Kissing Bindi as though he was thirsty for her, pressing against her as though she was meant for him, felt so good it couldn’t be anything but wrong. The weak, almost voiceless part of him that clung to decent judgment begged for something to wrest control from whatever instinct had triggered him to get up close and sexual with this woman. Bindi sank deeper into their kiss and he couldn’t move—couldn’t let go of her hips, couldn’t break away from her mouth. God, her mouth. Lusciously warm. Irresistibly willing. Impossibly familiar. He felt as though he’d already been inside her. He was ready to be, and it floored him. He hadn’t been so hard in months. Damn it. Why couldn’t she be a stranger, or a standard gold digger? Hell, hooked around him as she was now, she wasn’t even his father’s ex-fiancée. She was, in some twisted way, paradise. A perfect fit. She licked him just right, yanked his hair so greedily that he wanted to strip her naked and return the favor.
