“Nick,” she begged, “please.” She arched again, those long, dancer’s legs putting her curvy butt directly in line with his cock. She backed into him, as he moved forward to her.

He held her full hips in both hands, bending a little so he could see her sweet entrance and ease his way into it. She hissed and arched, trying to take him deeper, but powerless. His hands held her firmly, he was setting the pace.

And he planned to go slowly, wanting to savor every second of the experience.

“Give it to me,” she begged, watching him with desperation.

He smiled at her in the mirror and thrust forward a tiny bit. Rewarded by her gasp and the flare of her eyes, he pulled out again. This time, she didn’t beg for more, she simply licked her lips and watched, trusting him to make it good.

He didn’t make it good. He made it amazing. By the time he finally sunk all the way into her tight heat, Izzie was whimpering. And by the time he began to lose his mind and thrust wildly, in and out, over and over, she was practically sobbing.

He thought they were alone in the building. But he couldn’t be sure. “Izzie…,” he said, slowing to ease out of her, to calm them both a little, “…wait.”

“Don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping, sweetheart,” he said. Then he stopped. She whimpered, watching him, then realized he was turning her around. “I have to kiss you, Iz,” he murmured.

She twisted in his arms to face him, twining her arms around his neck and one leg around his waist. Plunging his tongue in her mouth, he tangled it with hers keeping his eyes open so he could stare into her beautiful face. Lifting her back up onto the vanity, he went right back into her, deep and fast, knowing this last stretch would be a quick, pulsing one.

“Sweet heaven, you amaze me,” she whispered against his mouth as he filled her again.

“Amazing. Yeah.”

Those were the only words he could manage. Wanting to be connected with her everywhere, he kissed her again, wrapped his arms tightly around her body and drew her up against him.

Stroking and thrusting, he rocked into her with every bit of himself, her cries of pleasure echoing sweetly in his ears. And when he finally heard those cries turned into desperate gasps as she climaxed, he let himself go, too, erupting inside her until he was completely empty.

“HEY HOT STUFF, you’re looking delicious again today.”

Bridget jerked her head up, blinking the columns of numbers out of her brain as someone stepped into her office Sunday afternoon. She knew it wasn’t Dean…he didn’t speak to her like that, which was good. She wanted him to notice her, wanted him to realize she was interested in him. But she definitely didn’t want a man who’d speak to her so coarsely.

“Oh, hi,” she said, seeing one of the salesmen standing in the doorway. The guy, Ted, was a middle-aged divorcé with a phlegmy chuckle. He also had what she and her friends in middle school used to call Roman hands and Russian fingers.

He was grabby. Touchy. But he’d never gone too far beyond pats on her shoulder. She hoped that wasn’t about to change.

Ted wore his usual ugly striped sports coat over a dingy dress shirt and a red tie. In other words, he looked a mess. Usually, she saw him as a kind of sad guy whose wife had dumped him. He was smarmy and coarse, but had never given her any reason to be wary of him personally. Now, however, goosebumps had prickled her body and tension throbbed in her temple.

She didn’t like the look in his eye.

“You dressing like that just for me, hot stuff?” he asked as he sauntered into the office.

“I think that question would be called sexual harassment,” she said as she stared hard at him, hoping he’d take the warning as a threat and get out now, before he’d gone too far.

When he smiled and pushed the door shut behind him, she had a sinking feeling he’d already gone too far.

Damn. She should have left an hour ago. It was four o’clock, an hour after the dealership closed on Sundays. And she had to assume everyone else had gone home. Ted hadn’t been around since this morning. Judging by the whiff of alcohol she caught wafting off him, she figured he’d gone for a long lunch at a local bar.

Dean, why didn’t you show up? She’d thought for sure he’d be here. He’d worked every weekend since he started. That was the only reason Bridget had come in herself today…to see him!

It had been for nothing. She’d worn another short, sexy skirt that she’d bought at a cute local clothing store last night. That, with the silky sleeveless shell that draped across her curves invitingly would have been enough to get the man’s temperature rising. And he hadn’t even been here to see it.

Instead, Ted was. Ick.

“Girl, you have been hiding your light under a bushel.” He stepped closer. “It’s closing time. Let’s go have some fun.”

“No, thank you,” she said, her tone icy. She stuffed her paperwork into a drawer. Normally, she’d be more tidy. Today, she was in a hurry. She wanted out of here.

“Aww, come on, sweetie, I know there’s no man in your life. You must be lonely. Why don’t you let me keep you company?”

She’d rather keep company with a dead skunk. “No, Ted.”

Hopefully that firm tone would get the message across and he’d get out of her way and let her leave. But as she stood, Ted stepped between her desk and the door, right in her path. “You know you really want to stay.”

“No. I really don’t.”

Trying once again to be like Izzie, she fisted one hand, retrieved her purse, and tried to walk past him.

He grabbed her arm. “Not even a few minutes conversation?”

“Not even that,” she insisted, jerking her arm away.

Her angry tone and the heat in her eyes must have finally gotten through. Because Ted went from stupid drunk trying to score to angry drunk trying to control in one blink of her eyes. Without warning, he put both his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back. Bridget stumbled over her own high-heeled sandals, landing on her butt on the edge of her desk.

“Perfect.” Dropping his hands onto her thighs, he crudely pushed her legs apart and forced his way between them.

“Let me go!”

“Not yet, hot stuff.”

She reached around on the desk behind her, hoping she’d left her scissors or stapler out, but all she managed to grab was a small desk clock. Wrapping her fingers tightly around it, she swung, but only managed a glancing blow to Ted’s shoulder.

His nostrils flared even as his eyes narrowed in anger. “Playing hard to get?”

“Let me go or I’ll scream.”

“Nobody to hear you, pretty thing,” he said, any hint of charm gone from his voice as his true nature emerged.

Before she could say a thing-or think what to say-Bridget heard something that sounded like an angel. But it was no angel.

It was Dean Willis. Roaring.

“Get the hell off her you son of a bitch.”

Suddenly he was. Ted was lifted off her and tossed to the side of the room. Bridget saw him land hard against the wall and crumple to the floor. He yelped in either fear or pain. Or both.

He had reason to be afraid. Dean was already reaching for him, his face red, his body emanating danger. “You’re dead.”

Ted’s bravado when facing her disappeared under this new threat. Before Dean could even grab him, he’d launched himself to his feet and run out the door, leaving the two of them alone. The whole thing-from Ted’s entrance to his speedy departure-had taken place in under three minutes.

Her head was spinning. Breathing hard and shaking a little, she mumbled, “Thank you so much.”

Dean swung around to look at her, that blood rage still evident on his face. His blue eyes were like matching chips of ice. He looked as much like a cute, nice-guy car salesman as she looked like Xena the Warrior Princess.

No. This was not gentle, good-natured Dean. This was a dangerous man in a high fury. And her shivers of fear turned to shivers of excitement.