Bound to Kill
“But our wedding night should be commemorated, should it not?” he asked.
But he wasn’t really asking.
His mouth came down on hers as uncompromising and hard as she remembered, as he had been since she’d met him so few hours before. This time he tasted her lips only briefly, before moving across her jaw, her temple, learning the shape of her. His mouth was hot. Gabrielle felt her own fall open in shock—in response. She felt feverish. Outside herself.
Something in her thrilled to it—to him—even as the rest of her balked at such a naked display of ownership. Her hands flew to his shoulders, though it was like pushing against stone.
Then, as suddenly, he set her away from him, a very masculine triumph written across his face.
“You are mine,” he said, claiming her.