Juliette gazed up at him, then they were kissing passionately. She gripped his shirt, her hands slid underneath the fabric to touch warm, firm skin. His fingers ran down to the curve of her back, making her shiver with desire. Just then Heathcliff began barking, shackles raised as he foraged in the undergrowth, his nose following the scent of mice and hares.
“My dog the passion killer. Would you like to see the rest of the house?” His nose rubbed gently against her own.
“Yes,” she replied huskily.
They headed back inside.
“This is my study,” Ben showed her inside a small room that consisted of a table, computer and shelves of books. It smelt of lavender polish: fresh, sweet and clean. Juliette noticed a pile of marked essays resting on a trendy looking printer. There was a tall tower o
