Constantine's Revenge. Kate Walker

against her hot skin.

      ‘What?’

      Adrift on a warm sea of pleasure, Grace only registered that he had spoken. But then the true import of that lied hit home, slashing into her delirium.

      ‘You what?’ Fear clutched at her heart. ‘Constantine?’

      His laughter feathered over her tightly stretched nerves, softly reassuring.

      ‘I lied. When I said I didn’t like what you were wearing.’

      “‘Distressingly unflattering” were the words you used, I believe,’ Grace managed, the words sounding strangled and uneven as long-fingered bronzed hands smoothed over the offending outfit, making her writhe in responsive delight.

      ‘Distressingly provocative is more like it!’ Constantine growled. ‘Do you know what it does to me to see the way those jeans hug your pert little backside, the sway of your breasts underneath your tee shirt?’

      ‘I never wore a bra when I was fourteen.’

      Her reply broke in the middle, cracking noticeably as those wickedly knowing fingers found the small gap between the bottom of her shrunken tee shirt and the tight-fitting waistband of the denim jeans. Shuddering in response to the tiny electric shocks of pleasure his touch sparked off along her sensitised nerves, she caught her lower lip between her teeth in order to hold back the cry of delight that almost escaped her.

      ‘And every time you moved, this tiny patch of skin could just be seen…tormenting me, tantalising, just begging to be touched.’

      He was touching it now—with a vengeance! Making her shiver and writhe against him in a way that made the heated force of his desire only too obvious through the fine fabric of his well-cut trousers. Her blood raced through her veins, making her heart pound, her thoughts swim.