The Billionaire's Beautiful Intruder (Billionaire Knights Book 3) by Nic Saint Page B

his arms around her, his fingers curling into her hair to press her head into his shoulder, his other arm enveloping her. And as he found her warm and soft curves molding against him, the telltale hardening of his arousal was once again in full force, ignoring the violence of the storm.
    Harshly, he grated out, “It’s all right, Molly. It’s just a storm.”
    Just then, as if to confirm his words, another flash lacerated the sky, and thunder roared through the house. Molly curled her body into his, uttering another panicked cry, and then he carried her to the bed, and let them roll into it, wrapping her in the blanket of his arms and rocking her against him.
    And that’s how they remained while the storm raged outside, lashing the house and unleashing its demons on the island. There was another bang and a flash, and as he held Molly’s shivering body close, he frowned. Something terrible must have happened for her to be so afraid of a mere storm, but then he figured she was simply one of many people who were terrified of storms. He cursed as her proximity in this very non-sexual embrace was threatening to devour his self-control, his erection quite painfully present throughout. Luckily she would never know, and wouldn’t think he’d imposed himself on her.
    “Is it gone?” she finally asked, daring to peek from beneath the safety of his arms. She’d never been so scared in ages, she recognized, but the storm had brought back painful memories of the terror attack. The crashing thunder and lightning skidding across the ceiling had sent her right back to the shopping mall, straight into the line of fire. Now, as the storm’s violence abated, quickly dispersing itself, she chided herself for acting so foolishly.
    “Yes, it’s quite safe now,” his low voice told her, and he began to release her from his grasp. The sudden removal of his arms from around her was almost like a physical blow, the deprivation unbearable, and instinctively she burrowed into his chest, like a little girl in search of comfort and protection. He responded by drawing her into the warmth of his embrace once more, and then, as her fear waned, those same unwanted sensations were roiling in her lower body again.
    The same sensations of desire and need took possession of her, as his closeness affected her powerfully. She could feel his arousal against her thigh, and it told her he was experiencing the same need. She told herself once more to be strong, and not allow this madness to go any further. For she knew that if she allowed herself to be swallowed up by her need now, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d allow him to undress her, to allow his hands to roam her body freely, his hands on her skin, his lips on her breasts… No! She must put a stop to this madness, she knew, before it destroyed her. So with a small voice she told him, “I’m fine now, Steve. I’m—I’m so sorry. It’s just that—”
    “You’re afraid of the storm,” he finished gruffly.
    “Yes,” she acknowledged. “Yes, I am. It reminded me—” She shook her head. “It simply reminds me of some bad things that happened, that’s all.”
    “That’s all right,” he told her huskily as he allowed her to roll from his arms. And then he was rising, the warmth of his embrace quickly fading, and she felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes as she realized that she would never experience this—would never experience a man loving her—making love to her.
    So she turned away from him, rolling onto her side, and brokenly told him, “Thank you—thank you for comforting me.”
    He just stood there, staring down at her as she rolled away from him, and the grim line on his face was back. Of course. She yearned for comfort and protection, until the danger had passed. Until she remembered who it was who was holding her. The beast. The monster that lurked in the darkness. Grim-faced, he strode from the room. He did a quick check of the house, to see if the storm had