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was sober enough to be thinking rationally. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in three months and so much had happened since then that he knew he had to slow down. Better yet, he had to stop until he could control himself. But he couldn’t make himself let her go.
    Her smell, her taste, the feel of her wet and hot against his fingers… It was too much to ask him to resist. He was only human, and no man breathing could resist the kind of temptation Caroline offered.
    Don’t make the same mistake.
    He swore silently and lowered his head to take one breast defiantly into his mouth, sucking so hard that she cried out and he felt a new rush of arousal soak his fingers. She wanted him. She still wanted this, at least. Honest sex. No hidden agendas, just lust. You couldn’t lie about lust. This wasn’t a mistake.
    Y ou gave her what she wanted before…
    The night when she’d come into his room wearing nothing but a pair of high heels and a saucy smile came to mind. She’d asked if he needed anything—a drink of water, a bedtime story…or her. His leg had been in a cast, but he could have been at death’s door and it wouldn’t have changed his answer. All he could think about was taking what he’d wanted for as long as he’d known her.
    He could still remember her laugh when he grabbed his cowboy hat and placed it on her pillow-tousled hair, and how she bit her lower lip when he started to touch her. She’d teased him, pretending to change her mind and pull away but when he’d bent her over the bed with a growl she’d chuckled again and he’d known that was exactly what she’d had in mind.
    It had been the best sex of his life. She’d been wild and wicked, demanding and tireless, meeting him need for need and sin for sin until the first rays of dawn sunlight found their way to his window.  But though he was willing to admit that night had changed his life, it hadn’t mattered. She’d still left his room without a promise to return.
    Then she’d come to the party he’d thrown to celebrate the end of his incarceration in that celibate prison camp they’d called a reality show. He’d planned to walk the room with her on his arm and show her off before sending everyone else home so he could enjoy her in peace, but he’d ended up dragging her to the bedroom as soon as she’d walked in the door.
    He’d warned her of his plans to pursue her now that he was free, and seen a challenge in her eyes he couldn’t resist. He’d kissed her, pinned her against the door, yanked up the short skirt of her dress and fallen to his knees to have a taste.
    Her garters had scraped against his cheeks, her fingers raking through his hair as he’d pushed aside the scrap of lace that kept him from his prize. She’d given herself over to him with more demand than struggle, one leg thrown over his shoulder, her whispered words urging him on. She’d tasted so good and come so hard on his tongue he almost joined her, would have done more if they hadn’t been interrupted. By the time he’d dealt with a few female guests who were too drunk to drive themselves home, she was gone.
    That was the last time he’d seen her until today. He wanted to kick himself for letting her find him like this, once again at a disadvantage. Once again in need of help. She called him Junior. And according to Trudy, as of two weeks ago she was dating some metrosexual meathead from Scotland. Someone who probably didn’t go on drinking binges and fall into his own pool.
    If Jefferson had been able to pursue her the way he’d planned… But the reason he hadn’t had been another mistake, one in a long line since he’d decided to temporarily relocate to California. The show. Everything.
    This couldn’t be another.
    He bit her nipple and pinched his fingers around her clit in warning, making her shudder. He knew more about her than she thought he did. More than she would feel comfortable with. She may have been a gossip columnist for a while,