With her heart? She’d have to be a fool— “Oh,” she breathed, startled when his clever fingers peeled her bra down and teased her nipples. And then again when he unbuttoned her jeans and slid down her zipper. She should have been cold, but instead she was on fire, from the inside out. “Hey, you wouldn’t let me—” Her words ended on a breathy moan because he stroked a long finger over her.

“You’re wet,” he said, a naughty accusation. “I bet it was the cookies.”

She choked out a half laugh, half moan. “You said we weren’t going to—”

“I said I wasn’t going to,” he corrected, placing soft, wet, devastatingly hot kisses along her neck, dipping his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat. “But you are, Kate. You’re going to a lot.”

“Ohmigod,” she managed, already shockingly close to orgasm. Her hands still pinned, she arched into his other hand, the one currently the center of her entire universe. His warm breath on her throat raised goose bumps along her skin. The hand he had in her pants moved possessively, hungrily, stroking her with knowing precision. She shuddered and spread her legs a little wider. Then, afraid that he’d stop, she closed them tightly, holding his hand to her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, and then he kissed her long and wet and deep, his fingers having no problem within their confined space, setting a rhythm that had every coherent thought vacating her brain. It also had her entire body trembling on the very edge, and she cried out, rocking into him, helplessly anchored by his body. “Griffin—”

He didn’t answer. Instead he guided her movements, taking total control until she was gasping for air in jerky little puffs that dissipated in the chilly sky. She felt her muscles tighten, her toes curl, and she wrenched her mouth from his. “I’m going to—”

“Good. Come.”

She was already shuddering as he ground against her, his tongue in her mouth moving with her h*ps as she did just what he’d demanded and came for him. Hard.

She had no idea how much time went by before she relaxed her body and blinked open her eyes.

He nuzzled her neck. “Still with me?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” she said, surprised to find her voice hoarse. That’s when she realized, she’d been making all sorts of ruckus. Embarrassed, she tried to turn away, but he tightened his grip, smiling against her.

“Stop it,” she said, shoving at him. “It’s all your fault. I’m not usually so noisy.”

“It worked to our advantage. You kept the bears scared off.”

With a horrified gasp she tried to sit up.

He held her still, grin flashing, the bastard. “Just relax a minute.” He zipped the jacket back up to her chin but not before pressing his face to her throat and inhaling deeply. “God, I love the scent of you.”

“A male emperor moth can smell his female emperor moth seven miles away,” she said inanely, her hands coming up to hold his head to her.

“Lucky male emperor moth.” He gave her one smacking kiss and grinned.

She studied his face. “You’re feeling pretty damn sure of yourself.”

“Making a woman scream his name does that to a guy.”

“I did not scream your name,” she said.

“Do you see any bears?”

She smacked his chest, and then she fisted her hands in his shirt, trying to tug him over her. “Tell me you have a condom.”

“I have a condom.”

“I love that about you,” she said fervently.

“We’re not using it.”

She went still then pushed him away. “Okay, I don’t love that. Why aren’t we using it?”

“Already told you.” He hopped out of the truck bed and reached a hand back to help her. “Tonight’s about you.” He opened the door for her and then walked around and slid behind the wheel.

Tonight’s about you . . . She stared at him as it sunk in that he was completely serious. Not sure if she was touched or frustrated, she frowned. “So you brought me up here to what, make out with me and give me mine but not get yours?” She gestured vaguely to his lap, where he was still noticeably hard.

“Yeah.” He slid her an amused look. “Haven’t gone home in this condition after a date since I was a teenager,” he admitted.

Touched, she decided with a laugh. She was definitely touched.

And still very aroused.

Which was why, half an hour later, when he walked her to her door, she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tugged him inside, and then kicked her door shut and pressed him to it.

He arched a brow.

“Whatever I want,” she reminded him.

He could have easily moved away, but he didn’t. “What do you want?” he asked, voice low.

“You,” she said.

“Are you going to be rough?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Excellent.” He ran his hands down her back to her butt and lifted her so that she could wrap her legs around him. “Where to?”

Because she was in charge. Nearly vibrating with the power, she pointed to her bedroom.

Griffin carried her to the bed and let her slide slowly down. At the full body contact, he groaned and pulled her in closer, kissing her deeply and so hotly that heat and desire once again flamed through her body. “Strip,” she said, enjoying her power.

“Yes, ma’am.” Pulling his sweatshirt and T-shirt over his head in one economical movement, he tossed the balled-up shirts behind him.

She slid out of the jacket he’d put on her and let it hit the floor.

He kicked off his shoes and socks.

She pulled off her sweater.

He unbuttoned and unzipped his Levi’s, and she went still in the act of tugging off her camisole. Lord, he was smoking hot in those battered jeans and nothing else.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

She had no idea when she’d relinquished the reins to him, but as usual, he’d taken control like he meant business. She lost the camisole and shimmied out of her jeans. This left her in a pale blue bra and matching panties, which caught his attention so thoroughly that he nearly fell over trying to lose his jeans and forest green knit boxers at the same time, but there he was gloriously na**d.

“You win,” she said.

“Yes.” He pointed to the bed. “There,” he said. “You’ll be my prize.”

“You said I could have whatever I wanted.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, wrestling her to the bed when she didn’t move fast enough. “Whatever you want. Just name it.” He stroked the hair from her face. “Tell me, Kate.”

His voice was rough. Strained. She already knew that he liked to talk during sex, and he especially liked her to talk. But she thought actions were better than words, and she rolled him so that she was on top. Because what she wanted was to ride him like a bronco. “Is this okay?” she whispered.

His hands slid up her ribs, unhooked her bra in a blink of an eye, and sent it sailing across the room. He tugged her down and kissed her, hard.

Apparently it was okay.

“I love this,” he said, stroking a finger over the pale blue cloth barely covering her mound. Then he ripped it off her and hooked his hands around her thighs.

She startled. “What are you—”

“Up,” he commanded, and scooted her higher on his chest, then higher still, maneuvering her to his shoulders, which apparently wasn’t enough because he kept pulling until she would have fallen right onto his face if she hadn’t grabbed the headboard and dug her knees into the bed to stop her upward progress. “Griffin—”

“Further. I want my mouth on you.” And with one last tug, he had her right where he wanted her—with her knees hugging his ears.

With a gasp, she tried to back up, but he had a big, callused hand on each butt cheek and held her still. She looked down at him to give him a stern look, but instead she was absolutely taken apart by the rapturous look on his face as he kissed her.

There.

And then licked.

And then sucked.

He watched her as he worked her. Watched and groaned,

God, he was good at this. So damn good. Incoherent, she let her head fall back, and she gripped the headboard for all she was worth as he took her right outside of herself. She was still panting and shuddering when with a flick of his wrist, he showed her the condom he held between his two fingers.

He really was magic.

She slid down his body to straddle his hips. He rocked into her, and she looked down at his most impressive erection nestling between her spread thighs. “Must have,” she said, and opened the condom. When she fumbled with it, he helped her stroke it down his length, the both of them breathless by the time they finished.

Then he lifted her up and impaled her on him.

Her moan mingled with his, but she gripped his biceps. “Easy,” she gasped out. “I don’t want your headache to come back.”

His answer was to thrust into her, hard, and her eyes rolled back in her head. With a low, laughing groan, he tugged her down to him, his hand in her hair, holding her head still as his mouth took hers. The deliberate sucking on her tongue matched his body’s movements, the delicious glide in and out, and took her to a whole new level of need. The feel of him, the taste of him, was intoxicating, driving every inch of her out of her mind. Completely. She’d never felt so utterly . . . taken. It was hot and so intensely erotic she wasn’t sure she would survive. Everything combined into a sexual pull; the silkiness of his hair sliding through her fingers, the rough scrape of his stubbled jaw, the hard strength of the arms that surrounded her. “Griffin.”

“Tell me.”

“I— You—” She closed her eyes. “I want you so much.”

So much it scared her.

“Show me,” he said. “Love me.”

I do, she nearly said.

But that wasn’t what he meant. He meant with her body, of course. She knew it. She also knew he was a force to be reckoned with. The pure physical energy of him when he was fully dressed and upright nearly overwhelmed her. But like this, na**d and sprawled out beneath her for her pleasure, he was unbelievably, dangerously seductive. Love him?

Done.

He was spreading wet, hot kisses alongside her throat. God, she loved when he did that, and her eyes drifted shut as he skimmed warm, strong hands from her stomach to her shoulders and then entangled his fingers in hers. He gave one tug and she fell forward onto him.

Opening her eyes, she found his face only inches from hers. Deep gray orbs stared back at her as he shifted, bringing their locked hands between them. Using his for leverage, she pushed herself upright and inhaled sharply as the movement buried him even deeper inside her. He let her set the pace, watching her intensely as the tension inside her built until she came and took him right along with her.

Twenty-two

When Grif got up for water and came back to the bed, Kate was exactly as he’d left her—sprawled out on her belly, face smashed into the pillow, dead to the world.

Bare-ass na**d.

Several things warred for space in his head. Male pride over putting her into a sexual coma and the very caveman-like urge to climb back on the bed, yank her up to her hands and knees, and take her again, from behind this time.

And then there was the most confusing of all. The desire to simply pull her in close and never let her go. He settled for covering her with a blanket so she didn’t get cold before pulling on his clothes. He went to turn off the lamp by her bed but was sidetracked by the letter lying there.

It had been folded and unfolded so many times that it was tearing along the two creases. As he reached for the lamp switch, the words Scholarship and Teacher of the Year caught his attention.

She’d been accepted into what looked like a prestigious science program out of the University of California at San Diego. There were notes in the margins on housing info, class schedules, etc. And someone had drawn an umbrella on the beach.

“Hey,” Kate said sleepily. Sitting up, she brought the sheet with her, tucking it beneath her armpits.

He smiled at the modesty. “Seriously?”

She blushed. “Maybe I’m not always comfortable being na**d.” Then she held out her hand for the letter.

He didn’t hand it over. “You should be comfortable na**d; you’re amazing.”

She bit her lower lip and blushed some more. Then she took the letter from him and carefully folded it up, slipping it under her pillow.

His brows went up.

She hugged herself.

Using her own tactic against her, he waited her out, and finally she blew out a breath. “It’s a master’s program.”

“It’s more than that,” he said. “It’s a full-ride scholarship to a special master’s program combining science and education.”

“Yeah.” She stroked the top of her pillow, and his heart did that squeeze thing that tended to happen around her. “It’s like a dream summer camp,” she said. “But it’s for a year, studying under scientists I’ve admired for a long time. I’d get to do things like watch frogs ha**g s*x and study the mating habits of fruit flies.”

He stared at her. “And that interests you.”

She laughed, that sweet, soft, musical laugh that always touched him, even when it was at his expense. “Very much.”

“So why aren’t you going?” he asked.

“Who said I wasn’t?”

He pointed to her pillow. “Because you’re hiding it like it’s a top-secret mission.”