Turbulent Sea by Christine Feehan

across her mouth and an arm slid like an iron bar around her waist. She was jerked back against a hard male body. Warm breath fanned her neck.
    "Don't scream."
    She knew who it was instantly. His scent. His aura of danger. His hard, masculine body, far stronger than he looked. She drew in a breath, struggled and tried to sink her teeth into his palm. He let her. She knew he let her bite him. He didn't utter a sound, or flinch, but his body crowded closer to hers, and she felt the press of his arousal, strong and full and unapologetic. She went still and waited for him to release her.
    Instead Ilya Prakenskii trapped her between him and the closet door, his body pressed tight against hers. He rubbed his palm over her full lips, as if he expected her to kiss the bite better. And she was tempted. As it was, she couldn't keep her tongue from touching the small wound. He tasted masculine and sexy. The heat of his body crept into hers, a slow assault on her senses. She could feel the band of his arm sweeping up her rib cage to halt beneath her breasts. At once her skin felt too tight, her nipples hard and aching, and between her legs, already, the first flush of dampness signaled her response to him. It didn't help that the bus swayed as it rolled over the asphalt and his body brushed against hers intimately with every movement.
    "How did you get on the bus?" Her voice sounded breathy. Her heart hammered and her stomach did a slow somersault. "How did I not see you?"
    He bent to her neck, his teeth scraping over her skin, tugging at her earlobe before his mouth settled leisurely on the side of her neck. She closed her eyes, leaning into the heat of his body, feeling his thick shaft nestled tight against her. "That's what I do," he replied, in between bites along her neck. "It's my job not to be seen. Bodyguards are supposed to fade into the background."
    "Really?" Self-preservation demanded she move. Self-respect demanded she feign shock. She did neither. His arms made her feel safe when she should have felt threatened. His mouth on her skin sent little flames darting through her bloodstream. Her brain said to move, but her body refused to acknowledge the command. "I think you're too much of a presence to fade into the background."
    "You never notice I'm around unless I want you to notice," he pointed out. He turned her into his arms so that she was crushed against the broad expanse of his chest. "Look at me."
    "If I do, you'll kiss me," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.
    He laughed softly, and she was instantly aware it was something he did rarely. "I've been craving the taste of you ever since I kissed you in New York. A week is a long time, and I don't think I can wait any longer."
    She inserted a hand between them in an effort to get space, but his body was immovable and his arms had locked her tight against him. She lifted her face, and his lips were inches— inches —from hers. His breath was warm with the promise of temptation and sin. She wanted both.
    His mouth settled on hers, teeth tugging at her lower lip insistently, until, without much resistance, she opened for him. Lost in his intoxicating, sensual taste, all male and sex and urgent demand, Joley went pliant, melting against him, hands sliding around his neck to press even closer.
    His mouth didn't just promise sex and sin—it tasted of it, delivered it, sent fire streaking through her body like lightning, and somewhere music played, vibrating through her entire body, singing in her veins. She melted into him, skin to skin, sharing breath until her toes curled. She gripped the front of his shirt for support as her knees turned to rubber and every nerve ending in her body caught fire.
    Ilya didn't give her time to think or breathe. He simply took her body over, stealing her soul with scorching kisses, his hand sliding up to cover hers, to pry her fingers from his shirt, his thumb sliding in a caress over her palm.
    Her entire body clenched in need. Her womb