Could this really be happening? Could she really be holding Jeremiah’s hand as he led her upstairs, and down a long hallway to a door made of heavy oak? Beyond that door lay a bedroom, darkly elegant, with furniture of carved mahogany, including a giant four-poster bed.
She had been about to make some sort of lighthearted comment about the furniture, of how he must have had it sent here from New York, since she doubted the local artisans could create anything so fine. Anything to break the thick tension in the room, the way the air felt heavy with their need for one another.
However, Jeremiah gave her no time to do so, his mouth on hers as he kissed her over and over, stoking the fire in her veins until it seemed almost like a live thing, hungry, needy, like a forest fire looking for new
