The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

herself both irritated and pleased when he continued with his phone call and waved her in with a little finger crook.
    Irritated that he didn’t appear to have been anxiously awaiting her. And pleased because she imagined she would shortly have him panting like an eager pup.
    “I’ll need that report before New York closes tomorrow.” Trevor scribbled something down, nodded. “Yeah, well, they’ve got till end of day to accept the offer or it’s off the table. Yes, that’s exactly how I want you to put it. Next item. I’m not satisfied with the bids on the Dressler project. Make it clear that if our usual lumber supplier can’t do better, we’ll look to alternate sources.”
    He glanced over absently, took a sip of his coffee as Darcy unbuttoned her coat. Then inhaled caffeine like air—and choked on it.
    The coat dropped to the floor, and he saw she wore nothing beneath it but his bracelet, high heels, and a very feline smile.
    “Perfect,” he managed. “Jesus, you’re perfect.” As Finkle’s voice buzzed in his ear, he simply hung up, got to his feet.
    “I take it business hours are over.”
    “They are.”
    She looked around the room, angled her head. “I don’t see my glass of wine.”
    He discovered it was just possible to speak when a man’s heart was in his throat. “I forgot it.” His breath already ragged, he crossed to her. “I’ll get it later.”
    She tipped her head back to keep her eyes on his, and saw what she’d wanted to see. Desire, raw as a fresh wound. “I’ve a powerful thirst.”
    “Later” was all he could say before his mouth came down on hers.
    He possessed. With quick, hard hands, restless lips, he took what she’d offered. Gave her what she’d wanted. Desperation was what she’d wanted from him, that jagged edge of need as dangerous as it was primitive. She’d come to him naked and shameless to lure the animal.
    He was rough, and his recklessness added a slick layer of excitement. No control now, nor the need for it. So she lost herself in the wicked spell of her own brewing.
    He shoved her against the wall, feasting on her throat, drugged on that sharply sexual taste of perfumed female flesh. And his hands streaked over her, bruised over her, greedy for the curves, the swells, the secrets of woman.
    Hot, wet, vibrant.
    His fingers slid over her, into her, driving her up. Even as he felt her body shudder, felt the violence of the orgasm rip through her, he looked into her eyes.the dark and clouded blue, he thought he saw the flash of triumph.
    He might have been able to pull back then, to clear his head enough to find his finesse, but she moved against him, one lazy, stretching arch, and her arms twined around him like chains wrapped in velvet.
    “More.” She purred it. “Give me more, and take more as well. Right here.” She nipped her teeth into his lip. “Right now.”
    If she’d been a witch murmuring the darkest of incantations, he’d have been no less spellbound. He’d have sworn he caught the scent of hellfire as her mouth once again captured his.
    Then there was madness, fevered and glorious. In her own triumph she found it, that wild pleasure, the terrorlaced delight of having a man turn savage. And allowing it. Craving it.
    Her blood beat as frantically as his, her hands raced, as urgent and as rough as those that raced over her.
    She tore his shirt, and reveled in the harsh sound of cotton rending at the seam. And her teeth dug into his shoulder when he pushed her over the edge again.
    A haze filled his vision, thick and red. Her nails bit into his back, glorious little points of pain. His blood was a drumbeat, a primitive tattoo in his head, heart, loins. He plunged into her where they stood, greedily swallowing her ragged cry.
    Each thrust was like another step on a thin wire stretched over both heaven and hell. Whichever way they fell, it couldn’t be stopped. Knowing it, he dragged her head back, kept his hand fisted in her hair, his eyes on her face.
    “I want to see you.” He panted it out. “I want to see you feel me.”
    “I can’t feel anything but you, Trevor.”
    She tumbled off the wire, clasping him against her on the fall. And flying out with her, he didn’t give a damn where they landed.
    He stayed where he was, fighting for air, for his sanity. The press of his body kept her upright as he braced a hand on the wall for balance.
    She’d gone limp, as he knew now she did after loving. He told himself he’d find the