It was past eleven at night by the time she made it home. Mackenzie’s brain still burned. Twenty kilometers of empty road hadn’t erased Hunter’s taste or the shame of how she’d arched against him like a stranger to her own body.
She’d kissed Hunter. The enemy. The man was responsible for her father’s failing company. It was people like him who had taken the lives of her mother and brother. Yet her lips had touched his. More than her lips. She’d touched him. Felt his hot, hard body beneath her fingers. Oh, god! She’d rubbed against him like a shameless slut.
Christ on a cracker! Mackenzie staggered to a stop outside the kitchen door and braced her hands against the cold wood. After a beat, everything felt too heavy, and she leaned forward and allowed her forehead to thud softly against i
