Dark Storm by Christine Feehan

Author:Christine Feehan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Romance, General, Paranormal, Azizex666, Fiction
ISBN: 9781101611579
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2012-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

12

Riley knew she wasn’t alone the moment she woke. She was surrounded by Dax’s scent. Warm. Masculine. Wild. Dangerous—which was strange because she instantly felt safe.

“Open your eyes.”

Her body responded to that soft, hypnotic voice, melting, turning liquid. She lifted her lashes and looked into his face. Desire, raw and electric, sizzled through her body until heat pooled low. He looked sinfully beautiful, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. There was nobility in that carefully carved face. Each feature was distinct and etched with an artistic hand. His short, spiked hair, obsidian black, nearly sparkled, giving her palms a tingly feeling and forcing her to curl her fingers tightly into fists to prevent her from running them through that thick pelt. God, he was gorgeous.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was lying beside her on his side, his body curved protectively around hers, on one elbow, his head propped up by his hand, his eyes drifting possessively over her. The look in his eyes stole her sanity. There was desire, stark and raw that set her blood surging hotly, bringing every single nerve ending in her body alive.

Riley was reluctant to sit up, savoring the feel of his hard muscles, the impressive length and thickness of his heavy erection lying tight against her bottom and the heat from his body warming her. He smiled at her, a flash of white teeth, his strange eyes claiming her. The multifaceted eyes glowed at her with small orange-red flames illuminating the colors of diamonds. His free hand was in her hair, as if he couldn’t resist the feel of it. His long fingers massaged her scalp, sending the most delicious sensation through her.

She blinked up at him. “Hello.”

He inclined his head. “Good evening. I brought you something.”

His hand reluctantly slipped from her hair, and she actually followed the descent of that warm touch with her head, wanting to rub against him more. Was there shyness in his voice? Not quite, but certainly a hesitant charm she found intriguing. She turned over and as he sat up, so did she, stifling a yawn. He traced the pad of his finger down her cheek to her lower lip.

“You have this very tempting lip that makes me want to lean over and just bite,” he said very softly.

She found herself blushing. She wasn’t a woman who blushed, but then men didn’t say blatantly sexual things to her as a rule. Her mother always told her she was intimidating, unapproachable and too striking. The combination, according to Annabel, was lethal when meeting men. Only the bravest would dare to get shot down. Of course mothers had to say things like that—maybe they even believed it. Riley had never bought into her mother’s explanations.

His finger caressed her lip, soft brushstrokes threatening to steal her sanity. She had an incredible, and completely out of character urge, to draw that finger into her mouth. He was temptation personified—the serpent in the garden—and she was falling faster than Eve ever thought of eating that apple.

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