Max Westin. Sex incarnate. She could smell it, feel it with his proximity. Everything about him was a little rough, a little gritty. A primitive creature. Just like she was.
He held her hand a little too long, his thickly-lashed gaze clearly stating his intentions to have her. To tame her . . .
Her name, just one word, but spoken with such possession she could almost feel the collar around her neck.
"It's in your nature," he murmured. "The desire to be taken."
In this game of cat and mouse, everything is an illusion but the passion is as real as it gets . . .
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