Instead, her fingertips burned with the need to touch him—to trace the line of his jaw, glide over the hard planes of his chest, to stroke and feel and memorize him. It was all she could do to ignore that need building inside her, making her whole body melt when all he was doing was looking at her.

“We can’t,” she said, sounding as if it wasn’t a statement but a breathy question even to her own ears.

He stood still as a statue while the air between them was heavy with anticipation. “I know.”

“I want to.” Like a scuba diver needed an oxygen tank. Her lungs were tight as desire whipped through her, a wildfire on the verge of getting out of control.

He nearly closed the distance between them, still not touching her but coming oh so close, and gave her a half grin. “My hands have to stay in my pockets.”

That was all it took to break her. The smart-ass response accompanied by the small lift of one side of his lips into that crooked smile of his—cocky and teasing all at once. It gave a glimpse of the man beneath the grunts and the growly attitude he tried to project as his true self. But she knew better. It was a cover, just like going cold around the media. The real Ian Petrov had layers.

“Are you saying you’re only good with your hands?” she asked.

He dipped his head lower until his lips nearly brushed the shell of her ear. “You know that isn’t true.”

Desire, hot and needy, made her breath catch. “Why don’t you remind me?”

He took a step back. It was only a few inches but it felt like miles.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his body tense and hard, the outline of his thickening cock visible against the soft bottom of his joggers. “I can leave right now.”

One last night. One final time. That’s all this would be. It’s all it could be. She’d pretend that was enough.

“We’re not in Harbor City.” She closed the distance between them. “Everyone knows that being outside of your own zip code doesn’t count.”

And she kissed him.

…

Ian took his hands out of his pockets.

There was no way he could leave without touching Shelby. The cotton of her tank top was a thin barrier between them, but it was still too much. He needed more. He needed her.

As if reading his mind—or as desperate as he was—she broke the kiss to take off her tank. After that, it was like they’d flipped a switch. Clothes went flying as they raced to get rid of it all, the need to touch bare skin, to kiss and lick and nip every inch overwhelming anything else.