Tugging at his towel, Connor let it drop to the floor.
"Good grief," she muttered. "You're incredible."
With a gentle smile, he deliberately took her statement in a way it wasn't intended. "Ah, but I haven't even started yet."
The low, deep brogue wrapped around Stacey's spine, then slid down in a heated glide.
Infuriated with herself for being aroused, she stared at the tall, golden, gorgeous-impossibly gorgeous-naked man striding toward her. Unable to look away from the beautifully honed muscles drenched in tawny skin. Or the dark honey hair that hung over a strong brow. Or the Caribbean blue eyes that roamed her body from head to toe, the gaze hot and lustful but tender, too.
His sinfully sensual mouth was framed by lines of tension and stress, a sight that tempted her to kiss his troubles away. Whatever they might be.
As if it that was possible. Connor Bruce seemed to be an island unto himself. There was something inherently dangerous about him, something savage and untamed. He seemed… dark somehow, tormented. A feeling she understood because she presently felt that way herself. Barely leashed. Tense. She wanted to drive up to Big Bear and tell Justin and Tommy both that one fucking ski trip did not make Tommy Father of the Century.
Frustrated with her inability to "get over it," Stacey imprudently ogled Connor's luscious cock instead. After all, he was waving it around…
"It's all yours," he purred, coming at her with a devastating combination of determination and mouth-watering, finely honed abs. She looked up and saw challenge within the depths of his blue eyes. He knew she couldn't help but look and covet what he offered so bluntly. "And you're all mine."
God, how she wished she could laugh that off. Considering how long they'd known each other, that comment should have been funny as hell. But Connor was too primitive a male to dismiss when he became possessive. Just as she, apparently, was primitive enough to enjoy being dragged back to his cave by her hair.
There was something very wrong with a man being that perfect. Six feet plus of pure, potent male. He was big, broad, and bad. Irresistibly bad. And unapologetic about it. She might have been able to resist if that were all he was. But he seemed vulnerable, too, in a way she couldn't define. It called to her, though, whatever it was. Deeply. She found herself wanting to soothe him, embrace him, make him smile.
Her gaze once again fell helplessly to the long, thick cock that led the way for him. That was perfect, too. She couldn't find a damn thing wrong with his body and she was trying. Boy, was she trying. He was savagely beautiful and forbiddingly sexy, but she wasn't giving in. No way. She was drooling over him, yes, but she was not going to repeat her past mistakes. She didn't even know the guy, for chrissakes!
"Does that Conan the Barbarian act work for you?" she asked with an arched brow, acting for all she was worth. '"Cuz it sure as hell isn't working for me."
His lips curved in a boyish smile. She was stunned by her reaction to it. It was the kind of charming curve that made one want to smile back.
"Prove it." His long, easy stride made her shiver. She gripped the seat behind her with such force she broke a nail and a small sound of dismay escaped her. It gave away too much, that soft breathy cry. She could tell it did, because his gaze heated and darkened, and his cock swelled even further. Her mouth dried at the sight.
Lord have mercy. The thick length was lined with throbbing veins that forced her to bite back a moan of longing. Porn stars would pay for that cock. Shit, women paid for cocks such as his, molded in plastic with a speed control switch.
"Are you double-dog daring me?" she muttered, her gaze riveted by the sheer predatory grace of his movements. She wondered how he moved while fucking and the thought made her damp between the legs.
She was lonely, tired, frustrated by the hand life had dealt her, and pissed off enough to want to shed her unappreciated-mommy role for an hour or two. Get over it? Sure. What better way to get over it than to get under a man like Connor Bruce?
"Let me hold you," he murmured, his accent a gentle enticement.
Stacey didn't move. She couldn't.
As he came closer, she held her breath, knowing that her resistance to his very attractive but impractical offer would weaken if she smelled him. The scent of his skin was unique. A bit spicy, a bit musky. One hundred percent male. Pure Connor. Inhaling would sharpen the images already in her mind of him suspended above her, his arms bulging as he held his weight aloft, his abdominal muscles lacing tight as he pumped his thick cock in and out of her, his gorgeous features taut with lust.
The way he looked right now.
Panicked at her craving, Stacey shook her head violently and jumped quickly to the side, hoping to skirt the dining table and… hoping he'd chase her.
Which he did.
Connor lunged and caught her easily, his steely arm banding around her waist and hauling her back against him. The confinement awakened the full force of her desire, making her soften and grow slick with anticipation.
"Let me, Stacey." The tone of his voice changed, became urgent and thick with need. "I need you. You need me. Let it happen."
The fierceness of his desire was evident in every line of his big body. It was tangible and very, very tempting.
It was also insane.
"Damn it!" she snapped, struggling because it turned her on more to do so, not because she had any expectation of getting away. "You can't just haul me off to bed!"
"You're right. I won't make it that far. Right here will have to do."
"Here?" she croaked. "This is nuts! We don't even know each other!"
He tightened his embrace and nuzzled against her sweetly, his tongue gliding across the fluttering pulse at her throat. It made her dizzy to be held by him, surrounded by his scent and his attention to detail. She had no doubt that Connor would find every erogenous zone on her body. She also had no doubt that she wanted him to. God, it had been so long since she'd had great sex with someone who was focused on pleasuring her. Someone who seemed to need to pleasure her.
"You're thinking too much," he whispered with his lips to her ear. He reached up and cupped her unfettered breast. His palm was warm, his squeeze firm but gentle. His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple, rolled it, tugged it. She writhed as the sensation shot straight to her sex and tingled madly. A rough sound rumbled up from his chest.
The urge to close her eyes and melt into him was strong. "People don't just hop into bed with strangers because they had a shitty day."
"Why not? Why deny yourself something you want?"
"It's called maturity." She changed tactics and hung like a deadweight in his arms. He didn't appear to notice. The man was brawny enough to carry an elephant.
"Sounds like self-torture to me."
"I suppose you just barrel through life thinking you can do whatever you damn well please because you're hot."
He pressed a hard, quick kiss to her temple and used both hands to knead her breasts. "You're hot and you don't do what you want."
Stacey snorted. "Compliments will not get you into my pants."
Connor reached up and cupped her cheek, angling her mouth to meet his. "No," he whispered against her lips, "but this will."
He yanked open her button fly, then shoved his hand into her jeans.
"No…"
His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, stemming her protest. He cupped her through her lace thong. "Yes," he purred, rubbing her swollen, needy pussy with skillful fingers, "you're wet, sweetheart."
She whimpered as he pushed the intruding material out of the way and touched her skin-to-skin.
"Tell me you want me," he rasped, the callused tip of his index finger sliding between her folds and stroking over her engorged clit. Back and forth. Caressing, circling.