Only, somehow in the past seconds, her stalled-out mind had sputtered to life again. Weakly turning over the events unfolding around her. Events that would shape the rest of her life.
“No,” she choked out, forcing her hands to be still. Her eyes to open and meet the burning black of Connor’s stare.
“Damn.”
She could see the indecision in his eyes...the debate whether to try again. Try harder.
A tremor of hope slipped through her belly at the thought. One she ruthlessly pushed aside.
“What is this?” she asked, waving a hand between them.
He shook his head, an almost bewildered look on his cocky face. “It’s hot.”
It was more than hot. “It’s distracting. I can’t think.”
“Good, agree to give me three months.”
But before she could even contemplate giving him three minutes, his mouth was over hers again, his tongue sliding between her lips in slow, seductive thrusts. Once again tempting her reservations to abandon their posts.
Heart racing, breath ragged, she shook her head, forcing her hands to center at Connor’s chest and then giving him a small push. She couldn’t agree to anything. Whatever state she’d been in last night, at this moment, the impairment of her judgment was at record level.
“Megan,” he murmured, watching her from beneath heavy lids.
Oh, hell, that look. She swallowed, taking a step back. And then another. She needed to get away. Needed space to breathe. To think.
“Come on, baby. Don’t run away. Let’s sit on the couch and talk.”
Her gaze shot to the couch. Within a blink, it had become fodder for more scenarios than her experience could justify—a den of seduction, rife with erotic potential.
She had been reading a lot lately.
“I’ll keep my hands to myself,” came another low, rumbling assurance, pulling her focus back to Connor. Standing where she’d left him, the shirt she’d been trying to free him of spread wide to reveal the hard muscles banding his abdomen and the perfect discs of his nipples.
Her mouth watered as another couchside scenario accosted her.
“Sure you will.” Fine, maybe he would. Maybe it wasn’t his hands she was worried about.
“Don’t believe me? You could always tie my hands.” Connor grasped one end of the tie hanging loose at his open neck, let it twist around his finger as he held it out in offering. His wicked smile pushing new limits. “Unless you’d prefer—”
“No!” Okay, it definitely wasn’t his hands she was worried about. And with what she was thinking, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to sit on any couch again, let alone that one.
She forced her feet to move one after the other until she’d cleared the stairs and made the master suite again. Arms crossed, she gripped the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. Stepped into the shower and jerked the tap to cold, bracing for the crush of clarity she prayed the icy deluge would bring.
“Agghgh!” she half shrieked as arctic needles fired against her overheated skin, coating her body with the cold wash of reason returned.
She’d been about to agree to...anything.
Marriage.
Moving across the country.
And God help her, even with the chill of reality raining down over her...all she could think about was the way his kiss had all but consumed her.
A low groan of reluctant need slipped past her lips, and she positioned her face beneath the pounding spray, waiting for the cold to beat its way through her thick skull and to snuff the smoky thoughts in her mind and the fire blazing through her veins.
“Damn, Megan. I like it when you make those sounds.”
The lock. She hadn’t even thought about it.
Blinking the running water from her face, she turned to look out the clear glass of the shower stall to see Connor leaning against the wall across the room. His half smile was at full strength, seductive and hungry.
“What are you doing in there, sweetheart?”
“Trying to clear my head.”