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“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Then show me. Come back to your apartment and show me everything.”
Without waiting for an answer, Amy wheeled around and walked off. She reached his door and opened it without a backward glance, heading straight for the kitchen. The bottle of water she pulled out of the fridge was icy—unlike her.
She was burning, engulfed by need. A fire raged inside that even the long, cooling drink couldn’t dampen. She burned for Daniel. Yearned for him with a desperation that shook her to her core. The desire to hold him, lose herself in his kisses and make him a part of her raged inside her like an inferno. She ached to strip off his boardies and have wild, wicked sex with him.
Her breath came in short gasps. Thoughts of him, of their last hour together, echoed through her belly, reverberating in a warm heat between her legs.
The front door closed.
He was there, in the apartment.
Should she go to him? Wrap herself around his beautiful body and run her hands over his flat stomach? Relish the strength below the devastating contours of his chest? God help her, she wanted to. She ached to strip his shorts off and render him bare and hard.
The images of Daniel naked stoked the fire burning inside her. She wanted him so badly she could taste it. Taste him—his hot, salty skin as she kissed her way along his square jaw and his come as he spurted in her mouth.
The phone rang. And rang and rang. She heard Daniel’s familiar message as the machine picked up and then a blurred voice. Daniel swore before answering with a throaty hello.
He spoke in a low, rumbling voice. Memories of that voice rasping in her ear, telling her to come, flashed through her mind.
Blindly, she made her way from the kitchen, clutching the bottle like a lifeline. Wanton fantasies that had nothing on the real-life man roared through her head.
Daniel’s attention was focused on his conversation. He didn’t see her hunger as she studied him. Muscles bunched in his arm as he jotted something down, carelessly shaking his wet hair as he ran his other hand through the short curls.
Amy sagged against the wall, imagining that hand running through her hair, over her back, around her waist, up to her breasts, and down to her wet, pulsating core.
“How about next Tuesday?” He put the pen down and drummed his fingers against the pad of paper, restless, uninterested. He made an impatient gesture with his hand.
Condensation beaded on the icy bottle she held against her chest. She rolled it from side to side, trying to cool down. The cold was a stark contrast to her feverish skin, and she gasped.
He looked up and froze.
Seconds ticked by.
“I’ll call you later.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.
Awareness hummed across the room. Daniel swallowed and clenched his jaw.
The bottle dropped from her slackened hand and rolled unnoticed across the carpet.
Their eyes locked.
She lifted shaky arms to untie the straps of her top. The damp spandex dropped to the floor, the silence in the room punctuated only by Daniel’s sharp intake of breath.
“Y-you…” Her voice was so husky she had to clear her throat. “Y-you’re my best my friend, Dan. Always will be.”
His eyes darkened to that familiar, smoky gray. He didn’t move. Except his gaze, which swept over every inch of her, scorching her already-burning body.
“But what we’re about to do…could b-blow that friendship clean out of the water.” With trembling hands, she nudged at her bikini bottom, inching it down her legs and kicking it aside, until she finally stood naked before him.
“Morgan.” His voice was raw, his expression carnal.
She approached him, stopping inches away.
When he lifted his palm to touch her aroused nipple, keeping his caress featherlight, her breath left her throat in a hiss. “Limits,” she gasped.
He raised an eyebrow, the gesture lazy—and so damn sexy.