16

Celia lay underneath Evan’s big body. Every part of her was covered by him. His heat penetrated her, seeped into her flesh and whispered seductively through her veins.

She wanted him. God, she wanted this man. Her need for him frightened and exhilarated her in equal parts. She knew she shouldn’t—that she mustn’t—and yet she also knew she wouldn’t tell him no.

There would be no recriminations later. There would be no regret. She knew the potential pitfalls of making love with Evan, and she would face them with full acceptance.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She raised her gaze to meet his. He was propped on his arms, his body still flush with hers and their noses were mere inches apart.

His eyes were warm with desire, liquid with want, and her heart fluttered in response.

His voice was so tender and understanding. He stared down at her like she was the only woman he’d ever made love to. A mixture of awe and wonder that humbled her.

“I was thinking we shouldn’t do this,” she admit