Impulsive. Completely out of control. All the things she’d struggled with her whole life, that wild hare scampering inside her soul, yearning for wide-open spaces and spectacular adventures. Her mother had warned her early about letting her feral side take control. Wild hares got eaten by predators. Run over by cars. They lived short, adrenaline-fueled lives. They never won the race. But oh, the feel of flying along at breakneck speed, your heart galloping in your breast like a Thoroughbred going for the win—it was an intoxicating sensation. Darcy’s arms around her were strong and solid, holding her so tightly as he kissed her that she thought she might break. But she was stronger than his passion. Stronger than her own fierce response. She twined her fingers with his and kissed him deeply, with abandon, needing this freedom, this moment of surrender and demand. But she couldn’t let herself lose all control.
