In Bed With the Enemy. Natalie Anderson

were alone, their world only this.

      The kiss was like a rocket ignited, that soared heavenward and exploded into tiny fragments of delight. She could feel the fragments of that kiss float through her, until not one part of her was left untingling. Her whole body seemed to shake and shimmer, to take on an almost iridescent quality.

      He pulled away first, and she stared up at him, dazed, shell-shocked from the abrupt transition from one world to the other. His blue eyes were dark and unreadable, but she could feel the faintest tremor, desire leashed, where his hand rested on the small of her back.

      She laughed, shakily. She’d blown it. How could he remain unaware that he affected her after that?

      He did not return her smile.

      Lightly, she said, “How much do you know about the gifts my sisters and I are receiving?”

      “Enough.”

      You’re playing with fire, her mind warned her, but the champagne kept her going.

      Why not him? She needed a husband, and he could kiss like a house on fire. That could certainly make up for his lack of a sense of humor. She could ask carelessly, she could appear not to be the least concerned about his answer.

      “You might want to think about the conditions of my receiving my gift.”

      “Conditions?” he asked, his voice smooth and unperturbed, those ocean foam eyes unsettling in their steadiness on her face.

      “You know what I’m talking about.”

      “Living in Miracle Harbor for a year?”

      “No,” she said.

      “Oh, the other condition.”

      She inclined her head slightly, waited.

      He smiled, so slow and sexy it felt like it could make her bones melt. He leaned close to her.

      And said, quietly, his breath tickling the nape of her neck, “Not if you were the last woman on earth.”