Free Tempted by the Billionaire: A Hometown Hero Series Novel by Clare Connelly Page A

in one of her novels, a spell would have been cast, to cause this degree of kismet and rightness. Her fingers curled in his thick, fair hair, tangling with it in a way that conveyed her desperation. She pressed her body harder against his, and against her flat abdomen, she could feel the hint of his arousal. It made her insides slick with moist heat, and her hands dropped from his hair, to do battle with his shirt. She lifted it, so that she could run her fingernails down his back, and then slide them into the waistband of his jeans. The top of his butt was warm and smooth, the skin supple and toned beneath her hands. She felt him shudder as she kneaded his muscles.
    He was magical.
    Surely he was some kind of other-worldly creature, who had come into her life to stir up this hornet’s nest of sensuality that she hadn’t known existed. Oh, she’d read sex scenes in novels that would set bodies on fire, but never had she known this kind of passion.
    Her whole body seemed to quiver with arousal, as she pulled at his belt, and worked it free of his pants.
    Matt swore against her ear, low and gruff, as his hands pulled at her shirt and lifted it over her head. He cupped her breasts, muttering another oath as he felt their neat roundness in his calloused hands. Her bra was lace and dark, with satin detail – the kind of bra fantasies were made of.
    He’d committed to return to the east coast. He had a company to run. A future to line with fucking gold, as his father had insisted. But all he wanted to do was bury himself in this woman and be her pleasure forever.
    He unhooked her bra and removed it, sliding his fingers over her long, smooth arms before dropping it to the floor. Naked from the waist up, he laced his fingers through hers and stepped backwards, just far enough to properly observe her. His eyes raked her figure slowly, sending little swirls of awareness over her as he went.
    “What are we doing?” She mumbled nervously, her eyes heavy on his face.
    He grinned, closing the distance and kissing her again. Her body melted against his, and now he could run his palms over her naked skin, feeling her satisfying warmth for himself.
    “What we both want.” He lifted a finger to her chin and angled her face to his. “Right?”
    She could deny it. But why would she? He was right. Her whole body was throbbing with a powerful, dark need. And he was her craving. He was what her body desired.
    “My room’s through there,” she murmured, nodding to a closed door across the house.
    He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled her behind him, shouldering the door to her room open so that he didn’t have to drop her hand. It was a small room, but large on style. The king size bed at its centre took up most of the space, and an enormous turquoise canvas in the centre of the wall served as a bed head. Fairy lights twinkled around a mirror, and a picture of Albert Einstein hung in a frame, with the words, Creativity is Intelligence Having Fun .
    His lips twisted into a smile at the room, which screamed Willow from every decorative choice. But then, he focussed his attention back on the half naked woman before him, and he forgot about Einstein and Turquoise and Fairy Lights and white bed linen. He saw only Willow, and he felt only the sharp spike of desire for her.
    Compunction fuzzed at the edges of his brain. He ignored it, and with remarkable ease. Tomorrow, he would think through what they were doing. What, by then, they would have done. Tomorrow, there would be time for remorse, if necessary. For guilt, because he knew his future was at the other side of the country.
    In that moment, his body was in charge. He scooped her up, earning a squawk of surprise, as he laid her down gently on the bed. He placed her lengthways, in line with the pillows, and he moved across her quickly, so that she could feel for herself the strength of his need. Through his jeans, and her leggings, he pressed his arousal, hard and heavy; his hips