Why did he have to be so freaking gorgeous? He stared at me with a mixture of apprehension, joy, and exhaustion, still in his flight suit and boots. Our eyes locked in a wordless conversation, his tone apologetic and mine accusatory and relieved.

He didn’t ask to come in or profess his love again. He simply stood and waited for my decision. Every cell in my body screamed with longing, demanding I touch him and make sure he was real.

I should have shut the door. I already walked a fine line between sanity and…well, not, and the last thing my mental health needed was another night like this one. Logic dictated that I reexamine my commitment and then run as fast as I possibly could to the nearest guy with a desk job who would have me.

But one thing hadn’t changed at my core.

I was never smart when it came to my heart, and my heart wanted Jackson.

One step and I had my mouth on his, locked in a kiss that said all I needed to. He didn’t hesitate. In less than a heartbeat, his tongue twined with mine, his hands gripped my ass as he picked me up, and I locked my legs around his waist.

I heard the door slam, then found my back against the smooth surface. I gripped his hair lightly with one hand, anchored the other one around his neck, and kissed him with everything I had. It was hot, messy, and thick with a primal urgency that sent an avalanche of need barreling through my system.

He held me with one arm and tunneled his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, cushioning my head against the door. Even when the kiss spun out of control, he was careful with me. I unleashed all the anger and desperation that had kept me frozen these last few hours, giving my body free rein with the emotions. My teeth caught his lower lip with a scrape that I would have normally softened to a graze, but nothing about me felt soft right now.

I was a living, breathing flame, and he could either back away or choose to burn with me, because there was no putting out this fire.

He hissed softly, then kissed me harder, slanting my head and taking my mouth with deep, deft strokes that mimicked what I hoped he’d be doing with a very different body part soon. I needed more.

I needed him to torch every thought in my head until all that remained was my undeniable hunger for him.

He ripped his mouth away, leaving us both heaving with uneven breaths. “Morgan—”

“I hate you,” I snapped.

“That’s not true.” His eyes softened, damn him.

“I hate your job,” I countered. “I hate that it’s not just what you do, but who you are.”