Author: Jill Shalvis

He dropped to his knees and attended to that with the same concentration and professionalism he’d given everything else. His head was level with the counter she was sitting on, and his hands were on her bare leg. And all she could think was if he shifted her leg an inch more to the left, her towel would gape, and he’d be eye level with her bare crotch.

It was a suggestive, erotic thought that led to others, and she squirmed, wondering how she could get her towel to drop without being obvious about it.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you leave when you were cleared?”

He looked up into her face. “I think you know why.”

“Me.”

“You,” he agreed.

There were some advantages to changing her life around, to living for herself instead of for others’ expectations, she decided. For one thing, it had given her new confidence. So she accessed some of that and unwrapped the towel, letting it fall to the counter at her hips.

Ty went still, and a sensual thrill rushed through her.

He let out a breath and slid his hands up her legs, applying gentle pressure until she opened them for him. He groaned at his new-found view and pressed a kiss to first one inner thigh, and then the other.

And then in between.

His hands were on her, rough and strong but tender at the same time, and her body quivered, rejoicing in the rightness of his touch. He murmured something against her skin and though she couldn’t hear him, she urged him on, clutching at his shoulders until her toes curled, until she cried out his name, until there were no more thoughts.

She opened her eyes and found him rising to his feet, eyes hot, mouth wet, as he helped her off the counter. Then she was staring at him as he turned and walked out of the bathroom. “What are you—”

Since he was gone, she followed him into his bedroom, watching as he quickly dropped his towel, but instead of finishing the horizontal lessons, he pulled on black knit boxers that barely fit over his massive erection. “What are you doing?”

“Someone’s at the door.” He slid his long legs into jeans and grimaced when he tried to button them up.

Still in her orgasmic glow, she was thinking that she’d like to trace the cords of every one of his muscles, starting with his chest and working her way down. It’d take a while but she thought it would be time well spent. Then what he’d said sank in. “Someone’s at your door? I didn’t hear anything.”

A small smile escaped him. “That’s because you were making more noise than the doorbell.”

“I was not—” God. She covered her hot cheeks. “Who is it?”

“Your mother.”

She squeaked. “What?”

“I caught sight of her walking up to the door from the bathroom window.” He glanced down at his hard-on. “You’re going to have to get it.” He eyed her body from head to toe and groaned. “And probably you should get dressed.”

“Why is my mother here?”

“Meatloaf.”

She’d forgotten about the meatloaf. Panicked, she turned in a circle. “My scrubs are wet and in a pile on your bathroom floor!”

“Hydrogen, helium, lithium—”

She stared at him. “What are you doing now?”

“Listing the chemical elements so I can answer the door without a boner.”

“And knowing my mother is on your porch isn’t taking care of that?”

“Good point.” He threw her a pair of sweats that had been lying on a chair and left the room.

In the end, she tossed dignity and wore his sweats instead of her wet scrubs, but by the time she got to the living room, it was empty.

She found Ty in the big kitchen setting down a large bag. “She didn’t stay,” he said. “She said she figured I had my hands full making sure you were okay. She said she’d water your flowers and feed the cat for you, that you were to just sit your tired patoot down and relax, and I was to make sure you did just that.”

“My mother, the Master Manipulator.”

“Is your patoot tired?” he asked, sounding amused though his eyes were very serious.

“No. Are you hungry?”

His eyes roamed hungrily over her features. “Yes, but not for food. You?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Ty had been wanting to get his hands on Mallory since he’d heard from Matt about the missing drugs. Hell, he’d been wanting to put his hands on her since…always. He always wanted to put his hands on her. His hands, his mouth. Everything.

He stood her by the bed, making short work of the sweats she’d pulled on. When he dropped to his knees before her, he found her still warm and wet, already making those noises he loved, and when he slid a finger inside her, she gasped and opened her legs even wider for him.

A woman who knew what she wanted.

He loved that about her.

Her fingers were in his hair, holding him to her as if she was afraid he’d stop too soon.

Not a chance.

He wanted to hear her cry out his name again, wanted to feel her fly apart for him, so he worked her slow and easy, driving her right to the edge before backing off. She’d tightened her hands in his hair, doing her best to make him bald. He smiled against her and finally took her to the end. She was still shuddering when he surged to his feet and tossed her to the bed. She lay back, arms stretched out at her sides and gave him a little smile.

Sweet.

Hot.

“Why are you still dressed?” she wanted to know.

It was a good question. He stripped, grabbed a condom and rolled it on. When he had, he pushed inside her, just one long, slick slide that had them both sucking in a harsh breath of sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

Nothing had ever felt so good as being buried deep inside her.

Nothing.

“Ty?”

He drowned in her eyes. “Yeah?”

“This is far more than I thought it would be.”

He knew that. He knew it to the depths of his soul. With one hand in her hair, holding her for a hard, deep kiss, the other cupping her sweet ass, he began to move, thrusting into her slow and steady, and for the first time all day—hell, all damn week—his world started to make sense.

He’d been a military brat who’d never landed in one place for long, then a soldier himself. There’d been next to no softness in his life. He’d taken the time for the occasional relationship, although none of them were serious; none stuck long enough to affect him deeply. Certainly no previous relationship had managed to fit what his idea of love was.

Mallory was different.

In his heart of hearts, he knew that much. Hell, from that first stormy night, his tie to her had been undeniable. It’d happened in an instant and only strengthened with time, and he wanted to be with her. Talking, touching, kissing, fucking—whatever he could get, because she beat back the darkness inside him. But being with her was a double-edged sword, because every minute he spent with her absolutely changed his definitions of…everything.

She made him yearn for things he’d never yearned for before: home, family, love. And Christ if that didn’t stump him. What did he know about any of those things?

All he did know was that this—her mouth open on his, her body warm and soft and welcoming, her hands sliding up his chest and around his neck—felt right. Real. “Careful,” he murmured, kissing her swollen cheek, then her wrapped wrist. “Don’t let me hurt you.”

“You healed me,” she murmured. “Now let me heal you.” Her hands slid down his back and then up again, and that felt so good he nearly purred. She melted into him and he warned himself that she’d had a rough time of it, that he needed to go slowly, but then she wrapped her legs around his waist and he sank in even further. With a moan, she arched beneath him, head back, eyes closed, hunger and desire etched on her face. “Oh, Ty…”

He nuzzled her exposed throat, then sucked a patch of skin into his mouth, making her gasp and tighten her grip on him.

Everywhere.

It set him on fire.

She did it again, and he let it roll over him: the feel of her heat gripping him like a vise, her scent, the scent of them together, the sound of her ragged breathing combined with wordless entreaties. Yeah. This. This was what he’d needed, her body hot and trembling against his, everything connecting. She was rocking into each thrust, her cries echoing in his mouth as he drove deeper, then deeper still. She was saying his name over and over now, straining against him, and then she was coming, shuddering in his arms as she went straight over the edge, taking him right along with her.

It was so good. That was his only thought as he let himself go. So good, so damn good…

Her hair was in his face, but he didn’t breathe because he didn’t want to disturb her. Her body, still overheated and damp, was plastered to his. She had one leg thrown over him, her cheek stuck to his pec, her hand on his favorite body part as if she owned it.

She did own it. She owned his heart and soul as well.

Jesus. It had started out so innocuously. Innocent, even.

Okay, not innocent. They’d had sex that first night in an attic. Some pretty fan-fucking-tastic sex.

He’d not been in a good place then. He hadn’t felt good enough for his own life, much less anyone else’s.

Certainly not good enough for a woman like Mallory, who’d give a perfect stranger the very shirt off her back.

But watching her, being with her, made him feel good.

Worthy.

It was unbelievable to him that one little woman could do that, but she had.

And where did that leave him? He’d never intended to be anything to Mallory other than a good time, but best laid plans…

Maybe he should have run hard and fast that very first night, but there’d been something about her, something that had drawn him in.

Even when he’d cost her, with her job, with her relationships with her family, she’d never hesitated. She’d given him everything she had. And in return, she’d only asked one thing of him. Just one.