And it was no hardship at all to accept his invitation.
Her spine seemed to melt, her body arching into his, letting herself be supported by his hands, while she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close, feeding on his male taste and touch even as he supped on her.
Such wide shoulders, such lean, muscled flesh; her hands relished the sculpted skinscape of him. She curled her fingers into the shirt covering his firm flesh, feeling his muscles flex and tighten beneath. He shuddered when she raked her nails across the fine fabric, and pressed his long, lean length closer to her so she could not be in any way ignorant to the extent of his arousal.
How empowering. Knowing she could do this to him. Knowing that a man like Maverick would react to her touch. Knowing that a man like Maverick wanted her.
His hand scooped its way under her jacket, sweeping the length of her back, setting her skin alight in a sensual massage. This man came with heat, she realised, answering an earlier question. Everywhere he touched her burned. Everywhere he touched her sizzled.
It was Maverick setting her aflame.
She was crazy, she recognised; she must be crazy. But it was the kind of crazy that rolled you into a ball and kept you moving, without a chance of drawing breath, without a chance of finding your feet and coming up for air. And as she drank his male essence into her senses she had to admit there was definitely something to be said for being crazy.
He tilted his head and directed his mouth down the line of her jaw and her throat, his hands moving over her back, his fingers and thumbs seeming to test every part of her flesh, but, she had no doubt, giving much more than they were receiving.
His fingers rounded her rib cage and brushed the underswell of her breast. She gasped, arching involuntarily into the movement, and momentarily lost in sensations so foreign to her and yet at the same time so evocative. It was like a drug, this feeling coursing through her, feelings that simultaneously made her senses sing and turned logic fuzzy. It had taken but one kiss and she was addicted.
He cupped one breast with his hand, brushing her nipple with his thumb. Air rushed into her lungs like he’d switched on a vacuum, and the addict in her craved more.
He trailed kisses along her jaw, burying his face in her hair and breathing her in.
‘You’ve driven me crazy all day, you know that?’
The whispered words rumbled through her. If she could have strung two words together right now it would have been to tell him the feeling was entirely mutual. But then he returned his attentions to her mouth, and words seemed unnecessary when her lips could tell him so much more effectively.
He groaned into her mouth and dragged his head back.
‘Do you realise how much I want you?’
A tremor shimmied through her. And a flicker of fear. Through the drug-inducing haze of sensation, she recognised this wasn’t a good idea. Things had gone too far—too fast—and a kiss had turned into something else entirely.
‘Maverick…’
‘Stay with me,’ he murmured, his voice husky, his breathing choppy. ‘Here in my suite. Tonight.’
It was insane, but for a moment she was actually tempted—to feel more of this exquisite rush, to experience more of what he obviously had to offer. But it was madness.
‘I don’t think—’
‘Don’t think!’ he urged. ‘Just feel. Make love with me tonight, Morgan. All night.’
Morgan!
Her sister’s name was a chilling wave more effective than a bucket of iced water, dousing her cold. He thought he was kissing Morgan. He expected to make love to Morgan! And Tegan was already living a lie. How could she compound it by sleeping with him and letting him think all the time she was her sister?
She couldn’t do it. Casual sex had never been her style, and this wouldn’t be casual sex, anyway. It would be highly complicated, ‘look out for the fallout’ kind of sex.
She didn’t need it, and she was pretty certain Morgan would thank her for making that decision.
‘I really have to go,’ she protested, simultaneously trying to push him away with one hand and clamour with the other for the button on the wall somewhere behind her that would be her ticket to freedom.
The swirling depths of his eyes revealed his confusion. ‘But you don’t want to go,’ he responded, loosening his hold without letting her go completely. ‘Not from the way your body responds.’
‘I have to go!’ she insisted, using the slight freedom he’d afforded her to find the control panel and slam her fingers against anything remotely button-shaped. ‘I’m expecting a call.’
It was the truth, though the look he gave her showed he assumed it was merely an excuse to get out of there. His eyes iced over and he let her go. ‘You should have said,’ he stated, his voice back to business, all trace of the husky seducer banished. ‘Come on, then, I’ll drive you home.’