Her smile faded as she saw the way he was looking at her. She licked her lips. “I’m . . .”

“Hot?” His molasses drawl made that short word last forever.

She swallowed. “Warm.”

He smiled his Southern boy’s crooked smile, slow and easy, conjuring up endless humid nights. “Not warm, darlin’. Hot.”

“Maybe. . . .”

“Me, too.”

She could feel every part of him through her clothes. He thrilled her, he scared her. He made her feel as if she’d only been half-alive before they’d met.

His hand settled around her waist. “You and me. We’re . . .”

“Hot.” The word slipped out.

“Yes.” He dropped his head and took her mouth.

The lateness of the hour. The tension of the game. For whatever reason, the moment his lips touched hers, she lost all sense of restraint.

He scooped his big hands beneath her hips, and his elbow whacked the wall as he lifted her. Their bodies ground together. Her knee bumped into the door. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gloried in the feel of him pressed so hard against her.

Their kiss turned into a wild oral mating, something primitive and ungovernable, fed by a passion that had taken on a life of its own.

With a hoarse exclamation, he lowered her onto the edge of the small counter behind her and shoved up her sweater and bra. Gathering her breasts in his hands, he lifted them to his mouth. She gripped his belt buckle, while she pushed her other hand under his shirt so she could feel the hard muscles of his chest.

Her thighs were splayed wide to accommodate his legs, and his mouth dived to encompass one nipple. Sliding his hand down over her stomach, he cupped her.

“Don’t ever . . .” he murmured against her moist nipple while he rubbed her through her slacks, “. . . wear these again.”

“No . . .”

“Only dresses I can pull up.” He unfastened her slacks, pushed down the zipper.

“Yes.” She grappled with his belt buckle, shoved up his shirt.

“And no panties.” His mouth left her breasts. He slipped his hand inside the cotton fabric.

Wet. Hot. He found her.

With a gasp, she pressed her open mouth against his bare chest. The hair was silky under her tongue.

“Here,” he murmured hoarsely. “Inside. . . .”

“Do. Yes. . . .” She worked at his zipper, but the fabric caught in the metal teeth halfway down. With a moan of frustration, she slid her hand inside, past the elastic band of his briefs to encircle him.