Claiming His Princess. Kate Walker

carefully. Told herself that there was only one kind of man who parried around a woman all night and then approached her at the end. The kind her mother would have told her to steer well clear of. What it said about her wanting him regardless she didn’t want to think about.

      He was so sure. So confident. She should shoot him down in flames. Using his own pistol to do it.

      Instead she braced herself against his magnetic sensuality and told herself she would walk away at the end of the song.

      ‘One dance.’

CHAPTER THREE

      DANCE? WOLFE DIDN’T want to dance with her. He wanted to possess her. And for a self-confessed non-game-player he had played a game of parry and retreat with her to rival all others.

      Not intentionally.

      His intention had been to avoid her. But once she’d entered the ballroom in a green dress that flowed around her body like a caressing hand he’d been lost.

      Well, maybe not lost. More like mesmerised. And it had annoyed the hell out of him that he’d noticed that every other male in the room felt the same way. The married ones couldn’t do anything about it, but the single ones had been lining up as if she was a participant in some secret speed-dating service.

      He, on the other hand, had spent most of the night fighting the urge to muscle his way through the throng of wedding guests and throw her over his shoulder like the barbarian she had accused him of being. Hell, his body had been so attuned to hers he’d practically known every time she’d blinked.

      Chemistry. He’d never experienced it quite so strongly. But he knew the quickest way to appease it would be to have her. So far he’d steadfastly stuck to his plan not to go near her but, hell, why not? He was only responding to her like any other healthy male who had held a beautiful woman in his arms and wanted her. Nothing complicated about that. In fact it was so simple he didn’t know why he was dwelling on it so much.

      He would have had more to dwell on if he hadn’t wanted her. And as for that instant tilting of the world he’d felt earlier when he’d caught her…well, it was only lust. Raw, pagan, blow-your-head-open lust. Perfectly rational. Perfectly normal.

      Wolfe looked down into her face. her cheeks were pink and her lips were softly parted as she breathed shallowly. His gaze drifted lower, to the firm thrust of her breasts, her aroused nipples, and then back up. Her gaze was slumberous but slightly guarded, as if she too were a little taken aback by the strength of this thing between them.

      Without making a conscious decision to do so, he spread his hand possessively over her hip, pressing her closer. He knew the minute she felt his hardness because she made one of those softly feminine sounds that had his body jerking in response.

      It made him want to spear his hand in her upswept hair and drag her mouth to his, but at the last minute the sounds of the party still in progress penetrated his desire-drugged mind. Instead he cupped her chin in his palm and brought her eyes to his. ‘I want you, Ava. I want to kiss you until you can’t see straight and make love to you until you can’t move. I’ve thought of nothing else all day.’

      A shiver raced through her and Wolfe felt as if he was poised on the blade of a knife as he waited for her response.

      ‘I…’ She blew out a breath. Swallowed heavily. ‘Okay.’

      Exalted, and no longer questioning his need for her, Wolfe grabbed her hand and fought to keep his steps measured as he led her off the dance floor.

      She’d been allocated a room in the east wing of the château and he didn’t pause for breath until, on the second-floor landing, he felt a soft tug on his hand.

      Turning, he watched her run her hands down the sides of her dress, the nervous gesture only serving to mould it closer. ‘Wolfe.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’m not sure this is such a good idea.’

      Wolfe wasn’t sure about anything except that the sound of his name in her husky, accented voice twisted his insides into a mess. A very hot mess. ‘Not sure what is such a good idea? This?’

      He backed her against the stone wall and raised his hands to frame her face. Then he used every ounce of skill he possessed and leant down to claim her mouth with his.

      Immediately his senses became overloaded with the rich, intoxicating taste of her. He’d known it would be like this. Overpowering. Overwhelming. Her ruby lips were so much fuller and sweeter than he had imagined, and when she parted them and pressed closer the instinct to ravage her consumed him.

      His fingers dug into her scalp to hold her steady as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to explore every corner.

      ‘Wolfe, please…’

      Her soft whimper of need inflamed him to the point of madness. He couldn’t get enough of her. his hands shaped her slender curves, desperate to delve under the dress, and he was keenly satisfied when she ardently returned his hunger. Her uncertainty of moments ago was flung into the flames of a desire so bright it burned him alive.

      She was sensational, and he ground himself against her in ardent anticipation. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this frenzy of need before, and it was just dumb luck that a door banged somewhere along the corridor and brought him back to his senses.

      Fighting for control, he grabbed her hand again and didn’t stop until they were both breathless and inside her bedroom, the door firmly closed behind.

      He hit the light switch and stared at her.

      She stood in the centre of the historically preserved room like a pagan offering, her lips already moist and swollen from his kisses. She sucked in a deep breath and he thought he saw a shadow of vulnerability chase itself across her face.

      It gave him a moment’s pause.

      He had avoided thinking about a woman in any serious capacity his whole life, after having to clean up the damage his mother had caused by her actions. But this wasn’t serious. Making love—having sex, he amended—with Ava de Veers was not a threat to his wellbeing in any way, shape or form.

      It was about pleasure. Mutual, unadulterated pleasure. ‘I like the light on,’ he rasped.

      She moistened her lips. ‘I don’t…mind.’

      Satisfied that he knew exactly what he was doing, Wolfe shoved away from the door and paced towards her. He stopped a breath from touching her and gazed into her wide-spaced smoky eyes, searching out any further signs of apprehension, promising himself he would stop if she showed even a hint of uncertainty. Fortunately he didn’t have to test that theory, because her gaze could have melted iron when it met his.

      His iron will.

      Shaking off the insidious devil of doubt that told him once was never going to be enough with this woman, he curled one hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her up onto her toes. She steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders. The air between them turned to syrup as she tilted her head back into his hand, presenting him with the elegant arch of her neck.

      Wolfe felt his lip curl upward as he thought of the recent vampire craze in the cinemas. Suddenly he understood the draw. Lust pounded through his blood and he brought his other hand up to trace the tender skin she had exposed to his hungry gaze. She opened her eyes, stared into his, and then did something he hadn’t expected—she took charge and pressed her lips to his.

      He let her sip and nibble at his mouth for maybe ten seconds before that primal feeling she dredged up in him took over. Then his hands and lips firmed and he forced her mouth wide, demanding that she cede everything to him.

      And she did. Without hesitation. Her slender arms snaking behind his neck, her body arching into his.

      Wolfe told himself to ease off before he scared both of them, but her mouth angled more comfortably under his and he didn’t