“I know.” He kissed her once more and she opened for him, helpless, letting his tongue slide into her mouth.

“This isn’t going to help.” She nipped at his bottom lip. “It’ll just make things worse.”

“I know,” he said again. He dragged his mouth away from hers and pressed his rough cheek to her face. “You are the most irritating, frustrating female,” he muttered. “Once again, I can’t do anything right. I thought I’d be making you happy by postponing the meeting, but no, you just suspect me of having ulterior motives.”

Her chest ached at the confusion in his voice, and she had a sudden inexplicable, crazy urge to tell him she wasn’t mad at him, that she was grateful he’d given her extra time as she’d asked before they had that meeting. A crazy urge to make him feel better.

The words trembled on her lips, but her damn stubbornness prevented her from saying them, and she closed her eyes and held on to him, their chests rising and falling in unison.

He took her face in both hands, cupping it, holding her away from him to look at her. Meeting his gaze was excruciating. She felt naked, exposed, vulnerable. Her lips trembled, and she blinked rapidly.

“Samara. Jesus, you make me crazy.” Travis’s own eyes closed briefly. “Christ, Parker would have my ass for this.”

She blinked again. What did that mean? But then Travis was kissing her again, holding her face with gentle but firm hands, tipping her head for the best, deepest angle, turning her body liquid all over again.

She set her hands on his waist, loving the warm, solid feel of him beneath the soft cotton T-shirt, and kissed him back, the room fading out to black around them. She felt like she was spinning in a slow vortex of sensation.

She sucked in a long deep breath. That kiss had weakened her knees and weakened her resolve to keep things businesslike between them. So many years of wanting him. And he wanted her too. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers. “I have to ask,” he groaned. “Will you regret this tomorrow?”

* * *

“Oh, for god’s sake!” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him against her. “Would you just do it!” She kissed him hard on the mouth, and Travis’s mind went utterly blank. “You can’t do this to me again!” She shoved at his chest then yanked him back. “You humiliated me once before by rejecting me like this.”

Fucking hell. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. And he was definitely hard. Oh man. If he rejected her now, she was going to be hurt all over again. But if he didn’t reject her...Christ. What the hell was he supposed to do?

A feeling of déjà vu swept over him, a flash of Samara standing before him in the gazebo, mouth swollen from kissing him. This was exactly how he’d felt then—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could barely see straight.

He tried to think it through, like a business decision, using logic and strategic thinking, but with his heart banging in his chest and his ears buzzing, it seemed impossible. Then she moved against him. And he gave up. Gave in. He wanted her too.

The relief of not having to fight with his conscience anymore made him lightheaded. “I want you,” Travis whispered against her lips. “God help me, but I want you.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met and held, and this time, she kept her gaze steady and focused on him. Then she turned away from him, finding his hand with hers, clasping their fingers together, and she led the way up the stairs to her room.

Lord help him, he knew this wasn’t the way to look after Samara. His dick throbbed, his balls torturously tight. She got him so twisted up inside he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

At the door of her room, he paused. “Be right back,” he said. After a hasty trip to his own room for a couple of condoms, he followed her into her room, in the back of his mind knowing he shouldn’t. He should be the one strong enough to resist, the mature one, the responsible one.

But fiery lust torched away those thoughts and left him a blazing inferno of desire.

“We have to be quiet,” he whispered, one last vestige of sanity hanging on. “Your mother’s in her room.”

She nodded, her fingers at the button of his shorts already, and he thought he was going to explode. His insides burned with the need to take her, possess her, dominate her, because, Jesus, she drove him fucking crazy.

He reached for her even as she began to sink to her knees in front of him, and he hauled her back up. She tried to swat his hands away. “No,” she whispered, pushing against his arms, trying to get back to his shorts.

They tussled there for a moment, her trying to get to his cock, him trying to get her on her back on the bed, and the frenzy of hunger and excitement built in him to a fever pitch. “Samara.” His voice was a hiss. “Stop.”

“I want to—”

“Shhh.” Christ, no. It was not going to play out like that. She was seducing him and while it was a relief to not have to fight his urgent lust for her, and while he was glad he knew she wanted this with a desperation that matched his own, he wanted her to know that he wanted her that much too.

They both wanted it. Right now, right here, hard and fast and unbearably hot. But he wanted no doubt in Samara’s mind, wanted it absolutely, unequivocally clear to her that he was doing this of his own free will.

Their hands grabbed at each other, and finally, he just used his strength and held both her hands behind her back with one of his, took her knees out from under her with one leg and sent her to the mattress. He fell on top of her, his weight holding her in place, their hands still trapped behind her back. She made a noise, and he shushed her again, putting his other hand over her mouth.

She lay there, wide-eyed and panting, his hand covering her mouth, their hearts pounding against each other. “Be quiet.” The words squeezed out between his teeth. She gave a jerky nod, and he removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth, taking hers in a hot, hard, demanding kiss.

She kissed him back, and her body quivered beneath his. She was just as turned on as he was, and although he’d never even dreamt that he’d be so turned on by a little domination, the flames shooting up inside him told him he was. Unbearably, agonizingly aroused. It was her. She got him so wound up he couldn’t think, could only feel.

His body burned for her, and he let his weight sink into hers, pressing her into the soft mattress. With his free hand, he cupped her breast through her dress and squeezed. A small moan sounded in her throat. It was okay. Only he could hear that.

He kissed her until they were both gasping for breath. He released her hands and dragged his out from beneath her then pulled the straps of the cotton dress she wore down her shoulders to free her breasts. His dick surged at the sight of them, perfect round mounds of softness, tipped with sharp little nipples that begged to be sucked.

So he did.

Shifting his body, he lowered his head and took one nipple in his mouth. He ran his tongue over it, loving the velvety texture of her skin, the sweet warm taste of her. He sucked then sucked harder, bringing a gasp from her, and her fingers slid into his hair and tightened. He scraped his teeth across the puckered tip, and she writhed beneath him, yanking on his hair.

“Yes.” The word was a breath, feather light, barely audible. “Oh, yesssss.”

He moved to the other breast, using his fingers to tease the damp one he’d left, and played there until the need spearing his balls was almost unbearable.

He kissed his way down her tummy, pushing the dress as he went, hoping like hell it would go over her hips. It did, the stretchy top giving way and leaving her beneath him in only a pair of gold lace boy shorts, almost the same color as her pale golden skin.

“Are you wet, Samara?” He murmured the words against the sensitive flesh just above the lace.

“Oh, god. Yes.”

“Let me see.” He slipped his fingers beneath lace to satiny flesh. Her pussy radiated heat, and he longed to pause there, just holding her, so sweet and tiny and soft, pulsing against him, but he was desperate to be inside her. He slipped his fingers into the folds and found silky moisture, oh god, so much moisture. She was ready.

He stripped the panties off over smooth, slender thighs, tossing them who knew where, and fumbled at his shorts to get his cock out. Not even bothering to take his clothes off, he pulled a condom out of his pocket, rolled it on, moved over her, and thrust into her hard.

She made another choked noise, this one louder, and he hissed, “Sorry.”

She covered her own mouth this time, parting her thighs to let him in as he pushed into her, her other hand gripping his biceps.

“Ah, fuck, Samara.” He tried to whisper the words because he couldn’t hold them in. “You feel so good. So goddamn good, hot and tight and wet around me.”

She just blinked up at him, swallowed, and met his thrusts with her own hips lifting as he pounded into her hard, fast, desperate. Small whimpery noises escaped both of them as they tried to be quiet as they fought for release. Bodies straining together, their soft sounds of desperation mingled with the slap of flesh against flesh.

Travis swallowed the harsh groan that rose to his lips as sensation sizzled from the base of his spine outward to his toes and fingers and his brain. He labored for breath, gritting his teeth. Then he went still, holding her hips as heat exploded and rushed through his body, and he poured himself into her in long hard jets. His head went back, jaw aching, eyes closed as he emptied himself into her body.