Scared the hell out of him.

He couldn’t stop himself from touching her. He traced light circles above her knees, and she smiled a small, satisfied smile. He shifted onto his hands and knees, crawled over her, loving how her legs opened to accommodate him, how she reached for him.

He pressed his nose against the base of her throat and breathed her in. She was perfect. Her beauty called to him, but it was her confidence, her keen intelligence that drew her in. Fascinated him.

He raised his head, slid up her body. Her hard nipples brushed against his chest, and he bit back a groan. Shoveled his hands into her hair above her ears, his thumbs at her temples.

“You take my breath,” he told her, not happy about admitting it. Even less happy that it was true.

“I’m going to do so much more than that.” She leaned up to give him a firm kiss. Gently bit his lower lip, tugging at it before letting go again. “I’m going to take all of you. I want you inside me, Clinton. I want you.”

Her words blew through him, and he crushed his mouth to hers with a low growl. She answered his kiss, the ferocity of it, the need, as she pushed against him, forcing him back until he sat on his heels. She scooted out from under him, tore off her shirt and bra and let them drop to the rumpled bed then wiggled out of her skirt. Her head lowered, she opened his belt, undid his pants.

The back of her hand brushed against his stomach, and he sucked in a breath. He stood, quickly shed his pants and underwear, stepping out of them as he reached for her.

She held up a hand, stopping him. “My turn.”

He shook his head. How the hell was he supposed to think clearly when his mind was buzzing? When she knelt on the bed like a fantasy come true, her hair a mass of gold, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth pink and swollen from his kiss?

“Your turn?” he repeated dumbly.

“My turn to look at you.” She let her gaze roam over him, taking her time—payback, he was sure, for how he’d taken his with her. “My turn to touch you.”

If possible, he got even harder, his entire body stiffening as she moved toward him, not stopping until the tip of his penis brushed the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. It took all his willpower not to yank her against him, not to bury himself in her, right then and there.

She laid her hands below his chest, her palms flat against his rib cage, then smoothed them down to his waist before trailing her fingers across his lower abdomen. His cock jumped.

And smiling, she wrapped one warm, soft hand around him and squeezed gently.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he couldn’t stop from pulsing against her palm. Prayed he had the strength to make it through the next few minutes without embarrassing himself. Without letting her know how badly he wanted her. How much he needed to be with her.

She shifted closer, and the movement had her breasts swaying, her hair sliding over her shoulder. Then she bent her head, that hair a curtain, and licked the tip of his erection. Made a purring sound of approval before taking him in her mouth.

He went wild. The sight of her giving him such pleasure, the feel of her mouth on him was too much. He jerked her upright, cut off her delighted laughter with a rough kiss.

He couldn’t get enough of her. Wanted only the feel of her on his fingers, the taste of her kiss on his lips. It was exciting and frightening as hell, but he couldn’t stop himself. He cupped her breasts, kissed her throat and then moved down to take one tip into his mouth and sucked. Her hips bucked, and she dug her nails into his back.

C.J. fell onto the bed, had enough sense to support his weight on his elbows so he didn’t crush her, but kept their cores aligned, her softness against his hardness, their hands giving pleasure as their kisses grew hotter, a clashing of tongues and teeth.

She grabbed his ass, pulled him against her, rubbing her curls against him. “Clinton,” she gasped. “Now.”

The words sounded ripped from her throat, raw and needy.

He reared up, grabbed his pants from the floor and dug into his pocket for his wallet, pulled out a condom. He sheathed himself quickly and took her in his arms, but she pushed against his shoulders, turning them until he was on his back. She straddled him, a siren here to make all his dreams come true, a woman in control of her body and her emotions.

Until you looked closer and saw the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell quickly. Saw that her eyes were slightly dazed, her hands unsteady.

He couldn’t look away as she rose onto her knees and kissed him. He wound that magnificent hair around his hands, held on as she lowered herself and took him into her body.

Her lips parted on a sound of wonder, and he clenched his fingers, tugging her head back. She was hot and tight and wet for him. She began to move, rocking slowly against him, her hands on his chest, her fingers curled as if seeking purchase. He let her set the pace until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Gripping her waist, he thrust into her, again and again, going harder, faster, deeper. Their bodies grew slick with sweat, and she made low, throaty moans that drove him crazy. She rode him, her hips pumping until she tightened around him, her back arched, her eyes closed as she came.

While Ivy was still in the throes of climax, he wrapped his arm around her and flipped her onto her back.

“Look at me,” he demanded, moving inside her.

Her eyes opened and he held her gaze as he quickened his pace. His body tensed and, with a low shout, he emptied himself in her.

* * *

HE WASN’T A man to overindulge.

Hell, he wasn’t a man to indulge, period.

C.J. snorted at that thought as he woke up hours later, his eyes still closed. Many would disagree, seeing as how he owned a penthouse apartment in Houston, a ranch he rarely got to outside Denver, more cars than one man needed in a lifetime and various other toys, including a boat he’d been on once and his own small airplane.

Which he fully intended to learn how to fly one day.

So, yes, one could say he indulged in material things, but he didn’t indulge in risks. Couldn’t afford to when he had so many people to look out for. When he had so much to lose.

But he’d indulged last night. Had given in to desire and had taken Ivy to bed.

He couldn’t even regret it. Not when it had been everything he’d imagined and more.

He picked up his phone from the bedside table and glanced at the time. Not even five. He heard her moving around in the bathroom, told himself he needed to get up, get showered and shaved. He could order room service, work on the proposal sitting on the desk, make a few phone calls before his ten o’clock flight back to Houston.

But he could hardly kick Ivy out. He didn’t have a lot of experience with one-night stands, but he knew better than to try to get rid of a woman before she was ready to leave. Still, he needed her gone.

If only because he wanted her to stay.

Ivy stepped out of the bathroom, the light illuminating her shape before she shut the door, enclosing the room in darkness again. He waited, hearing her move carefully, and realized she wasn’t coming back to bed.

She was leaving.

He sat up and turned on the lamp. She whirled around, her shoes in her hand, and he saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. But then she blinked, and he wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice still sleep roughened. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Obviously,” he said, wondering why he was so pissed that she’d been ready to sneak out like a thief in the night. “Not going to say goodbye?”

She studied him. She should have looked haggard—neither of them had gotten a lot of sleep last night. After they’d had sex the first time, they’d both dozed, but he’d woken up hard for her not two hours later. Still, there were no dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was a shiny mass waving softly around her shoulders, her face clean of makeup.