“Grace." He drew out the word so it became a long, deep, guttural growl. A sound as primitive as a lion's roar for its mate. Her skin prickled with animal awareness and the breath caught in her throat. Every drop of moisture evaporated from her mouth. Low in her belly, blood began to beat slow and hard with anticipation. Her face must have betrayed her unfurling arousal. Or perhaps, like her, he reacted to the sudden charge in the air, as electric as the pause before a lightning strike. Still without shifting his fierce focus, he set down the box he carried. Then he reached to close the doors and slide the bolt across. Any doubt as to his purpose fled. A delicious thrill rippled through her. The summerhouse was raised on a platform so the windows opened above eye height. With the doors locked, it was a bower designed for private sin. Sin was clearly his aim. Now she looked more closely, she realized it wasn't anger that tightened the skin over the bones of his face. It was incendiary hunger. She should protest. Question. Demand he tell her why he was here. But overwhelming need kept her silent and pinned to the window seat.” PrimalPassionate LoveArousedGrace And MatthewMatthew Lansdowne Book:Untouched Source: Untouched