Danielle Lori

He grabbed my hips and set me on the island, spreading my legs to stand between them. He slid his hands up the sides of my thighs, and the warmth of them made me shiver.

He was intimidating, with a heavy presence and a glare that burned, but when he wore a soft, sober expression like now . . . he didn’t even have to look at me to make me burn.

He stopped by my side. The ability to breathe ceased to exist when his thumb ran down my cheek, as light as satin and as rough as his voice. He gripped my chin and turned my face toward his.

We looked at each other for seconds that felt like minutes.

“Don’t follow men into dark corners.” A spark flickered to life in his eyes. It softened when his thumb skimmed the edge of my bottom lip. “Next time, you might not get out alive.”