in bed, her eyes wide as her chest rose and fell with her pants. What. The. Hell?

      Realization dawned, and she dived out of the bed, stomping out of her bedroom and through her small apartment above the bookstore. That bastard. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but he’d taken one of her memories and twisted it. She remembered that night, damn it, and she sure as hell hadn’t been out on the balcony kissing an anonymous stranger. She flung her front door open, then slammed it shut behind her. That...jerk. The relief at realizing she wasn’t willingly fantasizing about her prisoner was quickly consumed by rage. She ran barefoot down the stairwell to the corridor that led to the external street access, her pink nightgown streaming, the silk unfurling in her wake as though caught in an invisible tempest. Two steps down the hall was the internal security door to her store. She didn’t bother to manually key in the code. She snapped her fingers. The door swung open. She stormed through her bookstore, disregarding the books flying off the shelves and falling to the floor behind her as her power raged around her. Anger poured through her, and she could feel her power building within her. She should scale it back, temper it a little, but she just wanted to let loose.

      She swept through the door at the back of the store, chanting as she scampered down the stairs. The door to her apothecary burst open before her and she stalked across the underground room. The cupboard hiding her fire hose reel caught her eye, and she halted, seething.

      Yep, this would do the trick. She yanked open the doors and pulled on the head of the hose, flicking the lever at the base of the hose reel. She turned to face the mural. A flick of her hand, a quick, fiercely muttered incantation, and she unlocked her wards. The painted door flung open. She didn’t stop for the torch. She climbed down the stairwell, tugging the hose along with her. The bare concrete floor felt cold beneath her feet, but she didn’t pause until she came up to the steel door. She used her power to slide the lock and thrust the door open. It made a resounding clang as it snapped back to the wall.

      Her prisoner jolted awake, blinking as he pushed himself up from the floor where he lay.

      “You need to cool down,” she snapped, and yanked the lever on the hose.

      Ice-cold water shot across the room, pummeling the man on the floor. He roared, trying to gain his feet, but she kept the hose trained on him. He slipped, tried to rise again, but the force of the water was too powerful, and he fell back against the wall.

      He bellowed as he tried to twist away from the high-pressure blast of water, but she didn’t give him any relief. After a long moment, she shut the hose off.

      “Stay the hell out of my head,” she yelled, and whirled around, the door slamming shut behind her, the lock sliding home.

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