With his body jerking into hers and him filling her up . . . he was as satiated as a man in the desert who’d had a sip of water.

He wasn’t nearly finished with her. She wanted memories? Roger that.

Keeping them joined, he tugged the pants out of her mouth, scooped her up, and brought her lips to his, kissing her deeply as he easily carried her weight off the table. Positioning her against the smooth door, he gripped the back of her legs and started moving once again. With her hands tangled in his hair, and the blazing heat and urgent energy taking over again, the kiss couldn’t last—and he didn’t last much longer than the seal of their lips did. He came hard into her, collapsing against her as her own orgasm milked at him.

Recovery was a luxury he didn’t allow himself much of, because he was well aware of his weight against her and the fact that her back was pressing into something hard and also that her father was in the house and . . .

So many damn ands with them.

Isaac slowly eased her down until her feet were on the ground, and as he slipped out of her, he didn’t like the cold air on his cock. Her sex was much better . . . far, far better.

As he kissed her, the way her lips moved over his told him that in a different world, in different circumstances . . . this definitely would have been a beginning for them—in spite of all that should have kept them apart like family and money and education.

But that was not their reality, was it.

“Let me get you something to clean up with,” he said quietly as he tugged his pants back into place.

After he kissed her again, he ducked out the door, and as he shut her up inside, he paused and bowed his head.

He’d lied to her.

His chances were nowhere close to fifty-fifty: Matthias was absolutely, positively going to get him. The question was just how much talking he could do into the right ears before his old boss came out of the shadows and claimed him. One thing had always been true about the head of XOps: Matthias never gave up. Ever. And even if his world was crumbling around him, he would still take his vengeance. Somehow, someway.

That wasn’t going to stop Isaac from taking a shot at spilling the beans, however.

Much better to die having tried to do the right thing . . . and leave his woman thinking something less than bad of him.

Much better.

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 35

As the morning sun roused from its cloudy slumber and a halo of rays poured over Caldwell, New York, two young boys, ages twelve and nine, were hoofing it to school.

And neither one of them was impressed by all the “spring splendor.”

Whatever that was.