‘Roth!’Was that really her own voice, that soft, husky, and, yes, somehow invitingly sensual little thread of sound, gasping his name in a slow-drawn-out moan that was more invitation than protest?But it was too late to correct the erroneous message she knew instinctively, But it was too late to correct the erroneous message she had given; Roth was already acting on what he had obviously interpreted her ‘protest’ to mean, his hands lifting from her waist to her arms, her shoulders, as he drew her closer, his mouth fastening on hers as he kissed her, not as an old acquaintance or a friend of her brother’s, Elena recognised, her senses reeling, but in all the ways she had dreamed of him kissing her all those years ago, as a man kissed a woman.Despairingly she struggled valiantly to resist but it was useless. Her own foolish senses were doing far more to aid Roth than to support her, turning traitor and welcoming his sensual assault of her mouth with the eagerness of parched land gree
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