Despite the love and sensuous addiction they shared, Lord Marcus Templeton could never marry Natasha Polinoff. Not while he remained under his grandfather’s vise-like control. But when Natasha announces her out-of-wedlock pregnancy – which would destroy his inheritance – Templeton explodes into a rage. One that sends Natasha running into the unforgiving night, never to return…
Now five years have passed, and Lord Templeton has finally found his beloved. And this time, the viscount will have her.
However, Natasha has settled into a new life with her young daughter. Lord Templeton’s arrival fills her with terrible fear… and undeniable longing. He has come to claim her. Yet even as her body still longs for his touch, her anger still burns. She is no mere possession. But Lord Templeton will do whatever it takes to bring her back into his arms and back into his bed. Even if it means resorting to blackmail to make Natasha his wife…
She was inviting him in. Again. Despite her best intentions, he was striding past her into her house.
I love you.
The three words still ricocheted in her body. She was foolish. She was vulnerable.
And she wanted to believe.
Natasha tamped down the unbidden yearning, the girlish dreams that she had thought long since relegated to fantasy.
Soul mates. He had suggested the idea to her so long ago, seduced her with it, and then she’d forced it away, derided herself for ever entertaining such a thought. Of course, she had been prime for such suggestion. Had she not felt that urgent rush of…something…a push forward from her heart to his? She had been so ready to think it grand, extraordinary, fated.
Despite the derisive tenor of her thoughts, it was difficult to completely erase the glow of pleasure she felt at his declaration of love. Chiding herself for that insidious emotion was unsuccessful as well.
“Leona is outside in the garden making snow angels.” She closed the door and turned to follow him into the sitting room. Only––
He hadn’t moved very far and suddenly he was looming over her.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. For a moment, the sensation of falling overwhelmed her. Then the back of her head touched the firm wooden door, and she quickly reached back to assure herself she was still standing, still upright. The pounding of her heart was as foolish as any gothic heroine’s.
“I’ll willingly take whatever you give me, Tasha,” Marcus said, reaching out. His gloved hand was cool on her neck but as he moved closer, the heat of his body warmed her. “And then,” he was close now, too close, and she knew he would kiss her, “I’ll ask for more.”