Free Night Falls on the Wicked by Sharie Kohler Page A

afraid and hopeful that he would read her want, her need.
    “Go,” she whispered, inwardly cringing at the pathetic whisper of her voice. Hardly convincing.
    He angled his head, the light in his eyes intensifying the longer he stared, taking her apart piece by piece, opening her up to see what it was she hid inside … who she was.
    He moved before she could process it. A blur and rush of wind that bewildered her.
    Before she had time to process just what happened, he was in front of her, hauling her into his arms, lifting her off her feet as he claimed her mouth. Heat. That was her first impression as he enveloped her. Encompassing heat and male strength.
    Shock rippled through her at the sensation of his mouth on hers. She gasped and he took advantage, deepening the kiss, forcing her mouth open for his slanting lips.
    His lips were warm like the rest of him. They moved firmly, expertly, robbing her of all will as he pushed deeper inside her apartment, backing her up against a wall.
    Her hands hovered for a moment at her sides, warring with her weakening will. She should pushhim away, end this insanity before it went further. And yet she failed to do any of that.
    With the fleeting thought that she really should know better than to do this flashing across her mind, she seized his shoulders. She was lost. There was no going back. She clung to him, pressing against him as their mouths fused, moving feverishly, tasting and sucking.
    She yanked down the zipper of his bulky coat and slid her hands inside, skimming her palms over his chest, his dark sweater warm and soft and tantalizing against her palms, only a single barrier separating her from his firm chest, and she wanted to be rid of it. His heart thudded swiftly beneath her exploring hands and she moaned into his mouth, desperate for his flesh on hers, for an answer to the ache in her belly.
    His hands cupped her face and the gesture struck her as both tender and desperate. Her knees trembled. Without the wall at her back and his hard body at her front, she doubted whether she could remain standing.
    He slid one hand down her throat in a fiery trail and covered her breast through her flannel top. She whimpered against his mouth and surged shamelessly against that hand.
    It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Not after the lonely years. Not after one taste of him.
    This is what she’d wanted from the first moment she ran into him outside the store. Since the instant she’d glimpsed his hand and her entire body had ignited.
    He crowded her, pressing closer, overwhelming her senses. She gasped raggedly when he broke their fused lips. His lips singed her cheek, skimming toward her ear, fanning heat and moist kisses there that left her panting.
    He lifted his head. Heart hammering wildly in her chest, she glanced up only to find his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes searching, scanning every nuance, missing nothing.
    He looked at her strangely, his eyes feverish, intense, consuming. As though he had never seen anything quite like her before. Her chest tightened.
    Reaching out, he caught a lock of her hair. Studying the red strands, he rubbed them experimentally between his fingers. Dropping her hair, he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, igniting a trail in their wake.
    Her breath caught in her throat, trapped, frozen within her like a bird in the face of its predator. And like prey, she looked away, dropped her gaze, wishing he would step away from her, wishing it with the same desperation that she hoped he would not.
    He inhaled deeply next to her cheek. “You smell so sweet. Like vanilla.”
    “It’s my lotion,” she murmured lamely, her gaze returning to him, brushing his chin, his mouth, his nose, until she locked eyes with him again.
    He watched her with fierce relentlessness. She felt as if his gaze alone could strip away everything, all her barriers, reveal all her secrets, all that she hid from the world. She shivered.
    “What are you?” he murmured,