The bathroom was filled with steam, the air thin and heavy.
The man's wet arm braced against the side of the tub, his muscles clearly defined, veins bulging.
In that moment, Summer Thorne seemed to forget how to breathe. Her fading consciousness could only register his invading lips and tongue.
Hot.
Burning.
Entangled with hers.
The feeling of losing control, of having her breath stolen, made her instinctively want to pull back. But the next instant, the man's large hand covered the back of her head, pulling her forward instead.
The kiss deepened.
Her body swayed, and she instinctively reached out a hand to steady herself.
The chest beneath her palm was wet and hot.
The searing sensation shocked Summer Thorne back to her senses.
Even though she had prepared herself for this long before, she was still a bit dazed in this moment.
Her gaze focused, and she saw the dark turmoil swirling in Timothy York's eyes.
He was always so restrained and reserved, polite and distant.
