The Missing Maitland. Stella Bagwell

now, she threw her whole body at him. But her efforts were too little, too late. The telephone went flying out into the hot night.

      Yet even in defeat, Blossom continued to strike her fists against him. She wasn’t going down without a fight. Not by a long shot.

      It wasn’t until he had her confined in the tight circle of his arms that he realized she wasn’t just fighting him over a cellular phone. She was frightened and fighting for her life.

      “Blossom! Stop it!” he ordered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

      She went instantly still, her body stiff and rigid in his arms, her breasts heaving against his chest.

      “Then—why don’t you—let me go?” she asked as she gulped in deep breaths of air.

      In the blink of an eye, his rigid features softened. “Because it’s too dangerous. I—have to take care of you now.”

      Confusion crumpled her features and then her body sagged against his. The contact was as startling as it was comforting. Instantly, she was acutely aware of his dark face hovering over hers, the hard expanse of his chest against her breasts, the utterly male scent of his skin and hair enveloping her in an erotic fog. His hands were hot on the flesh of her back, yet she welcomed the heat, the sizzling excitement his touch was bringing her.

      A fleeting recollection of something she’d read dashed through her mind. Something about fighting being closely akin to having sex. Well, at this very moment she believed the notion to be true. Her eyes were riveted to the curve of his lips while a strange need gripped her lower belly.

      “I—don’t—understand,” she whispered.

      “It isn’t necessary for you to understand, Blossom. Just trust me.”

      With each spoken word, his lips drew closer until finally Blossom realized that as far as she was concerned, common sense, fear or trust were no longer issues. She had to kiss this man or die from the wanting.