Excerpt of In His Arms by Tina Donahue

Just past the door, the newcomer stopped and glanced over, catching Summer watching him.

A jolt of embarrassment overcame her. She blushed helplessly. The warmth grew, flowing from her chest to her cheeks. She wanted to turn away from him, to hide her obvious discomfort. She wanted to keep pretending she was a normal woman, one he’d met at a nightclub or through friends.

His presence and this hotel suite precluded that.

As though he’d read her thoughts—or noticed her reddened cheeks—something flickered across his handsome face. Surprise that she’d blushed? Disappointment that she wasn’t the kind of woman he would ever want?

More embarrassment flooded her, replaced quickly by unease. Her belly clenched at what his refusal of her would mean when Anthony found out. He’d accuse her of making him look the fool. Afraid of the consequences, Summer knew she should flirt outrageously with the stranger to change his mind about her, an easy role to play with such a beautiful man.

Inexplicably, his good looks and the expectation of Anthony’s punishment changed nothing. She remained rooted to the spot, staring at his eyes, held by them.

Again, something registered in his gaze. He broke it in what seemed a deliberate manner. Glancing down, he took in her full length, his eyes touching her breasts plumped by the dress’s sweetheart neckline, her narrow waist, the way the garment hugged her hips, its stretchy material revealing the soft swell of her mound.

His expression remained unreadable, refusing to tell her what he thought. And then he looked up, his eyes unexpectedly direct, appraising.

Summer’s mouth went dry at his scrutiny, or rather the sudden familiarity of it. As though she’d faced him before tonight and had worried at the time that he would reject her.

She thought back to the parties at Anthony’s compound. Had she seen him there, even fleetingly? No. She would have recalled. He wasn’t the kind of man a woman would forget. Her tattered nerves must be playing tricks on her mind.

Eyes on him, she watched as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the leather chair closest to him. The soft fabric of his sweater rippled over his broad chest with each breath. Glancing lower, she studied the prominent bulge behind his fly.

Hogan went to the door. “Get out of here,” he told Farrell. “You’re not needed any longer.”

Farrell’s eyes shifted to her. “I want to stay.”

Summer’s eyes slid to the stranger, worried he’d allow it.

He regarded her for a long moment, then spoke to Farrell. “Leave.”

The man protested.

“Now,” the stranger said, his voice so deadly calm it held more menace than a shout.

On a muttered swear, Farrell departed. Hogan closed the door and threw the deadbolt. Arms crossed over his chest, he turned and spoke to the stranger while inclining his head to her. “This is Summer. She’s yours to do with however you please from now on.”

His odd words broke the stranger’s grip on Summer. She jerked her head to Hogan and spoke without thinking. “What are you talking about?”

He lifted his hand to run his thumb over his jaw. “You belong to RJ now. You’re his gift from Mr. Karam.”