She obeys immediately, and I’m so relaxed I forget to mentally prepare myself for the sight of . . .

“Mmm.” I don’t mean to moan. It just sort of slips out. But her arse . . . blimey, it’s fucking perfect. I bite down hard on my knuckle.

“What?” she mutters into the pillow.

“Oh, nothing.” Except I can’t think straight. “It’s just that you’ve got quite a nice little—”

Damn, she moves quick. She’s glaring sharply and I hold up my hands. Little Ann can be feisty when she wants.

“Sorry! A guy can’t help but notice. Truly—best behavior—starting now.” I want her to hurry and lie back down so I can stare at that arse again. This is far too fun.

She rolls back over, slowly and warily, and then—hello, perfect bum. Would it be okay if I touch it? Just once?

No. This is Anna Whitt. It would decidedly not be okay to touch the bum. I recognize that my self-control is unwinding bit by bit. I’m unaccustomed to looking and not touching. Sampling and not devouring. This moment is pushing my limits. I must stay calm, moving us to the next level. My voice comes out low and husky when I talk.

“I need you to trust me and stay relaxed. I’m just going to raise your shirt a bit so I can get to your back.”

Is she buying this? She doesn’t move, so I take that as permission to gently pull her shirt upward and expose her soft, creamy back. My breathing goes a bit wonky. Angel girl is letting me see her skin. She’s going to let me touch her. She’s trusting me.

My fingers sink into the soft skin and muscle on her lower back, working slow circles.

Holy Mary, I’m all but panting. Get it together, Rowe! This is the least sexual thing I’ve done in ages, and it’s turning me on more than a bloody van full of naked girls.

I run my fingers across her back until she’s covered in goose flesh. She is reacting to me, and I need to touch her with more than just my fingers. My hands press down, massaging harder, gripping her waist in my hands. I need more.

I try to shake the rising fog from my head, but it’s no use. My own sense of touch begins to open itself, my skin buzzing with neediness. She feels like silk.

I need more.

My hands go farther, past her satin bra, up to her shoulders. I might rip her shirt, and I don’t bloody care. I am nearly beyond thinking. Her pheromones and red aura encircle me, grip me.

I am need.

I am greed.

And I take what I want.

Her skin calls to me, and I’m above her, moving her hair aside and breathing in the warmth of her neck. I have to taste her or I think I will die—implode—explode—something terrible will happen.

I home in on the spot under her ear, and my desperate lips finally touch her . . . this is my heaven. Her neck is heated, and she lifts her chin, allowing me to kiss further. Her body slightly twists, angling toward me. I open my mouth, dragging my tongue along the silk and salt and sweetness of her. Up to her jaw. And then she’s turning, her hands are in my hair, and she’s leading my mouth to hers.

I am overwhelmed by this kiss. She must be using angel voodoo on me because I can’t think. I can’t. I’m trying, but all I can feel is her lips. I’m more lost to the world than I’ve ever been. I want to let go and never come back. Lose myself in her for eternity.

I need more. I need all of her. Her stomach is so smooth. The satin of her bra is filled with a mouthful of flesh that’s sure to be the most succulent—

Abruptly, Anna shoves me away and I feel as if I’ve been doused by fire.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?

Bloody hell, my heart is pounding like an amateur’s. I cannot let her know how freaked out I am.

She’s panting. “You promised to be on your best behavior.” Her aura is a mix of grays and red. I’m suddenly furious we’re not still kissing. Why would anyone put a halt to such epicness?

“You kissed me, Anna,” I remind her.

“Well, you started it by kissing my neck.”

Mmm, her neck. It’d been so warm and inviting. “True. I hadn’t planned that.”

She paces the room, attempting to fix her hair, but she’s too angry and lustful. She’s shaking.

“Why did you stop?” I ask.

“Because you were moving on to other things.”

What other things? Oh . . . I suppose my hand did wander a bit, didn’t it? “Hmm, moved too quickly. Rookie mistake.”

Judging by the way she crosses her arms, it probably would have been best to keep that thought inside my head. I’m still not quite thinking straight. Why is she having this effect on me? And for the love of all things holy, why aren’t we still snogging?

It was slightly amusing at first when she stopped us, but now that I know she’s serious, I’m starting to feel a rise of panic. My body has not and will not shut off or calm down. This could get ugly.

“I can see you still want me,” I say. It’s true. She’s only being stubborn. Is this some kind of cruel angel punishment? Now she wants to be pissed off instead of lustful? “Oh. There it goes. Mad instead. Well, sort of. You can’t seem to muster a really good anger—”

“Stop it!”

“Sorry, was I saying that out loud?” She really hates when I read her colors, so I do it as often as possible. And right now it’s better to be cheeky than to let her know I’m frantic on the inside. My demand for relief is growing.

“I can read people, too, you know.” Here she goes again with the feistiness. “Well, not you, but at least I have the decency not to notice, to give them some sort of emotional privacy.”