The fire in Gotti's eyes was enough to melt the frost surrounding them. As his hands slid lower, mapping the curve of her waist beneath the heavy fur, Anita felt the last of her resolve dissolve into the mountain mist.
She didn't push him away. Instead, her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him down until their lips crashed together in a kiss that tasted of iron, cedar, and a desperate, starving hunger. Gotti let out a low, guttural groan, his good arm winding around her back to crush her against his heated chest. He was intoxicating—a cocktail of raw power and the scent of the wild that made Nova howl in absolute surrender.
"Mine," he growled against her mouth, his hand sliding under the cloak to find the bare skin of her thigh. "You've always been mine."
He went to hook his arm under her knees, intending to lift her and claim her right there against the ancient bark of a fir tree. But as he shifted his weight, his body finally betrayed him.
