My heart is beating so loudly I can barely hear him. But I can hear enough.

He’s so close I can feel heat radiating from his body, warming my entire front. It pulls me to him, drawing me in. Drawing me closer.

After a few seconds, he pulls away. “Come on. Let me show you my pole.”

With a wicked gleam in his eye, Jake takes my hand and leads me on. Not into one of the rooms, but farther down the hall to another door.

He opens it and steps through. Blindly, anxiously, I follow.

It’s a small room with a thin shelf of catwalk around an open center, dominated by a shiny pole that disappears into the darkness below.

“Since you’re wearing a skirt and heels, I’ll go down with you so you don’t hurt yourself. I’d hate for you to tear the skin on those pretty thighs of yours,” he says, his eyes dropping to my legs. Instantly, they feel warm, as if he’d actually touched them.

And oh, how I wish he would. This heat, this anticipation is quickly becoming unbearable.

“Here, you hold this,” he says, tucking the wine bottle into the curve of my arm. I gasp when he grabs me around the waist and pulls me toward him, my legs slipping over one of his. With his eyes on mine, he gives me one quick squeeze, forcing me up on his thigh a little more. The friction is delicious. And wicked. “Can’t have you sliding down a metal pole in a skirt.”

Turning his body slightly, angling me toward his hip, Jake leans forward and grips the pole then swings carefully forward, holding me against his side. I clamp him with my legs as he lets us slide slowly down the pole.

When we reach the bottom, Jake whirls me around and presses my back to the pole. His lips are on mine. His tongue is in my mouth, teasing me, making me promises of unspoken delight.

The wine bottle vanishes and then my hands are free to grip his wide shoulders, delve into his thick, spiky hair. Hold him close. Pull him closer.

“Do you know how crazy you make me?” Jake whispers. I crack my lids to look at him. His eyes sparkle in the shadows. The only light is the dim cone that pours down on us from above. Everything else is pitch-black. “Coming in here with your shy smile and your sexy skirt. I bet you’re sweeter than that wine you brought. And damn you, tonight I’m gonna find out. Tonight, I’m gonna taste you.”

With a growl he takes my lips again, his hands roaming my sides, searing me through my clothes.

And then there’s nothing between his warm palms and my skin. I feel them gliding up the backs of my legs, slipping under the hem of my skirt, sinking into the flesh of my butt. He squeezes, pulling me tight against him, rubbing his hard length against me.

“Tell me I can taste you. Tell me you want me to. Right here. Right now.”

I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can only feel. And I know I want more. I want all Jake can give me.

“Yes. I want you to taste me.” My voice is husky and breathless, even to my own ears. “Right now.”

Like taking a tiger off the leash, Jake becomes fierce. He drags his hands into my hair and tugs until it tumbles free around my shoulders. Then he’s kissing a hot trail down my throat. His hands are cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples through the thin material of my shirt, driving me crazy with want.

I feel his lips against my stomach. Then his tongue in my navel. His hands are under my skirt, then they’re on my thighs, nudging them apart.

Willingly, I spread them, leaning back against the pole for support, closing my eyes as I gasp for breath, aware of nothing more than Jake and what he makes me feel.

He presses his lips against me through my panties. All I can think is that I want more. I want it all.

I feel him push them to the side. And then his fingers are inside me, moving deep and slow.

I moan aloud.

“Shhh,” he whispers against me, causing my knees to nearly buckle. “Be quiet or they’ll hear you.”

Warmth gushes through me, knowing what Jake is doing to me while those men are upstairs. That all they’d have to do is look down the pole to see me being ravaged by his lips and tongue.

And then his hot mouth moves down to replace his fingers. His lips move against me, like he’s kissing me as his tongue swirls around over my most sensitive part, pushing me higher and higher. “Oh my God, you taste so good,” he moans against me, the vibrations sending chills down my legs. Faster and faster, he penetrates me with his fingers until I can’t contain it anymore. I reach up to clamp one hand over my mouth as my body bursts into wet flames, pouring over Jake where he kneels between my legs.

As spasms wrack my body, I feel his tongue thrusting rhythmically into me, hot and deep, prolonging the pleasure that’s coursing through me.

I pant behind my hand, my eyes squeezed shut against the burst of light that shines behind them. And then Jake is pulling at my wrist, moving my fingers away from my lips, driving his tongue between them. He licks the inside of my mouth, sharing with me what he found.

“See how sweet you taste,” he groans. It’s such a wicked thing to do, feels so naughty and forbidden, I feel another gush of warmth pool between my legs. I know that whatever Jake asked me to do right now, I would do. Wherever he wanted me to go, I’d go.

“I need more,” I say, mindless in my passion. “I need you.”

I don’t know what it is about those words that stop him, but they do. I feel him tense and cool, as though a puff of cold air whipped through the room.

“What?” I ask, confused. “What’s wrong?”

In the low light, his eyes search mine. For several long seconds, he says nothing. Then he reaches for my neck, pushing my hair away from my throat and kissing my pulse. “Nothing,” he replies. But I don’t believe him. “We’d better go. I doubt people would look kindly on me corrupting the preacher’s daughter this way.” His smile is wry, but I think he’s hiding something else behind it. I just don’t know what.

I know my smile is tremulous at best. I feel it melt almost as quickly as I could conjure it. “Okay.”

With that, Jake grabs the wine bottle from the floor (I was barely aware of him taking it from me), takes my hand, and leads me through the dark room to the door.

I’m more grateful than ever that Laney’s not the talkative type. Any other woman would’ve probably asked me a thousand questions about what happened back at the fire station. But not Laney. If anything, she’s just quieter.

We’ve only been back at the house for a few minutes, and now she’s making her excuses to get the hell out of Dodge.

“I think I’m going to move my stuff to another room and hit the sack. I’m pretty tired.”

I know what she’s doing, but I choose not to acknowledge it. She’s better off thinking the worst of me. That way, she’ll never get attached. Or have any expectations. Or, even worse, fall in love with me. She deserves better than that. I wouldn’t wish me on my worst enemy. I’m a black hole for love. It’s the way I was born.

“There’s no reason to do that. I’m not gonna take advantage of you in your sleep,” I assure her. “Unless you want me to.” I grin.

She frowns in confusion. I’m sure she doesn’t understand the swift shifts. And that’s fine. She doesn’t need to know all about the things that have made me who and what I am.

“If you’re sure . . .”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“All right then.”

Cautiously, as though she’s been singed if not actually burned by my earlier actions (actions, I’m sure, she sees as rejection), Laney makes her way up the stairs. And I let her go.

It’s almost three hours later before I follow. I stand in the doorway, looking at her where she’s spread out in the center of the bed. Her hair is like a platinum waterfall, spilling over the pillow. Her face is relaxed in sleep. Gone are the mistrust and the cool shell she sometimes hides behind. Gone is the hurt from earlier. It makes me uncomfortable how much I hate that I put it there. I remind myself it’s for the best.