He couldn’t get enough and ate at her while cupping one of her breasts. The soft mound filled his palm, and he stroked her nipple through the barrier of her bra and the T-shirt, making her gasp. As he fondled her, she ran her hands down his chest, igniting him everywhere. The hardest erection he could remember having strained against the zipper of his dress slacks.

This was insanity. A recipe for disaster.

He was damned if he was going to stop it now.

*     *     *

That day Molly had slept late, eaten chocolate for breakfast, and read some of the thriller. Then she slept some more. Even though most of the day had gone by in a blur, she was glad when Josiah arrived and even more glad when he pulled a bottle of wine out of his shopping bag.

Oh, yes please, wine. The fact that he’d bought it showed he was starting to think about things other than what was useful or what furthered his objectives. If she had learned one thing over the past twenty years, she knew life should be about so much more than meeting one’s ambitions. Or, in his case, being driven by revenge.

Then he took off half his clothes. When he shrugged out of his suit jacket, she saw where he was going and had a moment to brace herself. But then the material of his shirt fell open as he unbuttoned it, and everything inside ground to a halt.

He had whipcord strength bound with heavy muscles on a big frame. His shoulders and arms flexed along with the accordion shadows of lean ribs as he stripped off his shirt. He was deeply tanned everywhere, not just his face and neck, and his broad chest and flat stomach were sprinkled with dark hair that glinted in the basement light.

Her throat went dry. God, she wanted him. He glanced at her, eyes glittering, the bones of his face tight. He looked at her like she was his only meal for miles around, and she wanted to say come and get it.

She thought running away to change in the bedroom would help, but then she slipped into the clothes that were still warm from his body. Immediately, she was enveloped in his scent, and it made things worse. Made it unbearable. Needing him became a scratch under her skin that she couldn’t reach.

Watching him watch her, take photos of her while he wore nothing but the dark slacks of his suit. Could he see through the lens of his phone how she fought to hide her erratic breathing?

She ran away the first chance she got, tore off his clothes only to put on his T-shirt again, and tried to give the shirt and jacket back. All the while the need for him was running fast and liquid in the back of her mind like frenetic music she couldn’t silence.