Annoying.

“I’m staying in this hotel, too, you know.” Like hell was she telling him she’d been at his door not three minutes ago. Not now, when he was acting like this. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

“No.”

His voice was so harsh, so low, she nearly didn’t recognize it. The sound raced up her spine, little fingers of dancing pleasure. “No, you won’t excuse me?”

“No, don’t leave yet.”

The sentiment stunned her enough she didn’t resist as he pulled her back toward his room. There was one final thought that flashed through her mind as his key card turned the light green and he pushed the door handle.

Caution. Caution. Dangerous roads ahead.

She whizzed by the blinking sign and walked into his room.

* * *

Killian raked a hand through his hair and let the key card and his wallet fall on the desk in his hotel room. He’d been running on impulse all evening. First the impromptu decision to join his teammates in Michael’s room for pizza and a movie, then the choice to block Aileen’s exit from his floor, to finally dragging her to his room like a caveman.

But now that the impulsive edge had softened and he could think more clearly . . . what the hell did he do with her?

She sat primly on one of the two armchairs in the room. Telling, that she’d picked a chair instead of the edge of a bed. “So, what?”

“Huh?” He stared at her. “What, what?”

She cocked a brow and tilted her head a little. “You didn’t take any hits today, so I’ll assume that was a question asked from indecision rather than confusion. Why am I here?”

Why was she here? Fantastic question. He blinked, remembering she wasn’t staying on this floor. No media stayed on the same floors as the team. “Why were you here? Before? And don’t say you’re on this floor because we both know that’s crap.”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I was coming by to congratulate you, but you weren’t there. So I was going to just go back to my room. Or maybe the bar for a drink.” She held up her hands. “Nothing sinister, promise. No lock pick set in my bra or master key up my sleeve. Just thought we could . . . talk.”

The story. She’d been after more quotes, more information for her stupid story. For some reason, the reminder she wasn’t here for him, just as a woman knocking on the room of a man, pissed him off. “Don’t you get tired of living through other people’s lives?”

“I live.”

“You constantly learn about other people and how they live. Prying, annoying, picking at all the details until they resemble something ugly,” he tried again.

“I find it fascinating, though the picking analogy wasn’t overly flattering.” Her voice was as smooth and calm as an iced-over lake.

The fact she didn’t have the decency to get pissed just pissed him off even more. “Stop prying into my life, damn it.”

“You made a deal with me.” She stood and walked toward him. “If you’ve got a problem with it, too bad. Should have thought about it before you struck the deal.” She poked one small finger in his chest. “I’m doing the story and following the rules you set out. I’m not trying to pick your life apart. I don’t want to make anything look ugly. I want to know the man behind that shield you wear along with your pads and helmet.”

“So you can share me with the world,” he shot back.

“I don’t want to share you with anyone,” she said, then her eyes widened a little and she took a step back.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her toward him. “Run that last one by me again, Freckles?”

“I don’t . . .” She bit her lip, eyes darting around the room before landing squarely on his sternum. “I don’t like it when you call me that.”

“Yes, you do.” He pulled her a little closer, so her nose was all but touching his chest. “Now try that part about not wanting to share me with anyone.”

His heart skipped a beat as she shook her head. Her nose brushed his pectorals, and he pulled her into him so she had to turn her head and rest her cheek against him.

“You can say it.” He needed to hear it, one more time, without the bite of a fight behind it.

Needed it, to know he wasn’t about to make a horrible mistake.

“I don’t want to share you with anyone,” she whispered, her hands coming up to the soft, worn cotton of his T-shirt.

He leaned her upper body back enough so he could look into her eyes. They looked equal parts horrified and hopeful. And he knew he was going to make a mistake either way.

But damn if he’d regret it.

Chapter Eleven

He kissed her. And as before, she ignited him. He was helpless to stop the moment his lips touched hers. It was as if she were a drug, and he was getting another taste of the kick.

A small part of him—the cautious, loner part—waited for her to push him away. Hoped for it. Needed it.

But she clung closer, fisting her hands tighter in his shirt and dragging him over her, as if he were almost holding her in a swoon. And he wasn’t about to let go and stop now.

When those small hands skirted up and under the hem of his shirt, he shivered. Her thumbs drew small circles around his nipples before smoothing to run up and down his back. Her nails scratched lightly, and his balls tightened in response. Jesus, God, that felt good.

Almost as good as the suction of her mouth, of the scrape of her tongue as she met his thrust for thrust. He was all but mindless to stop from running his hands down her arms, her waist, to grasp her butt and lift her up. She was tiny enough, and it felt like carrying a rag doll as he maneuvered her to the bed and laid her down. Her hips pushed against his groin as he covered her with his body. And even fully clothed, it felt like the most erotic thing he’d experienced in years.

When her hand slipped down to tug at the waist of his jeans, he groaned. Too far gone now to resist, he let her undo the belt and tug it loose before he turned and tossed her onto the bed. She flew with a shriek that bubbled into laughter when she landed with a bounce.

“Killian!” she laughed, but he was already covering her mouth again with his. Dragging his lips down her jawline, to her neck, he tasted the creamy sweetness of her skin. She helped by worming her hands between them, grasping the hem of her shirt and tugging it over her head. The shirt fell to the floor as he popped open the clasp of her front-fastened bra and pushed the cups aside.

“You know,” he said, his voice hoarse, “these have been my downfall since day one.”

“Hmm?” she asked while he let his mouth cruise over her collarbone.

He touched the tip of his tongue to one sweet dot directly between her breasts. “These. Your freckles.”

“Those?” She nearly sat up in surprise, but he restrained her with his weight. “You can’t be serious.”

“They’re delicious.” He licked a path from the first dot to another, high on her left breast. Then to another, just on the edge of her nipple. “I wanted to find all of them, just like this.”

His mouth closed around her peak and he sucked hard. Aileen gasped and funneled her fingers through his hair, keeping him close. “That’s . . . that’s not a freckle.”

“My bad.” He kissed the one between her breasts again, then three that rode over her right mound. “Maybe this one?” He took the second nipple in his mouth as she started to laugh. The sound morphed into a whimper of need the instant he sucked.