Jacob bent his head and brushed Zande's soft, trembling mouth with his. It was the lightest of kisses, but a gentle lingering, yet she felt it touch her heart, her soul.
He smiled at her, his golden eyes burning with molten heat. With need. "So, piccola, open the door."
Zande's fingers curled in his cotton T-shirt. "No, you do not understand. You cannot go out there."
"Remember your promise to me, Zande. Come to me." Jacob bent his head one last time to her because he had to. She smelled fresh and clean, a breath of air from the highest mountains he loved so.
Her skin was softer than rose petals. His body was making harsh urgent, relentless demands. He controlled them, but he needed to touch her, to feel her response, to feel the burning flames in her matching the firestorm in him. For he was on fire.
