No good deed goes unpunished.

Hailey walked Jake to the hotel room. It wasn’t anything fancy—not like the suites, or anything—but he got to be largely incognito. The people who crowded the noisy casino were more interested in pai gow and poker than sci-fi series actors.

As she walked Jake in and got her key from the front desk, she texted and canceled her plans for the evening with a tiny twinge of remorse. She enjoyed sex, the variety, the adrenaline rush. Most of all, the relaxation. She’d just worked from seven that morning to one in the afternoon at the coffee shop—now, she was closing in on her two o’clock start at the casino. At least it was a short shift, letting her out at eight or so, but still, it was going to be a long damned day. Especially since she no longer had a recreational “bounce” to look forward to.

Still, the grateful look on Jake’s face had made it worth it. Besides, the whole “I rescued Jake Reese” tale would be a blast to tell Cressida, Rachel, and the book club.

She handed him the key card. “Okay. You’re all set. It’s room six-oh-four.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said, dimples in full effect, and she squelched a soft sigh. Damn, the guy was gorgeous. He glanced at the card, and then at her. “If you’ve got a minute, maybe you could show me where the room is?” She raised an eyebrow at him, giggling when he gave her a look of exaggerated innocence. “What? I get lost easily.”

She glanced at her watch—she had a few minutes to spare. “Sure. Why not?” She walked him to the bank of elevators, then down the hallway, noticing her pace slowed down a little. He was fun. Cute. She wished she could spend a little more time with him.

Hell, she wished she could do more than that.

They finally made it to the room. She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s been great,” she said. “But I’ve got to . . .”

“Please. Let me reimburse you for the room, at least,” he said, turning a little red. “I mean, I’ve almost made you late for your shift, and you’re, er, giving up a lot for me.”

He looked so uncomfortable, she grinned. She’d stunned him to silence with her admission in the car. It was fun to watch.

The thing was, even though she was tight on money, she felt weird taking money from him. She’d felt genuinely good helping him out, and she didn’t want to tarnish that by acting like she was using him to turn a profit.

Still, guilt wasn’t going to pay the bills. “Sure,” she said, shrugging. At that moment, her phone started ringing, blasting Drake’s “Hotline Bling.” She sighed. “Sorry, excuse me a sec.”

She walked over to the door, holding it up. “Hey, Duke.”

“Hey, Hellcat,” he said, his voice a rough, only slightly affected growl. “What’s with the text?”

“Lost the room tonight,” she said. “Gotta raincheck.”

“Damn. Seriously?” He sounded as disappointed as she felt. “After last time, I came back to town specifically to hit that, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. This was Duke’s way of being charming, unfortunately. Perhaps I set the bar a bit low.

“Yeah, well, the ride’s closed, buddy,” she said. Which was a pity. She’d only slept with Duke once before, and she’d probably want to shoot herself if she had to spend more than, say, forty-eight hours with him. But he was big where it counted, and had a few moves that she could work with. She knew he wasn’t clingy. Even better, he had the stamina of a steam engine. Guy could go all night, which she appreciated.

“Well, shit.” He sounded disgruntled. “We could get another room . . .”

“You paying?” she said.

“How about your place?” he quickly amended. That was another strike against the guy. He was a mooch.

“I never bring guys over to the house,” she said sternly.

“Well, shit,” he repeated, but she could hear the resignation in his tone. He’d accepted the situation, albeit not gracefully. “I, uh, guess I’ll call back when I’m in town.”

“Sure,” she said, and hung up on him, deciding at that point that Duke wasn’t going to make the playlist again. Tacky, she thought. She could do better, even for one-night stands.

She turned back to Jake, only to see him staring at her, wide eyed. Suddenly, she realized . . . he’d heard her say, “You paying?”

And he knew she was talking about sex.

Oh, crap.

“No, no, no,” she said quickly. “The thing about paying—that was about another hotel room. Not sex. Trust me, I like men, I love sex, but I’m not, er, a pro. Just a dedicated amateur.”

She tilted her head up, with a little challenge, when he still stared at her. The guy had probably bedded starlets like it was an Olympic sport. Let him try to slut shame her.

“No judgment,” he said quickly, hands up. “I just feel badly. I mean, you went through all this trouble, and now you can’t, erm . . .”

“Get laid?” she said, just to watch his cheeks heat a little. “Nah. He wasn’t all that great, anyway, honestly.”

But Duke was good enough, and best of all, he wasn’t usually around. Duke never got any ideas about “permanent.” Duke barely did “temporary.”

Jake handed over a few hundred dollar bills. “Hey, this is too much!”

“You rescued me, you’ve driven me around, you stood up to a manager for me. This is the least I can do,” Jake said, his eyes meeting hers. He looked so damned sincere. “Anything else I can do to make it up to you?”

The guy was a sweetheart, she realized. He’d probably be a beautiful mark—just enough naiveté, especially for Hollywood. Chivalry, nobility. The guy was a soft touch.

She couldn’t help it. Her grinned curved wider, and she looked at him suggestively. “Have anything particular in mind?”

“What? Oh! No. That’s not what I meant,” he stammered. But she saw his pulse racing in the thick muscles of his neck, and the way his pupils dilated.

Might not be what he meant, but he was thinking about it.

And damn it, now so am I.

“Why not?” she teased, pitching her voice as if she were hurt that he wouldn’t consider it, just to watch him squirm. And squirm he did.

“No. I mean, I’d love to, don’t get me wrong. You are . . .” His gaze now swept over her, and she felt it like a chinchilla mitten, all soft and sensual and something you just wanted to rub up against. “Unbelievable. But I don’t want you to think that I’m just taking advantage of the situation, or anything. I mean, I don’t expect you to have sex with me.”

“Relax, Boy Scout. I’m just messing with you,” she said, laughing and patting his cheek. “Really, it’s cool. Maybe score me a one-day pass to the Con? My sister’s a big fan, she’d love to get some video of it.” Since Cressida couldn’t leave the house, video would be the next best thing to attending in person.

“Just because I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly, “doesn’t mean I don’t want anything, Hailey.”

She blinked. Her heart started to rhumba in her chest. God. Sex with Jake Reese?

He was messing with her, she chastised herself. He had to be.

She started to take a step away from him. She had to get out of here, before she started getting ideas—reckless, stupid ideas.

Before she could pull away, he grasped her wrist—gently, but inexorably. He kept it against his cheek, then turned his face, letting her fingertips rub against the stubble before placing a hot kiss in the center of her palm.

Just like that, her lady parts tingled in anticipation.

“Oh, my,” she whispered.

“I’d like to take you to dinner,” he said, his voice low, those blue, blue eyes mesmerizing. He’d lost his stammer, and he’d somehow switched from awkward suitor to hell-yeah, hot-fudge-sinful man. “Tonight. When do you get off work?”

Wow. Zero to turned on in three-point-two seconds. That had to be some sort of record.

She swallowed hard.

This is a bad idea.

“I guess I could have dinner.” Her voice came out breathy, and she cleared her throat, getting more businesslike. “I mean, I’ll be hungry. Gotta eat, right?”

From his grin, she knew she was suddenly rambling. She frowned. Men did not make her nervous. She made men nervous.

She had to get a grip.

“Sure,” she said briskly. “I get off work at eight o’clock.”

He released her, smiling a bit smugly. “Then I’ll take you to dinner,” he said, dimples in full effect. “And then I’ll . . . thank you properly.”

Ohhhh, he was good, she thought. She’d thrown him off balance. Now, he was trying to get some semblance of himself together, and do the same to her.

She stepped up to him, close, showing she wasn’t intimidated.

He leaned down, getting even closer . . . waiting.

She waited, too. Her shift downstairs at the blackjack table be damned. This was her pride at stake.

He moved in, slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away. She stood like a statue. She felt his lips brush hers . . . hot, firm lips, yet smooth as silk. Feathery strokes, gently exploring. Teasing.

She felt her knees buckle, just a little, when he moved in a little more seriously, his mouth caressing hers like an erotic whisper.

He finally pulled away.

“Till eight, then,” he said. “And we’ll see if maybe there isn’t anything else I can do for you.”

Sexy, she thought. And smug.

This man does not know who he is dealing with. And there was no better time than the present to educate him.

She let out a small sigh. Paused a long moment. Let him think he had the upper hand.

Then she gathered up his shirt in her right fist, and tugged him to her.

She knew she was a hell of a kisser. His sweet, sensual thing might work on the tender-hearted fangirls out there, but there was a world of difference between wooing and what she was capable of.

She ravished his lips with hers, working his mouth like a virtuoso. Her mouth parted his lips, her tongue tracing the soft inner rim of his smile, before he opened his mouth wider, pressing his own tongue forward, obviously trying to become the aggressor . . . trying to regain control. She took advantage, her tongue darting past, tangling with his. She felt him rub against her instinctively with the rest of his body, mimicking their meshed mouth play.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, doing a full body press, molding herself to him. Feeling his hands on her hips, his fingers digging in, tugging her pelvis against his now rock-hard erection.

And it wasn’t an inconsiderable hardness. Nice. She could definitely work with that.

She pulled away. His body was tense all over, firm as concrete, tense as iron cable. His breathing was ragged. His pupils were dilated. And his hands were still reaching for her, obviously itching to do more than one hot kiss.

“Sweetheart,” she rasped, with some smugness of her own, “you couldn’t handle me. But I’ll let you buy me dinner.”

With that, she turned and headed out, down the hallway. Before she did something truly stupid, and missed her shift altogether.

* * *

Jake had spent the next six hours in a fog of lust and confusion, in roughly equal parts. He’d talked to Susie, who promised to chew out the handler, the convention staff, and the hotel. She also said she’d play it all up to the producers when she discussed contract negotiation, which they still hadn’t finalized.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” Susie had promised. “Just try to relax tonight, okay?”

He was ready to do a lot tonight, but he wasn’t sure if “relaxing” was quite the right term.

Actually, what the hell are you doing tonight, Jake?

He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t the sort of guy who did one-night stands, and as an actor, he certainly wasn’t the type to mix it up with groupies. Not that Hailey was a groupie, necessarily, even if she was a fan of Mystics.

So what was he doing?

I’m not going to sleep with her.

He was quite clear about that. He didn’t do one-night stands anymore. There were too many crazies out there, which made the idea of getting intimate with no background check dangerous bordering on stupid. Still, he hadn’t been out on a date with someone for months. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d asked a woman out to dinner that he’d had this kind of spark with, either. There was just something about Hailey that revved his engine. Not just sex, although, God, the woman was a walking, talking, breathing seduction. But she was funny, and challenging, and just . . .

He shook his head. At this rate, he’d start writing sonnets.

I’m just going out to dinner. Simple as that.

Still, his body was at least half aroused when she knocked on the hotel door. She looked tired, he thought, and felt a wave of concern.

“This still all right?”

She shot a smirk at him. “You weaseling out, Reese?”

“No, ma’am.” He felt like putting an arm around her, but felt it was maybe too soon. “Want to eat in one of the restaurants here?”

“Nah. I work here, don’t want the hassle,” she said. “There’s a place down the road a ways, though. They’re open, and the food’s good.” She grinned, quicksilver and devilish. “I’ll drive.”

So he found himself in her small town, Snoqualmie, at a restaurant called the Black Dog. It was a funky place, more like a café from the looks of it. The walls were covered with artwork, obviously from a local artist, all swirls and designs that turned into recognizable items: crows, mushrooms. The tables didn’t match the chairs or each other. There was a decent-sized crowd, but nobody was paying attention to him, which was a nice change. Instead, they all greeted Hailey warmly, with hugs and fist bumps and waves. She was like a local celebrity.

There was a trio playing jazzy blues up on the small stage in the back, forcing the two of them to sit side by side to hear each other. Feeling her thigh pressed lightly against his wasn’t a hardship though, and having her lean close, feeling her breath against his neck, wasn’t a hardship, either. Well, other than the fact that some parts of his anatomy were starting to get hard as a result.

“You live around here, then?” he asked, wanting to know more about her.

She shrugged. “Grew up here. . . . Well, since I was around fifteen or so.”

“Where did you live before then?”

“L.A.”

He waited for more explanation, but she didn’t say anything. So he pressed a little. “Really? Where in L.A.? I grew up there, too.”

She grinned at him. “I know.”

“You do?”

“I’m a Mystics fan, remember?” Her dark blue eyes gleamed. “We know everything about you guys.”

He winced.

“Don’t worry. I’m not a psycho stalker or crazed clothes-ripper-offer,” she said, humor liberally lacing her voice. “I’m a fan, not a nutcase. I know where to draw the line.”

“Having had someone write in lipstick on my hotel room mirror and my home broken into, I appreciate that,” he said, but his laugh fell flat. He wasn’t joking. The thought sobered him.

You’re just having dinner. And there was a reason for that, he reminded himself.

“Which do you prefer: Los Angeles or New York?” she asked him, tactfully changing the subject as a waitress brought them their food: locally sourced burgers with pasilla peppers and homemade buns. “Seeing as you’ve lived on both coasts.”

“There are good things about both,” he hedged. “I could go hike upstate, when I was living in New York, even though it was kind of a pain in the ass. And in Los Angeles, I could go up to the mountains or go surfing.”

“Nature boy, huh?”

“How about you?” he said, trying to get the conversation back on track. He wanted to find out about her, not the other way around. “What do you prefer: Snoqualmie or Los Angeles?”

“Snoqualmie. Absolutely no question,” she said, with a touch of forcefulness. “I love it here.”

“Why?” He took a bite of the burger. It was delicious, better than burgers he’d shelled out twenty-five bucks for in L.A. He was glad she’d made the recommendation.

Rather than answering his question, she toyed with a fry. “Why do you think?” she finally asked, taking a big bite of her own burger.

There it was again, that evasiveness. Answering questions with questions, turning things back to him. It wasn’t about him, though, he could tell. She wasn’t pumping him for information. She was just . . . hiding.

Curious. Especially considering she looked like a forties pinup girl meets Negan from The Walking Dead, with her leather jacket and boots. She didn’t seem like the type that would hide from anything.

“Well, you don’t look like a small-town girl,” he said, and saw her bristle, just a little. “Is it the hiking?”

She leaned back, gesturing to herself: the hair, the clothes, the makeup. “Do I strike you as outdoorsy?”

“You seem like the sort of woman that would constantly surprise me,” he said, and he saw her defensiveness melt away into a flash of confusion before her smartass smile snapped back in place.

“Well, I’ve hiked, but it’s not my favorite thing. And I may not love all small towns, but I love this one,” she said, and he heard the passion humming through her voice. “It’s like the anti–L.A.”

“How so?”

She smiled, and it was gentler this time—possibly the most authentic, revealing smile he’d seen from her yet.

“The police blotter.”

He blinked. “The . . . police blotter?”

“There’s a local newspaper that prints it up every week,” she said, her violet-blue eyes glowing with amusement and affection. “In L.A., it’d read like a scroll of statistics: shootings, theft, rapes. Here? Someone’s chickens got loose. A bear settled into somebody’s backyard to raid their plum tree. A local bar had a suspicious guy who was freaking out the waitress, because he’d hung out for hours and she didn’t know him. Police responded.”

“Just because she didn’t recognize him?”

“They take it seriously here,” she said, with obvious pride. “Anyway, turns out he was homeless and couldn’t get back to the bus station, didn’t want to stay out in the cold.”

“Nice of the cops to ask,” he said.

“They took him to McDonald’s,” she said. “Then gave him bus fare.”

He stared at her. “That’s . . .”

“Total Twilight Zone, I know,” she said. “Every week, there’s something like that. You should see the Facebook page. If something happens, twenty minutes later everybody knows about it. It’s like people gossiping to each other at their back fences, only online.”

“No shit.”

“People look out for each other. We take up collections for people who are sick or hurt. Sure, there’s crime, don’t get me wrong. But people just seem . . . better, here.”

“You make it sound awesome,” he said, suddenly envious. “I’ve never had anything like that.”

She looked over at him. “I didn’t, either. This place, these people, changed my life.”

The quiet way she said it made him sense, deep down, that her life had been pretty bad before she’d somehow transplanted to this quaint little town. She looked at home.

He envied her. And more than that, he wanted to know more about her. He wanted that very, very badly.

Why are you so eager to get to know her better? his subconscious asked. After all, he was only here for a week, then it’d be back to Vancouver for filming. It seemed foolish to start up something with this woman that he probably wouldn’t be able to follow through with. Besides, he barely knew her. It wasn’t like he was going to be driving eight hours round trip to keep taking her out to dinner.

Yet he found himself compelled to dig deeper. To learn more.

It was his hormones. Had to be. Ever since his last girlfriend had dumped him for an up-and-coming action star (who had then fizzled when Mr. Up-and-Coming’s much-vaunted movie tanked), Jake had been gun-shy. He didn’t want to get involved with the actress-and-model types that were the bulk of his acquaintance. He’d tried getting involved with people outside the industry, too, only to have a woman sell “his story,” a bunch of made-up bullshit, to the tabloids. It’d been six months since he’d had sex. It was uncomfortable, sure, but it wasn’t like it made him crazy. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would bang just anybody because he hadn’t gotten any action. If anything, he’d rather hold out, extend the dry spell, to avoid settling.

He liked to think of it as discernment. His father had other, less flattering terms for it. Like “get laid, for Christ’s sake, and get out of your own head.”

They finished their meals, lingered over ice cream for dessert. “It’s getting late.” Hailey’s indigo eyes gleamed. “Guess I’d better be getting you back to your hotel. You’ll have a big day at the convention tomorrow.”

He cringed. “Guess I will.”

She laughed at his expression. “Come on. Is it really that bad?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “This isn’t like Supernatural, where they’ve been doing it for years. This is the first one we’ve done. But if the VIP event and that zoo at the hotel lobby was anything to go on . . .” He shuddered for comedic effect, and she laughed. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Poor baby,” she purred, then chuckled. It warmed his skin, made him almost shiver with anticipation.

Damn, this woman strummed every one of his strings.

He sighed, pushing aside the sensation. No matter what kind of string-strumming he was feeling, he’d have to handle his own instrument tonight. No one-night stands, no matter how cool she seemed. No matter how badly his body ached for her. No matter how funny, and smart, and awesome she appeared.

He paid the bill, and walked out with her to her car, reluctant to have the night end. The ride from the restaurant back to the casino/hotel was just too damned short, and he desperately wanted to stay in her company.

She pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, then looked at him. “Well, thanks for dinner,” she said brightly. Dismissively. “I’d say we’re even.”

He swallowed. “Say, do you want to grab a drink?” He gestured at one of the casino’s bars.

She quirked a perfectly curved eyebrow at him, those pillowy lips pursing. “A drink?”

“It’s not that late,” he argued. It was weak, and he knew it, but he just wasn’t quite ready to have her walk out of his life. Not yet.

So what are you going to do? He chided himself. Ask for her number? Email her?

“Why do you want to have a drink, Jake?”

He found himself warming at the way she said his name. What about this woman didn’t turn him on?

“I don’t want to end tonight just yet,” he said, his voice almost growling. His body tightened. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted anyone as badly as he did this woman. Just want to torture myself for a little while longer . . .

Her smile was heated, her eyes low-lidded. “I get that,” she said, and the warmth in her voice made his toes curl. “You’re just here for a few days. It’s flattering that you want to get to know me better, but why?”

“Can’t a guy want to get to know a woman better?”

“Were you planning on becoming my pen pal?”

He barked out a laugh. She’d followed his thoughts exactly.

“I have to assume you’re interested in me. And trust me, I’m interested in you,” she said, and he went hard as iron. “But the thing is, you’re just here for a few days, then you’ll be about four hours away. I sincerely doubt you’re interested in a relationship.”

He started to protest, but she held up a hand, cutting him off.

“And even if you were, I’m not.”

“Huh?” He spluttered. “Why not?”

“It’s not you,” she said quickly. “I just don’t do relationships.”

He stared at her. “Why . . .”

“I do hookups,” she clarified. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what you’d be like. You’re hot, but more importantly, you’re funny, and sweet, and . . . I don’t know. There’s something real about you.”

It was, perhaps, the best compliment he’d ever received.

“But short term is all I’ve got to offer,” she finished. “If you’re not interested, that’s fine. No harm, no foul.” She leaned forward. “But if you are interested, let’s skip the drink and just go to your room.” His mouth went dry. She was sincere. And hot. Holy crow, she was hot.

He should say no.

“Come up to my room,” he said instead.

* * *

Hailey’s heart was racing as she parked the car and they made their way into the hotel, to his room—which originally would’ve been her room. Which would, for one night only, be their room.

Dear Penthouse, she thought with a grin. I never thought it would happen to me . . .

This was crazy. The guy was a celebrity, for God’s sake. He probably had all the women he wanted, and a boatload he didn’t, and yet here she was.

She wanted this. Every nerve ending felt on fire, and she was drawn to him like a damned electromagnet. Not only because Jake made her libido red line, although that was a great perk. And even though she loved his stoic, physically badass character on Mystics, she was under no illusions about who she was going to have sex with tonight. She wasn’t pretending to get with “Rick,” wasn’t pretending that she was going to be having sex with anybody other than Jake Reese. And she was certainly not looking forward to getting with Jake because he was famous.

It was because he was unexpected. Everything she’d learned about this man, through her interactions with him all day, and over dinner, made her more and more eager to get to know him on the most basic of levels.

He had a fun sense of humor. He seemed at ease with himself. And he wanted to know about her. Not that she wanted to share, granted, but it was nice . . . a guy who seemed to be genuinely interested in who she was, instead of downloading a bunch of stuff about what his life was like, his interests. Why she should be impressed with him.

They walked next to each other, but not too close. Since they’d gotten out of the car, he hadn’t touched her, and she hadn’t touched him. Probably for the same reasons—once they did, there was probably going to be a high probability of outright combustion.

She noticed his hand was shaking a little as he struggled with the key card to get the door open. She felt herself smile with a purely feminine sense of satisfaction. He wanted her badly.

She knew exactly how that felt.

She placed her hand over his, steadying it. “Allow me,” she murmured, then pulled the key card out, watching the doorknob’s unlock light go green. She opened the door.

He gestured for her to enter, following her in. The door shut behind him, and he locked and latched it. For a long moment, he simply stared at her, like a starving man at a buffet, unsure of where to start first.

She took a deep breath, then moved forward, body-pressing him against the door and locking her lips to his. She felt his body tense, both with attraction and with surprise. She fucking loved kissing, the tactile quality, the taste and the feel and the way it made her body thrum. Too many men she’d been with saw it as an unnecessary appetizer, something that distracted from the “main meal.” Jake had a great mouth—firm lips, but velvety—and he knew how to use it. His tongue darted forward, tracing the soft inner flesh of hers, and she growled in appreciation. She shrugged out of her leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor, not pulling away. Her breasts were straining, making her bra straps tight.

Damn. This was going to be good.

He tore away, breathing hard. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

“Oh?” She nipped his neck, and he gripped her hips, moaning softly. “Right now?”

“Um, yeah. Sorta important.”

She froze. “Oh, Jesus. You’re not secretly married, are you?”

“What? No!”

“Seeing someone?” She grimaced, backing up. “I may play, but I don’t poach.”

“No. In fact, the opposite.” He took a deep breath. “I, um, haven’t had sex in a while.”

Of all the confessions she was expecting, this wasn’t it. “Define a while?”

“Six months,” he muttered. “Give or take.”

Now her eyes bugged out. “Seriously?”

“I’ve been busy,” he mumbled. “And six months isn’t that long. Anyway, we might want to slow it down, or this is going to be the worst and shortest hookup you’ve ever had.”

She stared at him. Then she laughed. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” He reached for her. “And believe me, I’d love to show you. Slowly. That okay?”

“Um . . . sure.” Slow wasn’t her usual speed. She only had her hookups a couple times a month when she was lucky, and less than that since she’d started working two jobs. So she tended to look at them as cram sessions, more about stamina than finesse.

“I’ve never liked rushing,” he said, picking up her coat and putting it down on the second bed before peeling off his own leather jacket. She watched as the muscles in his shoulders and chest bunched and flexed, and her mouth went dry. “I want to get a good look at you.”

She felt like her blood was boiling. His slow perusal of her form, combined with his outstanding kissing, made her feel crazed with desire in a way she hadn’t felt in longer than she could remember. He revved up her hormones and made her cross-eyed with overwhelming sensations that buffeted her from all sides.

She wanted sex, now. She wasn’t the “slow-montage-of-seduction” type. Given the guys she’d been used to hooking up with, she’d learned to be selfish. She’d graduated from the hard, fast, punk-rock school of fucking—get yours, before he gets his.

So she ripped off her sweater, tossing it by her jacket, then sat down on the edge of the bed, grateful she’d worn the Aunt-Sally-styled Dr. Martens with the zipper. Even if he claimed to like slow, the tedious unlacing of a real pair of Docs was hardly what anyone could consider sexy.

He stroked her shoulder, magnifying the sensations skittering through her a hundredfold—a feverish combination of searing heat and shivering chills, wherever he touched her. It created a longing so powerful it made her knees buckle as she swayed toward him like a plant toward sunlight.

She stood up and shucked off her jeans, leaving her only in her underwear. She grinned when she saw he was staring at her rack. She’d worn her matching black lace panties and push-up bra—and there was plenty to push up. His breathing went shallow.

Slow, my ass, she snickered to herself, as she grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. As she got a good look at him, she found herself slowing down instead, stunned into submission.

The guy had a chest that belonged on a goddamned romance novel cover, chiseled and cut. The muscles she’d seen, under his shirt?

Even. Better. In. Person.

She couldn’t help it. Her mouth dropped open in appreciation.

He acknowledged her approval with a tiny grin, then stretched out onto the bed next to her, reaching for the ribbon at the nape of her neck. “You mind?”

She shook her head, still speechless, still frozen. Any second now, she told herself, she’d get back in the saddle and give this guy the ride of his life. But for the moment, she was too busy devouring him with her eyes. He tugged at the ribbon, undoing it, releasing all the curls she’d kept trapped behind her. Then he gently wiggled his fingers into the mass, massaging her scalp, running his fingers through her hair. She hummed with appreciation and trembled—actually trembled—with pleasure as she felt his fingers work their magic. She tilted her head toward him like a flower toward sunlight. He framed her face, then moved forward, his mouth molding to hers.

Slow kisses. Drugging kisses. Deceptive ones, all slow and sneaky, starting off gentle before sinking in and rocking her like a left hook. She made a small moan and pressed forward, wriggling against him, her body half-covering his. That’s when she felt the denim of his jeans underneath her thigh. She made a little sound of impatience at the barrier to his flesh.

“Slow, remember?” he whispered against her lips, nibbling at them. Then he shifted, and she found herself flat on her back, his body looming hard and hot above her. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

She made another sound, this time one of desperate protest. She felt greedy, desperate, shaking for him. But he was stronger. Not in a scary way. In an impressive way. She could push, she could plead, but he’d keep on with his implacable pace, irresistibly wearing her down.

It felt out of control—and, if she had to be honest, it was fucking incredible.

He moved from her mouth, letting her take a deep gasp of breath as he inched down her throat, pressing heated kisses against her pulse, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. When he leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth, suckling through the lace, her hips shot up reflexively, bumping against his denim-covered hardness.

“Oh, my God,” she rasped, grasping his shoulders and digging her fingertips into the muscles there, pulling him toward her. In response, he moved the cup of her bra away, grazing the delicate skin with his teeth.

She swore her eyes crossed.

“Oh, my God.”

She felt his chuckle along her skin as he shifted to her other breast, teasing, sucking. Her legs moved restlessly, her hips pivoting to brush against him. She felt like she was losing her mind.

“Jake,” she crooned, as her fingers twisted into his hair.

His mouth skimmed lower, kissing and licking, trailing down her stomach. She giggled a little when he kissed her belly button. Then she felt his fingertips brush the top of her panties, starting to tug them down as his mouth moved even farther south . . .

“Whoa,” she said, bolting. He yelped a little, since she’d inadvertently tugged his hair. “Sorry. You don’t . . . that’s not necessary.”

He was poised at the juncture of her thighs, having wriggled a bit lower. He was grinning slowly, his eyes slumberous, sleep-sexy. Here’s a mental picture I’m going to keep for vibrator duty, she thought.

“I want to,” he said, starting to bend back to the task, but she tugged his head up again.

“You’re too far ahead already,” she said. “This has been all you, serving me. We need to get even.”

“What, is it a competition?”

“More like . . . quid pro quo,” she said, tugging him back up so they were face-to-face. She looped her arms around his neck, kissing that marble jawline of his, feeling the scruff of beard that was starting. She gave him a quick lick, her tongue tracing the tiny hollow where the hinge of his jaw met his neck, just below his earlobe.

“You like being in control, huh?” He chuckled, and it was a fun, carefree sound. “Why am I not shocked?”

She bit her lip. Then she bit his, causing him to snort out a surprised laugh. “You’ll like me being in control, too,” she promised.

“Bossy,” he teased.

“Maybe.” She looked into his eyes. “Let me?”

He sighed, then leaned back on the bed. “I’m yours.”

That sobered her more than anything he could’ve said. For the tiniest moment, she was thrown. This guy probably had groupies—God, she hated that term—and may well have slept with thousands of women, for all she knew. Just because he’d had a six-month break didn’t mean the guy was a monk. She was sexually active, and perfectly okay with that fact. But this guy may well have been sexually voracious, with a wide and assorted variety of experiences. From women who probably took frickin’ continuing education classes in “getting your freak on.” His body had probably been rocked and his mind blown by more people than she could easily name, in ways she’d only seen in porn.

She was confident, sure, but even for her, this was intimidating.

She faltered in her exploration, frowning. She didn’t want to be just another lay, for whatever reason. She wanted to be memorable. She wanted to affect his life the way he was currently affecting hers, because she knew that even though they hadn’t had sex yet, she wasn’t going to forget any of this. It was blazed into her psyche, something she both marveled at and even regretted, because she knew other men were going to have a tough time measuring up. She wanted him to feel that way about her and other women. Normally, she wouldn’t care, but tonight was different. Somehow.

She wanted tonight to be different. For both of them.

So she took a deep breath, then rested her forehead against his for a long moment. She stroked his chest, his shoulders, his arms, memorizing the feel of his skin.

He’d startled her with his attention to all her details. She realized she needed to flip the script, and take a page out of his book. Her first instinct had been to devour him, but she knew that was the wrong tack to take: it was her own impatience and eagerness and sheer desire. If she just leaped in there and started mauling him, she’d be no better than those douchebag guys who were more intent on “giving it to you good” than actually making sure you had a good time. She didn’t want to be that guy.

Instead, she studied him.

She breathed in the scent of him, where his neck met his shoulder. Smoothed her palms over him, pressing kisses over his sternum, his pecs, his clavicle, his chin. Tiny sharp bites. Caressing kisses. Investigative touches.

Who would’ve guessed a guy this big was ticklish around his sides? Or that he had sensitive earlobes, where a well-placed nibble would make him shudder and clutch his arms around her waist?

She felt—hyper real. Everything was emphasized. The smell of him, like clean winter air undershot with hints of something expensive and musky, like sandalwood or amber. The feel of his skin, velvet over the corded steel of his muscles. The sound of his growls and low moans. Even the taste of him.

He was touching her, tasting her, as she explored, distracting her in the most delicious way as the combination of her discoveries and the passionate responses he was drawing out of her simply overtook her. She wasn’t in charge anymore, didn’t care that she’d lost track of what she was trying to achieve. She didn’t have anything to prove right now. She was just indulging in the feelings that crashed through her.

It was different than any sexual or sensual encountered she’d ever had. That might freak her out later. Right now, she was in over her head and she didn’t give a damn.

She reached for his fly, smoothing her palm over the long, hard length straining against the fabric. Then she paused, her hands on the button. She glanced at him, asking permission silently.

When he nodded, she couldn’t help it. She smiled, and if it were anything like the hungry, sensual smile he had . . .

Oh, yeah. This was going to be good.

She undid the button, undoing the zipper tooth by tooth. Now it was his turn to growl impatiently. It felt like a drug. She could get addicted to this slow jam business.

She kissed him, nipping at his lower lip, licking his upper lip. Then she peeled down his jeans, shoving them off his hips. He took them the rest of the way off. Now they were finally even: down to underwear only. His boxers were plain navy cotton, his cock tenting them like the big top at a circus.

She felt her body tense. She couldn’t wait for the main event.

She crawled on top of him, her panties brushing against the hard length of him, and her body shivered, going wet in a rush. She let his covered cock stroke between her thighs, and she cradled it gently, weaving from side to side above him, the lace of her bra whispering against his muscular chest. He reached up, removing the silky barrier, then cupped her bare breasts. She arched, pressing herself more fully into his hands even as it made her hips and thighs fit more snugly against his erection.

“You feel so . . . fucking . . . good,” he ground out, his hips rising to meet her as his hands kneaded her breasts gently, but insistently.

She leaned down for a hungry kiss, smiling against his lips. “Not so bad yourself,” she replied breathlessly. “This slow enough for you?”

He grinned back, then pulled her to him, his cock pushing insistently at her entrance, separated only by thin films of cotton and lace. “I’ll show you slow,” he promised in a growl against her throat.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said. Then she pulled away, slipping out of her panties. Now she was completely naked. She pulled down his boxers. His erection was everything she’d hoped, and then some, thick and straight and . . . yum. She stroked it, and it strained against her palm.

She needed to grab a condom. She wanted him inside her, now.

She gave him one more kiss, feeling the hot iron of him brush against her stomach. She was going crazy. “Let me just grab a . . .”

She froze as she heard her phone ring. Not just any ringtone. It was “Carry On Wayward Son.” That meant Rachel’s phone.

That meant trouble.