Free Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy) by Jani Kay

sleepy eyes and messed up hair. He drew in a sharp breath.
    “Sorry,” I said, still sleep mussed. “I overslept. Jetlag.” I half smiled apologetically. I was still too sleepy to be in fighting mode.
    Maxwell pushed the door open and stepped into the room. He’d invaded my comfort zone now, so I took a step back instinctively, clutching the sheet around me.
    His eyes widened and his jaw clenched. “Stop fighting me, Rebecca,” he said with menacing calmness as he took another step forward, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me toward him. Before I could protest, his mouth was crushing mine.
    Searching. Hungry. Invasive.
    He gripped my hair at the roots. I couldn’t move. I tried to push him off me with all my strength, letting the sheet slip from my grasp. I winced as it fell to the floor, feeling exposed and vulnerable. There was only one thing I could think to do. I bit his lip, drawing blood. With a jerk, he stopped his invasion of my mouth and instinctively stepped back.
    His gaze traveled down my barely clad body, the sheer pink lacy panty and bra leaving very little to the imagination. He groaned loudly and pushed me against the wall, pinning both my wrists above my head with one large hand, palming my breast in the other, squeezing hard. I yelped.
    “God, I want you.” His mouth claimed mine.
    Probing. Relentless. Possessive.
    I couldn’t breathe.
    His tight grip was digging into my flesh, hurting. I wriggled and tried to free myself from under him, but he was too strong. His torso pushed against my chest, his knee between my legs, rubbing against my apex. The friction was…delicious.
    I was getting wet. Turned on. God, no .  
    Unable to block him, I stopped writhing beneath him; it had only seemed to excite him more. Me too. I didn’t understand why it was affecting me this way.
    I hate the fucker, yet I’m aroused. Shit.
    I couldn’t stand it any longer. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
    He stopped abruptly as if a snake bit him and stared at me.
    “You’re crying.” Confusion marred his face, as if he’d never seen anyone shed tears before.
    Sobs wracked my body, I was shivering uncontrollably.
    “I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to… ” With his thumb he tried to wipe away my tears, but they just fell faster. He leaned forward and kissed my cheeks, soaking up my tears.
    “Don’t cry. Please… Rebecca .” The desperation in his voice was unmistakable. He was holding me as if I were an injured bird. What a paradox this man was. Rough and demanding. Then, in an instant, gentle and caring.
    “P…please, l…leave now … ,” I stuttered. My heart thumped against my ribcage.
    “Is that what you want?” he asked brusquely, hurt in his eyes.
    “Yes.” I spat out.
    He opened his mouth as if to say something, then decided against it and turned to leave.
    “And if you ever, ever touch me again, I will sue you for sexual harassment,” I hissed through my teeth, anger blazing, my head pounding.
    I slammed the door behind him, then, leaned against it, my knees trembling. I sank to the floor. Closing my eyes, shame washed over me.
    I’d wanted him to ravish me. Fuck.

Chapter 19
    In the shower, I allowed the scalding water to rinse over me. I was so confused. First Julian and now Maxwell. Why was it that married men were attracted to me?
    I didn’t want that kind of relationship. I didn’t want another woman’s man. Sharing my man with another woman was not an option I’d ever consider.
    All I ever wanted was a man that loved me and only me. I wanted to be the center of his universe, his everything . I wanted him to wake up next to me every morning and to come home to me every night.
    I wanted him to make love to me in all kinds of ways, sometimes with tenderness and sometimes hard, but always with passion. I wanted him to be the keeper of my heart, to possess me—body and soul.
    My best friend. My lover. My hero.
    In return, I’d love and cherish him with all my heart; bear his