Unlike the first time, when she’d been all wound up and seeking only more of the cyclone, this was about him, the man, not her own internal buzzing.

This was all about him.

As she leaned in to kiss him, he put his big hands on her thin wrists and held her off gently. “This didn’t help upstairs.”

“Yes. It did. You just didn’t believe me.”

“Grier . . .” Her name was a combination of confusion and desperation: why spelled with five new letters instead of the usual three.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she murmured, fixated on his mouth.

“You sure?”

When she nodded, he bent down and pressed his lips against hers, drawing her into him. He was fully aroused, more than ready for her, and yet he moved her back.

Before she could protest, she heard the click of the lock sliding into place and then those warm hands slipped under her shirt and slid around her rib cage, going to the small of her back. As she felt a gentle, lifting pressure, her feet came up off the floor and she was carried over to the table.

Pushing the dossiers to the side, Isaac laid her out flat, his palms moving to her breasts as he bent over her and kept their mouths fused. Her yoga pants were off her legs a moment later, but instead of tossing them, he put them over the chair she’d been in. Smart. No telling whether she was going to have to get dressed fast in the middle.

A subtle pull and her hips were right at the edge of the table . . . and then he broke their kiss and sank down onto his knees.

If she’d thought she’d seen his eyes burn before, it was nothing compared to what they were doing now. Frost had never been so hot.

As she got an idea where he was headed, she sat up. “But I want this to be for both of us—”

“You said you wanted to remember something.” His palms slid up to the tops of her thighs and squeezed. “So lie back and let me do my thing.”

That tongue of his made a reappearance—and didn’t that make her get on board with the plan.

“G’on now,” he murmured with that Southern drawl. “Lie on back and let me take care of you. I promise to go slow . . . real slow.”

His hands drifted down to her knees and spread her legs . . . and she gave herself up to him. Following his instructions to the letter, she felt the hard table against her shoulder blades and the cool air on her thighs and a wild heat in her blood.

As he stared at her from beneath his brows, he looked as if he were going to consume her.

And she was ready to be his meal.