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Page 122
There was something feral about the way he nipped at her lips, taunting her with his questing tongue. She twisted her head as though trying to get away, but her motions were involuntary, a reaction to his erotic onslaught that served only to tease him and not to free her.
Not that she wanted to be free. He held her tightly to him, seeming to anticipate her movements so that her mouth could not escape his, and she reveled in the sensual imprisonment. She ached to be closer still, to feel the hard planes of his body against her without the barriers of their constricting clothing.
She felt his hand writhe up between them, inhaling sharply as he reached her breast, teasing it with his fingertips till her nipple hardened, then clasping it firmly. His breathing grew ragged, but still he tantalized her mouth, then caught it in a hard, firm, passionate kiss.
She was melting, as surely as if she were leaning over a fire; her bones lost substance and her body moistened. "Thorn," she murmured against the pressure of his lips, reaching up to feel the thick column of his neck, the silkiness of his hair.
He answered, but she couldn't understand his words, didn't need to. She felt his free hand move yet again, descending the front of her layers of obstructive clothing till his fingers lay only centimeters above, yet miles away from, her sensitive core. She was consumed with a longing she'd never before experienced with such intensity. Without volition, she pressed herself toward that questing hand and
The sound of voices cut into her thoughts. With a small gasp, she pulled away from Thorn, just as René entered the room from the outside door, followed by a short stranger carrying a cloth satchel. "We have a guest tonight after all," the Frenchman said.
Mariah saw his low brow raise as he looked first at Thorn, then at her.
She ventured a glance at Thorn, who now stood beside her next to the table. His tall form was straight and taut, and he looked toward the intruding men. "Welcome," he said to the stranger.

 
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