CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE.
Natasha flushed, averting her gaze—which fell on his flat stomach, on the smooth V-shaped around his torso, down his pant.
She had the mad urge to nuzzle it and at the same time, she wished so much that the flight will land.
"Just when I think you're resisting me, your cheeks heat."
She forced herself to face him. "You've explained what I was doing. What the hell were you doing?"
"Watching you and getting harder by the heartbeat." He pressed his hips closer to her side, letting her feel his sizable erection against her thigh.
She gasped, her body going soft when treated to the unyielding heat of his.
No, no, this man was confusing! She reminded herself of his ricocheting mood swings. "You can leave now." she was proud of how determined she sounded. "I'll try not to disturb you again."
As if she hadn't spoken, he rasped, "You make. . . You make these sounds. Your whimper, your moan. I hear them, and the thought leaves my brain."