And he never once pushed her for more, never demanded she move faster to suit his pace, or slow down more. For once, he gave her the option of choosing.

It was like stepping into a cage with a lion. The lion might allow you to pet its head, run your hands over its powerful, rangy body, make the first move to play. There was no escaping the knowledge, though, that in an instant, the lion could make the final move, swipe his big paw once and it would all be over.

But for that moment of control . . . what a rush.

When she pulled back enough to see if he was just as affected as she was, she couldn’t help the catlike grin that spread.

Greg’s eyes were half-closed, as if drunk on lust, and thanks to the way she draped over his body, his erection was impossible to miss. It lay thick and hard against her thigh, making her very much want to reach down and stroke it.

How much more would the lion take before swiping with that dangerous paw?

Before she could even find out, she was flat on her back. The lion, it appeared, wasn’t as lust-drunk as she’d thought. He flashed her a quick grin before taking control and dazzling her with a kiss so skilled, she forgot to breathe.

She tore her lips away just before spots started to appear behind her eyelids. “You’re . . . dangerous . . .”

“Me?” He did what she assumed was his best imitation of innocence. His best needed some work. “I’m just here with a beautiful lady, doing some sweet kissing. Nothing dangerous about it.”

“You say that, but—” He interrupted her with another lip lock that took her several minutes to remember she’d been speaking. “You say that,” she repeated, putting two firm hands on his cheeks to keep him away. “But there’s nothing sweet about this.”

He waited a moment. “Do you want me to slow down?”

“I want you to speed up, dammit!” She hooked a leg over the back of his thigh, her heel resting just below his butt. With a nudge that made him jolt, she brought him back to her. And when his hand started to roam down her body, finding all those spaces above the waist she loved, she arched into his touch.

But just as his hand cupped her breast through way too many layers of clothing, he was off her and across the room. He might have been yanked away with a wire like a stuntman if she hadn’t been watching. She sat up, dazed and not entirely sure what had just happened.

“Why . . .” She moistened her lips, which felt sort of numb. Could really excellent kissing make your lips go numb? “Why are you over there?”

“Because you’re in my bed,” he said, as if that were a completely logical explanation. When she looked down at his crotch—yup, still saluting—he followed her gaze, then turned toward the door. “That’s about all for tonight.”

She scrunched up her nose. What the hell happened? “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Hell, no,” he emphasized when she didn’t move. “You did everything right. Way too right,” he added in a mumble.

She was starting to get a headache. Or maybe it was akin to altitude sickness . . . only with lust. Changinglust levels at too quick a speed caused the oxygen in her brain to lag behind.

“It’s that I want you.” He laughed halfheartedly. “Obviously. And that’s not on the menu tonight so—”

“And why not?” She crossed her arms under her breasts, only to realize she was in the world’s most unattractive sprawl on his bed. She sat up and did her best to position herself better . . . or at least more comfortably. “Why not? Oh.” She glared. “You’re doing that whole ‘my way, caveman’ thing again, aren’t you? Exerting your control over the situation and the details.”

“I’m doing what I think is right. You’ve had a rough few days, I’ve had a rough few practices, and the team as a whole got dumped on. I don’t want you to look back tomorrow and think you were used. I want this to go right.” He said it all slowly, as if he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t take a swipe at him.

With as much dignity as she could muster—not a lot, sadly—she scooted to the edge of the bed and began to pull her heels on. “It appears as though I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Ask me a question,” Greg blurted out.

She paused in the act of putting on shoe number two. “A question?”

“One of your PR things.” He shifted a little, and she knew it made him uncomfortable to offer. But he did it anyway, because it meant she’d stick around.

Brownie points for Greg Higgs.

She stood and turned a tight circle around his room. Nothing personal there. No photos of friends or family. No hints of the life he led outside of the gym where he trained with a dozen of his teammates. It was as if he existed for one thing only . . . to fight. “Tell me why you chose the Marine Corps.”

“The Marine Corps is the baddest of the badasses.”

She turned and watched him cautiously settle down on the edge of the bed. As if returning to the scene of the crime so soon might ignite potential feelings best left behind. “‘The baddest of the badasses.’ Very technical phrase.”

“It’s exactly what my seventeen-year-old mind was thinking when I chose.” He smirked. “Seventeen-year-olds aren’t known for their mature thought processes.”

Seventeen. Not even eighteen when he joined. Still a baby, in all the ways that count. But something told her he’d hate hearing that. So she sat at the opposite edge of the bed, as far from him as she could, and nodded. “Okay. Keep going.”

*   *   *

HOW did he explain it to her? She was a farm-fresh face with a loving family she actually wanted to avoid because they cared too much about her life. What was it like, he wondered, to hear from someone that the thing you dodged was the one thing someone else craved with every cell in their body? That the family she found smothering would have fulfilled every single childhood dream of his.

“I needed to pick a service, and I went with the one that sounded the coolest. When you’re a seventeen-year-old boy, being a badass is basically the highest pinnacle to achieve.”

“Seventeen,” she murmured, and he could see the wheels turning. Did she ask, didn’t she . . .

She chose not to. Wise, since he wouldn’t have told her why, and he didn’t want to lie.

And the truth was something he never wanted to discuss. Ever.

“Hey, so funny story . . . abandoned as a baby, foster system blew, got sucked into the wrong crowd, spent lots of time in juvie for fighting and other petty shit. Had a judge tell me it’s either the service now—and he’d sign off on the early enlistment—or it’s going to be the big time . . . adult lockup. So I picked the lesser of two evils.”

Not exactly a sexy bedtime story.

“Anything else you want to add?” she asked, jarring him from the past.

He thought, then shrugged. Not particularly.

“What made you stay in?” She raised a hand, as if she wanted to reach out and touch him somehow. But she let it fall back. “You must have had to reenlist at least once between then and now.”

“It’s a good life.” The only good life he knew. “I got my college degree thanks to the Corps, shifted over to the officer side, and just kept plugging away. Every time there was a chance to get out, I considered it. Any guy who says he doesn’t hesitate, at least for a second, before re-upping is a liar. But in the end . . .” How else to say it? “The Corps has been good to me.” A surrogate family, really. Like the team had become. He’d do whatever he could to keep it.

She nodded at that, folded her hands in her lap very primly and looked down. Eyes closed, she said, “Hmm.”

Hmm? That’s all? It was the most personal he’d been with her since meeting her—the closest he’d come to baring that true, vulnerable kid he’d been—and she said “hmm”?

“I wouldn’t disclose what age you were when you went in,” she began, eyes still closed, as if envisioning something.

Aw, hell. She was back in business mode. He straightened his shoulders and forced himself to be impartial.