Megan couldn’t care less. She was hot for him. She wrapped her legs around the back of his and pulled his shirt from his waistband. She needed flesh on flesh.

This was it, she was really going to do this. With Hot Guy, who she’d only just met officially.

His skin was soft, but the muscles beneath solid, and she smoothed her way up to his shoulders, exploring the sculpted contours of his body. He was so different to Dylan, leaner yet somehow stronger, his physique wasn’t gym-puffed-up, it was raw strength, male strength.

He slid his hand down her neck to her chest and caressed her breast through her top.

She tipped her head, welcoming his soft kisses on her neck.

“Condom,” he said breathily. “I need to reach a condom.”

Condom! Oh fuck! I can’t do this.

That one word had made it too real. She was tipsy, reeling from her break-up with Dylan—there was no way should she be doing this with a stranger on her office desk.

“James…I…”

He kissed down her throat, his stubble catching on her skin, all the time continuing to touch her breast. “Mmm…”

“Stop, I…” Oh God. “But…please…”

He held her a little tighter with one arm while with his free hand he appeared to reach for his wallet.

“James, stop, I can’t.”

He stilled and raised his head. He was breathing fast and his eyes glinted in the darkness.

“I’m sorry, but I just… This is too much, too fast.” Damn, she could feel how much he wanted her. But she just couldn’t do this. Hell, she’d likely regret stopping this chance of a bit of action in the morning, but one-night stands, rushing into things, that wasn’t her style.

“I’m sorry,” she said again and slipped her hands from beneath his shirt. She pushed at his chest.

He released her and stood tall. He blew out a long low breath and turned to the window. He took several paces away from her and stopped. Put his hands behind his head, elbows out, and linked his fingers.

She’d ruined it all now, whatever it was they’d started, if indeed it was anything.

Megan stood and adjusted her top, staring at James, who appeared frozen in position.

She felt bad. She’d led him on, got him riled up, given the impression they’d go all the way. “I’m sorry.” God, what am I? A stuck record.

“No need to apologise,” he said, his voice low and grating, as though he was speaking over sandpaper.

“But…”

“It’s fine. I’m not in the habit of having sex with women who don’t want to have sex with me.” He turned and dropped his arms to his sides.

“No, of course not, and I do, want to, it’s just—”