Shifter's Dance Read Online Free PDF Page B

together. She remembered how sweet it had tasted
yesterday, couldn’t help but let her tongue steal out for another
taste. At the contact, they both groaned.
    “Why, Stephen? Why do you make me feel this way?”
Her voice broke.
    “Do you believe in soul mates, Romy?” His breath was
ragged. She shook her head, but didn’t drag her face away from the
comfort of his shoulder.
    “No,” she answered.
    “If you did, this would be easier.”
    She felt him chuckle, lifted her head to lick at his
chin. “What, getting in my pants?”
    “No, getting in your heart. Let’s go back to the
hotel, okay? We can talk more there.”

Chapter Eight
    But talking didn’t seem to be on the menu. He was
silent in the elevator, though she could feel him, smell him, taste
him. She didn’t know if he was right next to her or all the way to
the other side of the box. In her mind, he filled the space the way
he filled her thoughts and his presence kept her body humming and
vibrating to the larger than life fantasy he became when he stepped
away from her. He was under her skin and he wasn’t going
anywhere.
    She felt his hand on hers and suddenly she was in
his arms and this was okay—better than okay—because as soon as he
touched her she felt anchored, present in a way that no yoga or
meditation had made possible.
    “Kiss me.” His command carried a rough edge, urging
her up to her toes. Even in tennis shoes, her feet were strong
enough to propel her all the way up, en pointe, to the very
tips of her still-bruised toes, and she pressed her lips to
his.
    Cymbals clashed and strings swelled and she didn’t
care that the orchestra only played in her head as one leg wrapped
around his waist.
    His hands slid down and dragged her up his body,
holding her exactly where he wanted her as she tasted him, buried
hands in his hair, and felt him crowding his way into her heart.
The roughness of his breathing told her he was as affected as she
was.
    A bell chime and a rush of air and the elevator
opened and he was pushing her against the door to her room as she
fumbled in her pocket for a key.
    “Now, now, now,” she pleaded.
    He crossed the room to her bed in four sure, strong
steps, flinging her cane aside as he dropped her down on the
mattress.
    “Romy.” A breathy whisper as he lay down beside her.
“Slow down, love.”
    “Need you—can’t get enough.”
    It wasn’t hyperbole.
    Desperate for the taste of him, the texture of his
skin on hers, she tugged at his shirt, trying to get at the heated
skin beneath. A low growl rolled from his chest as he snatched her
hands away and pinned them to the bed.
    “Romy Lewis. I swear by all that is holy you will
get every inch of me you want, but if you don’t want me to come
before I’m halfway inside, I need you to stop touching me for a
moment, okay?”
    Startled, she did as he said, relaxing against the
bed and letting the tension seep out of her body.
    “Every inch?” she teased, her lips tilting up at the
corners.
    “Every inch.” He growled back, letting go of her
hands in order to tug her clothes from her body. She let him
undress her, all the urgency that had been stirring her a moment
ago giving way to a deep languidness as he stroked down her limbs,
caressing the strong ropes of muscle that had propelled her across
a stage countless times.
    When it occurred to her to touch him back and she
reached for him, she touched naked skin, warm and covered with soft
hair.
    A heartbeat oriented her just as her fingers skimmed
a nipple. His chest. She explored him with her hands, listening to
the changes in his breathing as she touched him, running her hands
down his chest, first gently, then with more confidence and fervor
as her own lust roared inside her.
    When his mouth closed over her nipple, her head
lolled back and his name flowed from her lips over and over again.
A huge hand plucked and rubbed at the other nipple before he
switched sides, lavishing wet heat over her entire breast