Three

      The brief detour to Mike’s place should have allowed plenty of time for Zia’s common sense to reassert itself. Would have, if he hadn’t taken her arm again to steer her toward a barely discernible path through the dunes. His hand was warm against her skin, his body close—too close!—to hers in the silvery moonlight.

      The beach house on stilts he conducted her to was obviously new. Gleaming a pale turquoise in the moonlight, it sat on a high rise that gave it an unobstructed view of both the Gulf of Mexico and the lights of Houston gleaming in the far distance. The thick pilings looked as though they went down a mile, and white-painted storm shutters framed every window.

      When Mike ushered her up the stairs to the front landing and keyed the door lock, Zia still had time to defuse the situation. Once inside, she could have drifted to the wall of windows overlooking the Gulf. Could have contemplated the moon’s reflection on the dark, restless sea. Could have accepted his offer of an after-dinner brandy or coffee. Against every increasingly strident warning issued by her clinical, careful self, she ignored the view and declined a drink. Weeks of stress, indecision and near exhaustion got lost in a rush of biological need. For what was left of the night, she didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to do anything but give herself up to the hunger pulsing through her in slow, liquid rolls.

      And Brennan didn’t waste time repeating the offer. Tugging off his hat, he skimmed it carelessly toward the nearest chair and cupped her face in his palms.

      “You are so gorgeous.”

      His thumbs brushed her cheeks, her lower lip. An answering need turned his forest-glade eyes as dark and restless as the sea. Zia felt another wild leap as she sensed the iron control that held him back. He was leaving it to her to dodge the bullet hurtling at them in warp speed...or step in front of it. She chose option B.

      Dropping the stilettos she’d carried into the house, she hooked her arms around his neck. “So are you.”

      “Me? Gorgeous?” He looked startled, then amused. “Not hardly, darlin’.”

      The drawl came slow and rich, and the laughter in his eyes raised goose bumps of delight. That, and the quick, confident way he claimed her mouth. He was much a man, this Michael Brennan.

      Very much a man, as she discovered when he lowered his hands to her waist and drew her into him. He hardened against her hip even as his lips moved over hers with dizzying skill. He’d been married, she remembered, and had learned well how to stoke a woman’s fire. She was panting when he raised his head. Eager for his touch when he fumbled the clip from her hair. The heavy mass tumbled free, and Brennan buried his hands in it, holding her steady while he explored her mouth again.

      With every nerve in her body alive and clamoring, Zia conducted her own avid exploration. Her palms planed his broad shoulders. Her fingers found the lapels of his sport coat. She peeled it back, forcing him to break contact long enough to wrestle free of it. He reached for her again but felt compelled to offer a gruff caveat.

      “Just so you know, I don’t make a habit of trying to finesse women I’ve just met into bed.”

      “Nor,” she murmured, her acquired New York twang slipping away a little more with each word, “do I allow myself to be finessed.”

      The blood of her Magyar ancestors thrummed hot in her veins. She felt as wild as the steppes they’d swept down from on their fast, tireless ponies. As fierce as winds that howled through the mountains and valleys they’d eventually settled in.

      “But tonight I shall make an exception, yes?”

      “Hell, yes!”

      He scooped her up almost before the words were out of her mouth. Cradling her against his chest, he headed in what she assumed was the direction of the bedroom. She used the short trip to attack the buttons on his crisp blue shirt.

      She got the top two open and was nipping at the cords in his neck when he elbowed a door open. She gained a vague impression of wide-plank floorboards, sparse furnishings and framed posters of ships filling one wall. Then he was lowering her to a king-size bed covered in thin, buttery-soft suede.

      Mike shed his shirt, boots and jeans with minimal motion and maximum speed. A real trick, considering that every drop of blood had drained from his head and was now pooled below his waist. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to get the exotic, intriguing doc in his bed, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to give her time for second thoughts.

      Yet he dredged up enough self-control to strip her slowly, item by tantalizing item. The silky camisole. The thigh-hugging jeans with the sparkly red heart that had drawn his eyes to her butt every time she’d walked in front of him. Her half bra and thong were mere scraps of lace and easily disposed of. Then he made the near fatal mistake of pausing to drink in the sight of her long, slender curves. She gleamed like alabaster against the pearl-gray bedcover. Her hair spilled across the suede, as silky and erotic as the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs. Mike almost lost it then. Probably would have, if he hadn’t gritted his teeth and held back the raging tide with the promise of exploring every slope and hollow of that luscious body.

      Thank God he kept an emergency supply of condoms in the nightstand. The cache was a year old. Maybe more. With the demand for super-container ships skyrocketing and his fleet expanding almost faster than he could keep up with it, Mike hadn’t had all that many opportunities to dip into this private stash. He intended to make up for those missed opportunities now, though.

      If he could find the damned things! Muttering a curse under his breath, he rifled through the drawer. Where the devil had all this junk come from? With another muffled curse, he finally resorted to dumping the contents on the bed. Two dog-eared paperbacks, a handful of loose change, a spare set of keys, several socks and a plastic fire truck tumbled out.

      Zia pushed up on one elbow and eyed the hook and ladder. “I’ve seen all kinds of sex toys during my years in med school,” she said with a grin. “Some were put to rather remarkable use. But that’s a new one.”

      “Dammit, I told Kevin and Davy to stay out... Ah! Thank God.” He gave a huff of relief and held up two foil packets. “I caught the boys making water balloons out of them four or five months back but was sure I’d salvaged a few.”

      Four or five months back? Zia digested that little tidbit of information as he used his teeth to rip into one of the packets. Brennan must not bring many female friends to his beach house. The thought surprised her. And added another bubble to the cauldron that erupted into a furious boil at the sight of him sheathing himself.

      He made quick work of it. A snap, a roll, and he tumbled her back onto the suede. He followed her down, bracing himself on his elbows to kiss her again. And again. And again. Her mouth. Her throat. Her aching breasts. Her quivering belly. When he eased a hand between her thighs, Zia went taut as a bow.

      Yes! This was what she needed. What both her mind and her body craved. This wild pleasure. This dizzying spiral of excitement that contracted the muscles low in her belly. With each kiss and stroke of his busy fingers, the spasms got tighter, faster.

      “Wait.”

      She clenched her jaw, tried to clamp down on the soaring sensations.

      “Mike. Wait.” She scrunched deeper into the velvety suede and reached for him. “Let me... Oh!”

      Before she could do more than wrap her fingers around his rock-hard length the sensations spun into a white-hot core. Groaning, Zia gave up trying to stop the climax that shot up from her belly. She couldn’t have held back if she’d wanted to. It came at her like an out-of-control freight train.

      Neck arched, spine bowed, she rode it to the last shuddering sigh. When she collapsed onto the covers and opened her eyes, she saw Brennan watching her.

      “Sorry,”