Penny Jordan - The Russian Rivals

As he looked down at her the sudden savage ache of physical desire that gripped his body shocked Kiryl into immobility. She was the one who had to want him so unbearably that her need was impossible for her to resist—not the other way around.

He reached out to push her away, but a sudden movement of the plane caught them both unaware, jolting Alena so that she lost her balance and fell against him, leaving Kiryl with no alternative other than give in to his instinctive male response to protect by taking hold of her. And once she was in his arms his body reacted to her presence there as though it was something it had hungered desperately for.

Need surged against the barriers of his self-control, its urgent arousal hardening, its ache for so much more than the feel of her mouth beneath his as he took it in a kiss that was far more intense than he had wanted it to be.

As their jet descended from the clouds to what for Alena was the most beautiful winter city in the world, it wasn’t St Petersburg that captured and held her attention but Kiryl himself. The hot, passionate swiftness with which he had taken her mouth thrilled and delighted her, and answering arousal rose up inside her to make her strain eagerly and urgently against Kiryl’s openly hardened body. His tongue caressed her own in moves as fiercely sensual and urgent as the most explicit of intimate tangos.

It wouldn’t have mattered where he had chosen to bring her, Alena acknowledged. What mattered— all that mattered for her—was being with him. The landscape of her dreams and the city of her heart was now Kiryl himself.

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