His features were sharp and his voice was cool, but his words were wild and flirty, every syllable a temptation pulling her under.
Lianne's ears flushed red at his words, her fingertips trembling slightly.
"I'm not the one with the fever."
'I'm not the one who's delirious from a fever. How could I not know who kissed me?'
Seth Sinclair grabbed Lianne's wrist with one hand and wrapped the other around her soft, slender waist. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, his words a double entendre, "I am."
The faint citrusy scent of her skin mixed with the lingering perfume on her clothes, wisps of it seeping into his nostrils. It was light, faintly cool, and stirred a certain impulse in him.
The impulse to bury his face in her neck, to breathe her in deeply, to possess her for himself.
Seth Sinclair's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, reining himself in. His voice was low and magnetic. "Your head grow a hemorrhoid yet?"
