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He stared down at her, and the air charged with the desire pounding through both their systems.
He bent and strummed his thumb along the line of her jaw. She swallowed hard.
Then he moved in and pressed his lips to hers in a lingering, drugging kiss.
When he withdrew, she opened her eyes and found her room empty. Jace was gone.
Her insides clutched.Oh god. The things he’d done to her body had blown all her hopes and fantasies, but he left her wanting too.
She didn’t even want to think about the torture he must be experiencing after not getting off.
Flopping back on the bed, she threw out her senses beyond her bedroom and listened to Jace moving around. For a heart-stopping moment, panic swept her that she’d been the one to cross the line and he’d drop her as his ward.
She listened hard for any indication he was talking on the phone, requesting backup so he could pass her off to someone else on the WEST Protection team.
She only heard a soft thump she knew well as her cat leaping off some high place to the floor, followed by the guest bathroom door closing down the hall.
The noise of the shower made her squeeze her thighs together. Rolling onto her side, she envisioned her bodyguard stripping off his jeans, his underwear and stepping naked into the water. All those glorious, carved muscles wet from the spray.
A shudder rippled through her, and she slid a hand between her legs. Planting a fingertip over her still-hard, throbbing clit, she let her fantasy run wild.
She had no doubt Jace was trying to run away from his lust with a cold shower.
What was she lying here touching herself for when there was a hot man battling his want for her in the other room?
Bronte wasn’t a dreamer—she was a doer.
In a flurry, she scrambled off the bed and strode to the bathroom. When she gripped the handle, she wondered if he’d locked it, but it twisted smoothly in her hand.
Vapor floated in the air. So hewasn’ttaking a cold shower. It was hot.
Eyes hitting the glass door shielding him from her, she gulped.
Jace was half-turned away from her, his arm jerking in a slow rhythm that had her pussy spilling juices down her inner thighs.
She must have made some noise because he whirled. Her gaze was fixed to his hand that had stopped mid-stroke on his cock.
“You don’t want to do this, Bronte.”
Yes, she damn well did. She’d never wanted something so much in her life.
She took a step toward the glass door.
“Sweetness…” His hoarse endearment sounded as a plea.
Unable to stop herself, she whipped open the shower door and stepped in with him.
Gray eyes locked on hers. His chest heaved. She followed the path of water cutting down his shoulders, over his chest that was speckled with dark hair, to soak a love trail running like an arrow straight to her biggest desire right this minute.
He gripped his cock at the base, and she looked her fill, taking in the tendons corded in his forearm that stood out from his holding back, to the long, tanned fingers wrapped around his impressive length.
He was thick and heavy with need. The tip flushed dark red.
“Don’t do this, Bronte.”
Oh, she was doing this.
She closed the small gap between them and plastered her body to his.
