Her hands clutched at his torso. “What?”

“I . . .” He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that slight pain would bring him some measure of control, but the ground under him was crumbling too fast. “I forgot the fucking rubber.”

It took seconds for the words to penetrate and then, as her body went tense, he started to pull back.

She wrapped her legs around him.

The sensation of her, slick and wet, hot and wild, sent his brain on meltdown.

“I’m on the pill,” she said against his lips. “Do we need . . .”

Shuddering, he rolled his hips against hers, felt himself falling.

Flying.

Bracing one arm around her hips, he locked her tight against him, heard her startled cry as he drove himself home—hard and deep.

Her nails sank into his shoulders and she rocked up to meet him, another female cry falling from her lips when he surged back into her.

Slick, soft, so hot—

“Trey . . .”

Blindly, he sought her mouth, caught the next moan and swallowed it down.

The control he’d been scrabbling for wasn’t even a memory now.

*   *   *

Ressa barely even had time to catch her breath.

It was like she’d thrown herself into a storm—willingly—and was now lost to it.

Trey’s body moved, hard and fast, driving her across the bed until she had to slam her hand against the headboard to brace herself. One arm hooked under her knee, opening her and she whimpered as it took him deeper, as each deep stroke had the head of his cock rubbing against her G-spot in a way that was almost too much. She sucked in a breath, a moan rising in her throat, but he caught her lips in a deep, drugging kiss.

Her head started to swim and she couldn’t breathe.

Shoving her free hand between them, she tore her mouth away and gasped for air.

“Trey, I—”

He twisted his hips and the orgasm slammed into her, hitting her with nuclear force. She felt herself flying into a thousand pieces, sensation wracking her, and still he thrust, rising up onto his knees, gripping her hips now as he shafted her, slower now, but just as deep.

He stiffened, just as she was starting to come down, and she whimpered when his cock jerked and he started to come. The sensation of it, his length pulsing and throbbing inside her, set her to shuddering all over again and it was so intense, her vision started to gray out on her.

Dangerous, she thought dazed as he slumped down, his head resting between her breasts.

This man really was dangerous.

Chapter Twelve

Getting by on less than two hours of sleep wasn’t as much fun as it was cracked up to be.

Trey had thought he’d be ready to get the hell out of dodge, but as the panel droned on and on, all he could think about was trying to track down Ressa and . . .

And what?

That was the kicker.

And what?

His body still burned with the memory of the past night, his shoulders and back tender from her nails. He was both more sated than he could remember feeling in years and at the same time, he was already burning, already hungry for more.

And still, the endless panel dragged on endlessly.

Baron T. Capstone droned on, loving the sound of his own voice, the sound of it like an ice pick in Trey’s ear. The pompous prick talked over everybody, including the moderator and interrupted people non-stop. Finally, Trey just started ignoring him and finished up with his comments, raising his voice to be heard when necessary, doing what he could to answer the questions directed at him.

Once, when he’d finished, Baron had given him a quelling look and asked sourly, “Are you done yet?”

“For a minute.”

The room had laughed for the first time since the panel had started and Trey stopped waiting for the moderator to handle Baron and did it himself. After that, the questions flowed a little easier and the other authors managed to get a few words in, too. And with every passing minute, Baron seemed to grit his teeth more and more.

When it ended, a publicist from his publisher cornered him.

“I need an hour of your time,” she said.

Trey thought longingly of his plan to pin down Ressa. But Sylvia gave him a beaming, hopeful smile and instead of turning tail and running, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Why? You going to yell at me over the panel?”

“Hell, no. I’m tempted to buy you a drink.” Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Of course, I didn’t say that.”

She grinned at him and, after a minute, he smiled back. “Okay, then. What do you need?”

“Come on. You’ll see.” She hooked an arm through his and led him away.

As they were walking through the halls, a familiar laugh caught his ears and he looked up.

There she was. Ressa, on her way into a panel—

“Ah, can this wait a couple of minutes?”

Sylvia smiled. “Of course.”

He barely managed to catch Ressa before the door closed and the soft rush of dusky pink staining the warm gold of her cheeks had him wanting to find out how low the blush went. Then he just wanted her naked.

“Ah, hey. I was . . .” He blew out a breath, the nerves that hadn’t been present for most of the night now rushing up to steal his voice.

“I need to get in there,” she said, her voice soft.

“Yeah, I know. Look, I was just wondering . . . we, ah . . . well. We never got around to getting coffee,” he said.

Ressa laughed. “I think we kind of did an end run around coffee.”

“So.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Can I call you sometime?”

“Call . . .”

*   *   *

Oh, no.

Ressa swallowed back the emotions that immediately leaped to choke her. Excitement and fear—equal amounts of both. Call me? Trey wanted to call her?

“Ressa!”

Hearing her name, she glanced behind her, even as the fear started to edge out the excitement.

She swung a look back to Trey again. “Ah . . .”

In the end, though, it was the fear that won out. Fear, maybe because she couldn’t quite forget the way somebody had watched her all weekend. You look familiar . . .

No, Baron didn’t know her, but what if he had?

Trey wasn’t a mid-list writer—or even a mega writer who lived in some shack in the middle of nowhere, eschewing the media.

While he didn’t exactly chase the media spotlight, he had people in his family who were media darlings. The cameras, the press . . .

Her stomach lurched on her and, abruptly, she backed up. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she said, pasting a casual smile on her face. “We . . .”

She shrugged. “Look, we had a nice night, but that’s probably all it’s ever going to be.”

His brows dropped low over his eyes and as something passed through that surreal blue—hurt?—she turned away. “Take care of yourself, Trey.”

It was the right thing to do, she told herself. Not just for them, but for the people close to them.

But still . . . she felt like she’d just punched herself, right in the chest.

*   *   *

We had a nice night.

Trey couldn’t shut the voice up.

It had taken nearly thirty minutes for him and Sylvia to make their way to the room where she had hoarded boxes of books. And he had replayed in his head endlessly those two minutes—hell, it might have been less than sixty seconds—with Ressa.

“This is going to take more than an hour,” he muttered. One bed held boxes of the hardback he had coming out in a month. The cover bore his name in red, standing out on the black background, the almost ghostly image of a woman looking away, eye-catching in its simplicity.