Page 28 of Edge of Danger

“Protective of family, are you?”

He looked startled at her observation.

She laughed. “Let me guess. You style yourself inscrutable and unreadable to all, especially women.”

“Well…yeah.”

“Hardly, Tonto.” She sensed an argument coming on, and to distract him, drew her fingernails down his chest toward the line of dark hair disappearing between her legs. His mouth, opened to make a snappy comeback, shut abruptly.

Mission accomplished. He was officially distracted.

“I like your chest,” she murmured.

“I like yours, too.” He reached for said chest, and she inhaled sharply. The man was not without weapons of his own in their private little war. Speaking of which, at long—belated, last—her survival instinct finally kicked in and her brain started functioning. A little.

What the hell was she doing sitting naked on top of this man?

She barely knew him. She would never see him again. He would break her heart and leave her in the dust without a backward glance. But dammit, he was so very addictive. If only he didn’t know it. If only she knew him.

“Tell me something about you,” she murmured. “Something personal.”

“Like what?” Thank God. He sounded a little distracted, too.

“Anything.”

“I have four brothers and a sister. They all work for the government or law enforcement agencies.”

She’d always wanted to be part of a big family. Instead, it had been just her brother, her dad, and her. Not that her old man had ever functioned as much of a father. He’d been a drill sergeant before her mother had come along, wrecked his career, and abandoned a toddler and an infant with him. He’d raised his kids like raw recruits.

Ian’s fingers played her body like a freaking violin, stroking her into a quiet frenzy.

She was not going to lose control this morning, dammit. He wasnotplaying fair.

She was supposed to be in control of herself this morning! In control of this wild heat that erupted between them every time they got naked together.

Her old man always said the best defense was a good offense. Eyes narrowed, she leaned backward a little and reached down for erection jutting against her backside.

She wrung a groan from him and satisfaction filled her. Better.

One of his powerful arms wrapped around her waist and he neatly reversed their positions without separating their bodies. He was willing to allow her the temporary conceit of thinking she was in charge of their sex, but at the end of the day, he was master of all that took place in his bed. His weight and strength pinned her to the mattress, and reluctantly, she had to admit she liked it better this way.

The corded muscles of his arms, braced on either side of her head, were irresistible. She reached up with both hands to grasp his taut muscles and hung on for dear life. His eyes blazed, silently daring her to look away.

As if. She wanted to hold out, to defy him and all his overwhelming maleness, but all at once she capitulated. Why fight the pleasure? This was fantastic. Best. Sex. Ever.

She gave herself over to this crazy thing that exploded between them every time they spent two minutes alone in the same room and to the sex. How was it possible the sex just kept getting better every time?

She shattered without warning into a thousand tiny pieces—sharp, shiny little shards of pleasure that sliced her from head to toe until pleasure bled from every part of her body.

At least Ian had the good grace to look a little stunned, too. She would hate to have had her mind completely blown by what turned out to be, for him, mediocre sex.

“What the hell do you do to me?” he finally muttered.

Hah. And here she was, thinking the exact same thing.

Without warning, he pressed up and away from her and rolled out of bed in one quick, muscular move.

She felt…bereft.

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