Hot Texas Nights. Janice Maynard

      He frowned. “Why on earth would I pity you?”

      She shrugged. “I don’t know. It strikes me as odd that you never made a move on me before tonight.”

      He twined a lock of her hair around his finger, his smile enigmatic. “You never asked.”

      Well, heck. If she’d known it was that easy, she would have asked a long time ago. “I’m not drunk,” she said firmly. “I’m not even buzzed. I know what I’m doing.”

      His wicked grin gave her the shakes. “I’m glad we cleared that up.” He curled an arm around her waist and drew her closer. “I want you to remember every little thing I’m going to do to you,” he whispered, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “Start to finish. Including the way you’re going to scream my name when I make you come.”

      She gaped up at him, barely breathing. No other man of her acquaintance would have the confidence to be so boldly alpha, taking charge of the situation and the moment without apology. Perhaps she should have protested his arrogance, but her legs barely supported her, and breathing took all her focus. Her thighs clenched. Damp heat at her core ached.

      “You’re awfully sure of yourself,” she muttered.

      His low laugh made gooseflesh rise on her arms where they clung to his neck. “You asked me to have sex with you, sweet thing. Trust me, I won’t let you be disappointed. Even if it takes all night.” He paused, for the first time seeming mildly disconcerted. “Are we taking this upstairs, or do you want to make use of this very nice sofa?”

      She swallowed, trying in an insufficient instant to decide how best to proceed. That was the problem with spontaneity. No time for logical decisions. No opportunity to plan. “Here is fine,” she croaked. If things went south, she could always buy a new sofa to erase the memories of this night. Letting Ethan into her bed upstairs would signal an intimacy she wasn’t prepared to accept. Tonight was about closure, right?

      Ethan exhaled sharply, as if he was holding himself in check. “Then here it is,” he said gruffly.

      He released her and stepped away, slipping his wallet from his back pocket. When he calmly tossed the small strip of condom packets on the coffee table, Aria fixated on it as if it was a tiny bomb just waiting to explode and send her neatly ordered life into a million pieces.

      “We could build a fire,” she said. “If you’re cold. The wood is already laid out. And I have matches on the mantel.” Too much babbling, Aria. She sucked in a breath and tried to smile. “Unless we’re going to generate enough heat on our own. What do you think?”

       Three

      Ethan winced inwardly. Aria was nervous. Should he put a stop to this before they did something they would both regret? The answer was probably yes, but he couldn’t make himself walk away.

      He burned for her.

      “No fire,” he said. “Not now, anyway. I don’t want to wait.”

      His body ached for hers in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The uneasy melding of lust and tenderness sounded an alarm in his gut, but he closed his mind to the danger.

      Aria was finally his. At least for this one night.

      He held out a hand. “Come here, beautiful. Let me touch you.”

      Her pupils were dilated, the irises more navy than cornflower in the low light. Only a single small lamp burned, and it was on the far side of the room, near the front door. The drapes were drawn. Their privacy was complete in the hushed silence of the wintry night.

      Aria didn’t obey his request. Instead, she lifted her arms and peeled her soft, fuzzy turtleneck over her head. Tousled blond hair fell around her shoulders. Her barely there bra was the same color as the sweater. The lacy lingerie did little to conceal her dark raspberry nipples.

      Her body was pale and lovely, the skin smooth and white, her slender arms toned and fit. The waistband of her jeans rode low on her hips, exposing a tiny navel that was as sexy to him as her hesitant smile.

      He sucked in a breath and shuddered as his sex went from primed and ready to hard as stone. The rush of arousal eroded his patience. Even so, he kept his distance, curious to see how far she would go.

      Shifting from one foot to the other, he smiled. “Don’t stop now. I’m enjoying the show.”

      She wrinkled her nose. “I think I’m ready for you to lend a hand, Ethan. Striptease isn’t really in my repertoire.”

      “Too bad,” he said, the words ragged. He wanted to pounce on her. Devour her. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Instead, he went to her and folded her in his arms. Perhaps she thought it odd that he simply held her for long, aching moments. If she did, she didn’t say anything.

      He hadn’t anticipated the immediate problem of making love to Aria. For years he had locked down his reactions to her. He’d never once let himself get close to hitting on her, no matter how much he’d wanted to.

      Reversing that protocol now was throwing him off his game.

      He was more accustomed to easy, recreational sex with women who had plenty of experience. Aria had been in relationships. He knew that. He had witnessed several of them, and to his shame he’d been fiercely exultant when each one had ended. Despite that, he’d felt protective of her innocent soul, her innate goodness. Even as kids, he had wanted to keep her from getting hurt. Something about Aria Jensen made him want to be her defender.

      But not tonight.

      A shudder worked its way through his chest. He ran his hands up and down her bare back, tracing the line of her spine. “You’re sure?” he asked hoarsely, his control down to a thread.

      She nipped his collarbone with sharp teeth. “I want you, Ethan. I won’t change my mind, I swear.”

      That final assurance snapped the last of his patience. He slid his hands inside her jeans and palmed her butt. Damn, that firm, curved bottom was fine.

      Aria moaned and pressed against him, the faint scent of her perfume familiar and yet intriguing. He felt like a teenager with his first woman. Out of control. Apprehensive. The delicate female in his arms was important to him. He’d cut off his arm before he would hurt her.

      “I fantasized about this,” he admitted, nudging her head to one side and nibbling her neck.

      He felt her shock.

      “You did?” she said, her tone disbelieving.

      “Of course. You and I have always had this awareness between us. You know it. I know it, too. When I was in college and you were a million miles away on the other side of the country, I used to ask myself why I had let you get away. I hated all those guys who were spending time with you when I couldn’t. It made me nuts.”

      She pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around her waist, her chin going up the slightest bit as if in defiance. “You don’t have to say things like that,” she said. “This is sex. I don’t need pretty words. I’m an adult woman. I know all the reasons men and women climb into bed together. Maybe I haven’t slept around as much as some of my friends, but I’m not naive. I’d rather you not make this something it isn’t.”

      The blunt words didn’t quite disguise her vulnerability. Though he wanted to be angry, he couldn’t. She was trying so hard to protect herself. “I will never lie to you,” he said quietly. “Not now. Not ever.” He reached for her hand and held it against his erection. “You have this effect on me. You always have.”

      Her fingers flexed and curved along the outline of his rigid sex, her gaze downcast, as if she was mesmerized. “I didn’t know. You always treated me like a kid sister.”

      Even through his pants, her touch burned him.