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Twilight had fallen, and Brooke knew total blackness was soon to follow. In the woods, it wasn't just kind of dark; it got black dark, the kind where you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. She wasn't afraid, but she wasn't crazy about bumping around in the dark with him. Why, his chest looked hard enough to crack a walnut. She could imagine what it would do to her head if she should run into him.
A slow, forbidden shiver danced along her spine at the thought. Shame quickly followed. She was sick indeed, lusting after--
She drew in a sharp breath and stopped in her tracks.
Mr. Hard Chest slammed right into her from behind, proving her earlier suspicions about just how hard his chest was.
And not just his chest!
His arms came around her to prevent her forward hurdle. For an alarming moment, they touched from head to toe, and Brooke could feel every hard, shocking inch of him against her.
Just as she gathered her breath to demand he let her go, his hand moved up, covering her mouth and effectively silencing her.
"Be quiet!"
His harsh, urgent whisper chilled her blood. She grew still as her predicament became very clear.
The shifting of power was complete.
