“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around me a little tighter. Which felt damn nice. He made a short chuckling noise near my ear, so I guessed he was listening to me, too. I had to adjust my position to keep a hand on the back of his neck. “What else do you hear?” he asked.

“Let’s see. Your feelings aren’t as loud now. Or . . . well, that’s not exactly right. They’re loosening up? It’s like a slower rhythm or something. I can’t read it as easily. And . . .” He ran his fingers through my hair and pushed it off my shoulder, combing it several times down the back of my neck. “Oh, that feels nice,” I mumbled as goose bumps broke out on my scalp.

“What else?”

“It’s really hard to listen while you’re doing that.”

“Try.”

“Okay, I hear something. A twang. It’s sort of, well, not anxious. It’s too calm for that. But it’s got a similar urgency. Just lower-pitched. What is that?”

“That,” he said, grazing my ear with his lips, “is the sound of my willpower breaking.”

His mouth opened on my neck. Hot, wet, pulling kisses that made me forget all about his feelings and my feelings and every shocking thing I’d learned that day. My breasts pushed against his chest as I melted into him, turning my head to give him better access. He took it. And more. While his mouth was busy setting fire to my throat, his hands trailed down either side of my spine, following the curve of my lower back until he palmed my ass and gave it a slow squeeze.

“You want me,” I murmured, excited by the scrape of his whiskers against my cheek as I angled for a proper kiss.

“You think so?”

“I can hear it.” I shifted all my weight to my knees so I could tip forward to press closer. “Jesus, I can almost feel it.”

“Is that right?” He pulled me tight against his hips until his erection butted against me. “You feel it now?”

My pulse doubled. “I don’t know . . . it’s hard to tell from this angle. And last time, you wouldn’t let me touch you long enough to really know for sure.”

“You win. Let’s try again.” He pried one of my arms off his neck and guided my hand down between us. He pushed into my palm as I stroked him through his jeans. Whatever teasing taunt he’d been ready to wield morphed into a low moan.

“That feels promising.”

“Promising?”

“I’m not totally convinced.”

“I can hear the lie, Cadybell,” he whispered against my cheek, making me shiver.

“Oh, that’s right,” I whispered back, giving him another rub before my fingers sneaked up to his belt buckle. “Show me what a lie sounds like. I want to hear one, too.”

“Mmm.” He dragged his mouth against mine and kissed me slowly. “I’m not attracted to you in the least bit, and I haven’t spent the last week in agony, wanting to touch you.”

“Oh?”

“I haven’t thought about how soft your skin is or how sexy it is when your eyes tilt up at the corners when you laugh or how obscene your ass looks in those pants—and I definitely did not come close to pummeling that trucker who was watching you bend over to reach the bottled water in the convenience store at Bakersfield.”

Oooh. That explained the foul mood he’d been in during that leg of the journey home. “You didn’t?”

“Nope.” He kissed me a second time, deeper and slower, his tongue rolling with mine as I briefly halted my struggle to unbuckle his belt. “And I definitely didn’t have any fantasies about pulling over outside of Bakersfield to throw you into the back of the SUV so I could tear off those damned pants and screw you senseless, because I’ve got caveman genes that make me want to mark you up with my scent so everyone knows you’re mine.”

An equally primal satisfaction squeezed my chest.

“And lastly, I am not wondering”—his arm tangled with mine as he slid his hand beneath both the waistband of my yoga pants and my panties—“just how wet you are right now.”

“Ungff.”

“My,” he murmured in a controlled voice.

But I could feel the thrill that shot through him, as clear as the bright pleasure zigzagging between my thighs as he leisurely stroked me. The way he was making me feel, the way his feelings sounded in my head . . . God, it was all so damn good.

Too good. I lost track of my balance.

All of my weight suddenly shifted toward him—my weight and the chair. Lon’s hand flew out of my yoga pants; his arm tightened around my waist. He stumbled, carrying me with him as the wobbling chair tipped completely backward and slammed against the floor.

“Shit!” I slid down his body and got my footing, twisting in his arms to make sure I hadn’t knocked his laptop onto the floor. I hadn’t.

We both laughed a little. Then he said, “Maybe that’s a sign that we should stop.” But I could still hear him, and he damn sure didn’t want to stop. Good thing, because neither did I.

If I was being totally honest with myself, I could only think of a handful of men I’d ever truly wanted. Fewer still whom I’d wanted to spend time with outside of bed. But Lon was a rare beast. I wanted every bit of him, from his deadpan way of communicating and his unswerving loyalty, to his ex-surfer-boy long hair and devilish good looks. I wanted his surprising wit and his grumbly, slow-burn anger and his long, lean body.