With a growl of frustration, Isla surged forward, grabbing the lapels of his sleek jacket and pulling him back into the kiss with all the fire and fury she felt. He barely had a second to react before he was kissing her again, hands gripping her waist like he was trying to brand the moment into her skin.
They stumbled—his back hit the wall first, then hers, then neither of them cared where they were going so long as they weren’t stopping.
His hands were everywhere—spanning the curve of her waist, the small of her back, sliding up her arms, as if trying to map every inch of her. She was just as bad, fisting his tie, tugging him down, meeting him bite for bite, breath for breath.
Somehow, between the clashing of mouths and the desperate, unspoken need to win even in this, they found an un
