, the kind born of absolute necessity, settled in Fiona's stomach. If she was going to sell her soul, she would not do it cowering and weeping. She had to retain some microscop

mbling almost uncontrollably, reached up, her fingers hesitantly gripping the fine, expensive material of his shirt's lapels. It was a clumsy, desperate, almost pathetic attempt to initiate the physical

he reacted. His hands clamped onto her waist, his grip firm and possessive, brooking no resistance. With a single, fluid, almost contemptuous motion, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing and set her upon

ng force. It was a kiss of ownership, a brand. As his hands began to explore her body, sliding over her skin with an owner's methodical, entitled entitlement, Fion

been pounding in he

understated, and sitting unequivocall

y feeling like a precipice from which she was about to be shoved. He was married. The thought slammed int

mates-coalesced into a horrifying, crystal-clear certainty. Professor Powell has a type... a brilliant, beautiful student... His first love

ing replacement for a ghost he couldn't have. And worse, so much worse, she was a homewrecker. The dual, crushing taboos of a student-teacher transgression and the unforgivable sin of being the other woman ignited

e chest with all her might, her body suddenly rigid with a desperate, frantic revulsion. This w