Sora renewed her struggle to thwart him, fighting to gain control over her body’s headlong rush to accept his domination. Desperately, she pushed free, wrenching from his, using her hands against his hard chest to escape to arm’s length.

“We must stop!”

Leeteuk prevented her escape by the same means he’d brought her to him, one hand fastened to the bunched material of her blouse. He allowed himself the pleasure of sweeping his fingers through her long silky charcoal hair, then brought his right hand forward and cupped her cheek in his palm. Beneath the smooth surface of her skin he could feel her trembling excitement. She wanted him, that was palpably obvious.

“Why?” he asked.

Sora couldn’t begin to think what he was asking. She didn’t understand how clear thought could fly right out of her brain simply because of the evocative touch of a man’s hand. She gripped his waist and pulled his wrist and put his hand away from her face. “Because,” she hesitantly answered, “you’re making it impossible for me to think.”

“What good is thinking? You are a woman. The touch of my hand upon your body is what you have wanted since the moment we laid eyes upon each other.”

“Maybe so.” Sora wouldn’t deny what was very obvious. “But I won’t rush into a physical relationship blindly, in the heat of the moment.”

“What other way is there?” Leeteuk demanded. “Anything else is cold and calculated. Desire is sparkled by the highly tuned emotions we are both feeling. You can’t deny it.”

“It’s chemical.” Sora swallowed, searching for any reason that made sense. “I won’t fall at your feet just because I smell a rush of testosterone.”

She had the oddest, strangest, most unwomanly way of speaking, Leeteuk decided. So blunt and sharp it made him want shake the outspokenness from her. Where she had learned such things? Acquired the nerve to say them? He couldn’t imagine what kind of a home she had come from to have a tongue so loose.

That angered him all over again because she was not the woman she should be… the woman her face and her luscious, giving mouth promised she could be.

Affronted by her audacious words, he caught hold of her shoulders and spun her before him, making her face the cheval mirror beside the vanity.

“Look at yourself. You are a woman, just like any other woman. You have , yes, beautiful lovely s. Do you show them? No. You hide them in a man’s shirt. And you were pants that let you sit ungracefully and swagger when you walk. Do I strip you before this mirror to make you look at the body God has given you? Make you admit what you have?”

“You have no right to treat me like this,” Sora said, all cold dignity.

“I have every right. Allah has made me the man born to tame you.”

“I don’t believe in such things.”