“It’s just my entire career, I’ve always had a crutch—first my grandmother’s success helped pave the way for me and then being with a director helped to secure roles . . .” Maybe that had been part of the appeal of her and Brantley together. She’d never felt confident enough in her own abilities, so having his influence had made her feel safe. She didn’t want to feel safe anymore;, she wanted to take a risk and prove to herself that she could make it on her own. “I just need to succeed on my own.”

“You will. Parker, you’re amazing,” Tyson said, touching her cheek.

He was trying to make her feel better and whether he actually believed what he was saying or not was irrelevant. She felt better just because he’d tried. His lips moved up her arm as the first movie started.

“Hey, stop that . . . the movie’s on.” She giggled as his lips tickled her shoulder.

“I thought this was the point of a drive-in movie,” he said, sliding the hand on his good arm up her thigh.

He made a good point. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed hers. “Are you sure your arm can handle this?”

Removing the sling, he’d found at the gym, he tossed it into the back, and effortlessly picked her up and placed her on his lap on the passenger seat. “My arm won’t be doing the work,” he said with a grin before claiming her mouth.

*   *   *

“What are you doing in there?” Tyson fought to keep his eyes open, lying on her bed an hour later. Sex in a car turned out to be tougher than he’d anticipated with his busted shoulder, so they’d skipped out halfway through the first movie. Parker hadn’t seemed to mind ending their date early, driving at a ticket-inviting speed back to her place.

“I’ll be out in just a sec,” she called from inside her bathroom, where she’d been for more than fifteen minutes.

He was starting to lose his hard-on and fighting sleep was becoming a challenge. “If you take too much longer, these pain meds are going to have me out co . . .” He stopped as the bathroom door opened and she stepped out wearing a man’s dress shirt and a pair of heels. “Maybe I’m already dreaming,” he mumbled, as she hit the button on a remote, controlling the central sound system and a slow, hip hop tempo’d song started to play. She started toward him, crossing one foot slowly over the other, as her hips swayed to the opening beats of the music. “In fear that you’ll stop, I just have to ask . . . what’s going on here?”

“You were wondering where I got such strong lat muscles . . . well, I played a dancer in my most recent failed movie and I learned a lot for that part too.” She placed her foot on the bed in front of him, and starting at her ankle, she traced her fingers upward, slowly, over her smooth, tanned leg. At the top of her thigh, she stopped, and stepping her foot down, she turned slowly, her hips moving in a tantalizing slow figure eight.

He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as she placed her hands on her knees and rotated her hips, as she dropped lower toward the floor. The edge of the shirt rose to reveal the bottom of her butt cheeks and he wanted to reach out and grab her and pull her down onto his lap, bad shoulder and all. But he resisted. The show in front of him was too fantastic to interrupt.

When she glanced back over one shoulder and softly spanked her ass, he smiled.

This woman was unlike any he’d ever dated . . . she was fun, flirty, so confident in her sexuality, but she made it a challenge for him. A challenge to keep his hands off of her, a challenge to be satisfied with just one kiss, one touch.

When she turned back to face him, and started to slowly unbutton the shirt, his dick hardened. Letting it fall off of her shoulders, revealing a white lace bra and panty set that did little to cover her beautiful breasts, she bent at his feet and slid her hands along his thighs, letting her breasts graze his lap, up his bare stomach and chest, to his face.

He reached out to grip her ribcage as he breathed in the soft smell of vanilla coming from her skin, but she shoved his hands away. She turned once more to rest her head in the crook of his good shoulder while she lowered and raised her hips over him to the steady beat of the music, her hands slowly, tantalizingly caressing her stomach, her breasts, and tangling in her hair.

“You’re killing the patient,” he murmured against her neck. All awareness of pain had left him as all of the blood in his body was needed in a different area.

She laughed as she reached behind her, unclasped the bra, and tossed it onto the floor. Pressing her ass into his lap, she continued the rotation of her hips while sliding her hands up and down his thighs.

When her right hand reached behind to touch his cock, straining against the confines of his boxer briefs, he groaned and closed his eyes. “Parker . . .”

She stood and turned, providing a breathtaking view of her new body. He let out a low whistle as she returned instantly to straddle him, stroking her body up and down against him. She reached for the waistband of his underwear and he lifted his hips as she removed them. But when her head lowered to his thigh, leaving a trail of kisses, he stopped her.

It had be to the first time he’d ever stopped a blow job from happening, but he didn’t want her mouth around him . . . he wanted her. He wanted her body pressed close to him, he wanted to feel every inch of her as he came, he wanted to see her and let that mesmerizing look in her eyes take him to a whole new level of seduction. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her back to him, securing her in place, as he ripped the thong away from her body.

She gasped. “Hey, those were thirty-dollar panties.”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he whispered, devouring her neck. “In every color . . .” His mouth crushed hers as his hands came across her stomach and cupped her breasts.

She moaned and he could feel the wetness between her thighs.

Reaching for the drawer, she opened a condom and quickly slid it over him before following it with her body. She gripped his shoulders and he winced in pain. Her eyes flew open and she pulled her hands away quickly, stopping the rocking of her hips. “I’m sorry. I forgot,” she said, breathless.

He grabbed her tighter, staring into her eyes, as he said, “I can handle the pain. I can’t handle not having you a second longer.” He flipped her onto her back and lifted her legs behind the knees as he slid in and out of her body. His breathing was labored and the pain in his shoulder was almost unbearable, but he needed her, wanted her more than he cared about the pain.

“Tyson . . . are you okay?” she asked, looking concerned, but her eyes pleaded with him not to stop.

“More than okay,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

But as he climaxed inside of her, he wasn’t sure that was true. If he was being honest, he wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been okay since the first kick-in-the-gut reaction he’d experienced the day she’d walked into his gym, into his life . . . since the first earth-shattering moment of awareness when he knew he had to have her and then the unfamiliar feeling of never having enough. He was starting to fall for her and that wasn’t okay at all. All he could do was hope when she eventually left, when she eventually didn’t need him anymore and went on with her life, that he could put the pieces back together again.

*   *   *

Sometime later in the night, she heard him climb out of bed and get dressed. She listened to the sound of his watch snapping into place, the zipper of his jeans, then the sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor. She kept her eyes closed. She wouldn’t stop him from leaving. That’s who he was. He’d never once lied to her or given her any false ideas or hope about where this was going or what was happening between them.

He was the love-them-and-leave-them kind of guy she shouldn’t involve herself with, the one she always avoided until now, the one who could no doubt break her. Yet, she wasn’t walking away . . . and she wasn’t pushing him away.