Abigail in his arms was the best thing in the world. She was soft and warm and smelled like roses, and when she moaned against his lips, pressing harder against his chest, Jordan’s arousal went from hanging on by a thread to roaring out of control.

He put his hands on her shoulders, tugging her back.

“But—”

One move and she was in his arms. He carried her to the bed, ripped back the comforter, then set her on the sheets.

Pink cheeks, swollen lips, mussed hair. She would have said it was crazy, that her locks were out of control, but he thought the way they were spread out across her pillow was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Hi,” he whispered, coming down beside her on the mattress.

Her mouth quirked up. “Hi.”

“You’re so beautiful.” A roll of her eyes—another dismissal that was so typically Abby. He gripped her chin, forced her to look at him. “I gave you no expectations, so you need to give me this. You are the most beautiful woman inside”—he pressed his palm to her heart, felt the rapid thump-thump of her pulse—“and out.”

“Jordan.” She sighed, covering his hand with her own. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Accept it.”

A snort.

“Now shh.” He kissed her before she could protest further, slipping his tongue into her mouth and coaxing hers to join in. The heat, the spark he felt at just the press of their mouths was insane. His entire body felt on the edge of implosion, just from one kiss.

Her hands threaded through his hair, gripping tightly, and the slight bit of discomfort propelled him headlong over the edge.

He found the waistband of her pajama pants, shoved them down, then tore his mouth free from hers to pull off her shirt.

In less than ten seconds, she was naked except for a tiny pair of blue panties. Pale skin flushed pink, breasts stiff-peaked and waiting for his mouth, the slightest hint of her arousal soaking through her cotton underwear.

His mouth watered.

Slowly, wanting to savor the moment, to make it better for her than their first encounter, Jordan traced his hands up her waist.

Gooseflesh erupted on her skin, and she hissed out a breath. “That tickles.”

“Mmm,” he said, bending so that his mouth could follow the same path. Her waist, her stomach, and then up . . . up until he reached her breasts. He rubbed his nose against the underside of one, before leaning back slightly to blow on her nipple. “I read they can be extra sensitive. Is this okay?”

“Uh-huh.” She arched back, pressing her breast closer. “I want—”

He licked the hardened nub, relished her moan. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I—” Hands came up to his head again and tugged him back down. “They’re—” Another swipe of his tongue. “Not . . . ah . . . sensitive. I want—” She pulled his head toward her breast and groaned when he held steady, staring into those gorgeous, lust-filled hazel eyes. “You. Jordan. I need your mouth.”

He’d wanted the words, needed them, but they nearly shattered what remained of his tattered control. He wanted to make this perfect.

And it meant more to him than his own pleasure.

It meant more to him than anything else did in that moment. More than the company, the robot project, the beach.

The only thing that mattered was pleasuring Abby.

He closed his mouth around her nipple and gave her everything he had, every skill he’d honed, every tactic he knew. Jordan paid more attention to her responses than any other woman from his past, noting every moan, every hitch of breath. He exploited the information, using it to discover what set her on fire.

From her breasts, he moved up to her mouth, feasted on her throat, and then kissed his way down her body.

There was a soft curve just below her belly button and his heart squeezed, his desire banking for a moment as he glanced up and met Abby’s eyes. He saw in them what he felt in his heart. Hope, fear, and love.

He felt love for the baby and . . . for Abigail.

Carefully, he pressed his lips to the little bump. He was in love with Abby.

Holy shit, he was in love.

Shaking fingers touched his cheek. “Jordan?”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said. “I know.”

It was like one of those moments in a movie, where the main characters stare at each other and a montage of their past interactions start playing. Except this was real life and the moments were a blur, the huge feelings he felt for this women so much more.

“I need you.” One shift of her hips and the time for emotion was over.

He slid lower, spread her legs, and began feasting.

Fuck, she tasted amazing. Sweet with just a hint of tart, it was the best meal of his life.

“Oh, God,” Abby moaned, hips writhing. “That’s”—he slid one finger home—“oh, fuck. Jordan.”

Another finger and he moaned at the tight fit, remembering what she’d feel like, imagining himself sliding home. His slacks were uncomfortably tight and he was slowly dying from the need to be inside her.

“I—” She gasped. “That’s—” Her head rolled from side to side on the pillow, her hips bucked against his mouth. “Oh . . . fuuuck.”

She pulsed against his finger, squeezing him tightly as her orgasm pulled her over the edge.

Her chest rose and fell, breasts jiggling, a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Her pussy was pink and glistening, and he had to force his eyes to the ceiling and count backward from one hundred to not blow his load.

“Jordan?” she asked after a minute.

“Yeah?” He was still counting.

“Why aren’t you inside me?”

His head jerked. “What?”

She sat up, hands finding the buttons on his shirt and sliding one free. Then the next and the next and the next. He shoved it off when they were all loose. The buttons on the cuffs caught on his wrists and he yanked them through, not giving a damn when he heard the fabric rip.

Because Abby’s hands hadn’t stopped.

They’d continued to unbutton his slacks and then had progressed to zipper sliding.

Hot palms on his chest, his stomach, beneath his boxer briefs and—

“Oh fuck,” he groaned when she gripped him tightly.

“There you are,” she whispered, but she wasn’t talking to him. No, the words were for his hammer—fuck, now he was the one making hammer references—and the way she licked her lips nearly made him come right then and there.

Which made alarm bells blare in his head.

“Next time,” he said, extracting himself from her hands and bending to kiss her. He thrust his tongue past her lips and slipped his fingers back between her thighs. She jumped then moaned when he gentled the strokes, knowing that she was still sensitive.

Abby was so responsive that he wanted to spend the night making her come over and over again.

He wanted to claim her, body and soul. To mark her from the inside out. To tattoo her heart with his name.

To tie her to him for an eternity.

But most of all, in that moment, he couldn’t wait another second to be in her.

He kicked out of his slacks and knelt between her thighs.

I love you, he thought, and thrust home.