Out Of Control. Shannon McKenna

back on before I hyperventilate.”

      A ghost of a smile touched his stern mouth. “Touch me.”

      The command in his deep voice resonated through her body. Her hand lifted, drifting in the air between them. He moved closer without seeming to move at all, and her hand was splayed against his hot chest.

      Her hand moved of its own accord, fingertips brushing over lean contours, ridges of bone, soft skin, the vibrant power of the muscle beneath it. His tight nipple tickled her palm. Her hand pressed against his solar plexus, felt his heart throb. She glanced at his crotch. His hard-on pressed against his jeans. His face was flushed and taut, eyes hazy. The thick muscles of his shoulders were rigid with strain.

      “No hands, huh?” Her voice was wondering. “You meant that?”

      “Anytime you want that to change, you let me know.”

      His breath was quick and heavy. His heart thudded against her hand. He was more power than she knew how to handle, like being perched on a racehorse spoiling for a run. Behind the wheel of a Ferrari, charged up and ready to let ’er rip. Vibrating with raw energy.

      Her hand shook where it touched his hot skin. He was as exotic and alien as an undiscovered country. She was dazed. Paralyzed with shyness. Something cynical snickered way in the back of her mind. Poor Margot, forced to pet a hunk’s gorgeous pecs, yeah, break out the violins.

      Her mouth was inches from that alluring hollow in his neck. She could just lean forward and…taste him. And for as long as it lasted, she could forget the whole scary, sordid mess of her life. She would think of nothing but him. Lose herself in him. God. She ached for it.

      “I don’t know you,” she whispered. “Not the first thing about you.”

      “No,” he replied. “You don’t.”

      And he left it at that. No attempt to wheedle or cajole. No bullshit.

      His blunt honesty was seductive. She wanted to grab him, twine herself around him and just soak him up. All that heat, all that power.

      And that would be it. She would get nailed tonight, by a great big gorgeous guy about whom she knew absolutely nothing except that he rarely smiled. Which wasn’t much of a recommendation.

      Mikey liked him, her inner devil slut whispered.

      Yeah, like that counted worth beans. Mikey would fawn over any clown who fed him barbecued pork, excluding her own wretched self. McCloud would think she was a tramp for putting out so fast, and then she would hate herself for being used, blah blah blah. She couldn’t do this to herself. No way. She was hanging on by a thread as it was.

      She lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed her forefinger against his soft, warm lips. “We’ve got to stop.”

      He rubbed his cheek against her hand. His glinting blond beard stubble rasped her skin. The sensual, animal gesture made her heart turn over with hungry longing. “How come?” he asked.

      She forced herself to pull her hand away. “Because I say so.”

      She nudged the sleeping Mikey off his sweatshirt with her toe, plucked it off the floor and held it out to him, dog hairs and all. “Put this back on. Right now. No back talk.”

      He sighed, and pulled it over his head. She manufactured a glare and had it fixed in place by the time his head emerged. “I appreciate the striptease, and it’s sweet of you to entertain me, but it’s time for me and Mikey to start winding down. How much do I owe you for dinner?”

      His face tightened. “Get real.”

      Margot yanked open the freezer and pulled out her dwindling stash of grocery money out from under the ice cube tray. “I figured you’d give me a hard time about that.” She rummaged through her stash of takeout menus until she found Luisa’s. “Let’s see…tacos, enchiladas, rellenos, tamales, mole and shrimp…that’s about fifty bucks, plus eight or so for the beer, so let’s call it twenty-nine a head—”

      “I’m not taking your money.”

      “I don’t like guys to pay for my stuff.” She threw the words at him.

      “Too fucking bad.”

      She flinched. “Hey. Watch it. No nasty potty mouth in my space.”

      His eyebrow quirked. “I’ve heard you swear.”

      “Yeah, maybe, but you haven’t heard me use the f-word. I never do that. Do I, Mikey? You ever hear me say the f-word?” Mikey wagged in cheerful corroboration as Margot discreetly counted her stash. Twenty-three bucks. Yikes. She held it out to him with stoic calm. “I prefer not to be obligated to a strange man,” she said.

      “Put it away,” he warned. “Before you piss me off.”

      She hid her relief as she stuck the money back under the ice cube tray. She turned back to him, twisting her hands together. “Um, well…thanks very much for dinner, then. It was scrumptious.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      She waited for something like well, it’s late, so I guess I’ll be hitting the road, but he just stood there until she started to wonder what was so damned interesting about her face. It had looked normal enough the last time she’d checked. “Good night,” she hinted.

      “Why are you freezing me out?” He sounded genuinely curious.

      She plastered the baleful glare back on. It took more effort this time. “You know, there was a reason why I said no when you invited me to dinner back at your gym,” she said. “It’s the same reason I don’t let guys pay for anything, not my meals, not my drinks. Because they start to act like you’re acting right now, see? Like I owe them something.”

      He shook his head. “I never meant to—”

      “So get a clue. Good night. Thanks for dinner.”

      “But I know you’re attracted to me,” he said stubbornly.

      “So? What if I am?” she yelled. “I’m swamped! I’ve got money problems, I’ve got pet problems, I’ve got Snakey the Sicko Maniac sending me presents from the Crypt. I don’t need man trouble, too!”

      “I’m not—”

      “I don’t have the time or energy for a boyfriend! I can’t even handle my relationship with my dog right now!”

      He lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not suggesting—”

      “I don’t do one night stands, either. I can’t deal with no strings sex. So where does that leave us?” She answered her own question just as his lips moved to respond to it. “Nowhere! Nothing more to discuss! So? Buh-bye, OK?”

      He pulled out his wallet, took out a card and laid it on the counter. “Call me if you get any more presents from the Crypt.”

      He headed for the door. Not hurrying, not embarrassed, not pissed. She almost wished he would slam it. It would make her feel like she’d gotten past his guard, scored some sort of a point against him.

      He didn’t. She hadn’t. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

      The dark pressed hard against her windows now that she had only the gently snoring Mikey for company.

      She felt so flat as she brushed her teeth and set the alarm clock. Let down, after all that fizzy tension. Nothing to do but try to get some rest, but she tossed and twisted on her thin pallet.

      She felt hot, restless. Tormented by an ache of sensual yearning.

      All she needed to make her misery complete.

      God, how she wanted her life back. To be Mag Callahan again, with her nice little house on the lake, her web design business that had finally been humming along after years of patient struggling. Her sharp wardrobe, her wine rack, her stained glass lamp, her orthopedic mattress, her Social Security number, her credit