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silently.
    It was all she could do to make it to her bed and collapse, fully clothed. She tossed the file on her bedside table where it haunted her for the two minutes it took until she fell asleep.

    Maxwell leaned back in his car seat and adjusted himself again. If he hadn’t already earned sainthood status, he was well on the way. Fuck, kissing Tasha, touching her, bringing her to a climax, all of it had exceeded his expectations, and he’d had plenty. After years of sexual fantasies about the woman, this morning he’d been tempted to drag her to the floor and let her ride him.
    He reached down and slid the seat farther back to wrangle more room. Shit, he was dying. He’d been hard off and on since last night when he’d discovered what he’d pictured in his brain wasn’t far off the mark. From the moment she’d shocked the hell out of him by pulling off her dress, he couldn’t look away. Her breasts overflowed the skimpy cups of her bra, and he’d thought she’d skipped wearing panties altogether. It wasn’t until she’d crawled into his arms that the tiny scrap of fabric pretending to be a thong became apparent. He’d had the warm, silky skin of her ass in his hands, her arms draped around his neck as she pressed his face between her breasts.
    “Bloody hell. Fuck! ” He swore a blue streak, flipped the radio to the dirtiest, raunchiest station he could find and cranked up the volume until the walls of the car pulsed around him.
    Max thumped his cock hard, rubbing at the front of his jeans in an attempt to ease the pain. When she’d told him she was horny? That moment hadn’t been the worst. Struggling to untangle himself and cover her up when what he wanted more than his next breath was to rip open his zipper and slam his cock into her as deep as possible—that had been far easier than the demons he had to fight when they reached her room.
    She’d told him everything. In the space of fifteen minutes between unlocking her door and carrying her nearly naked body to her bed—and didn’t that part make his nuts draw into tight little rocks at the memory—she never stopped talking. About what assholes her previous boyfriends had been. How they sucked in bed, and she got more pleasure from her fingers most of the time. How she yearned for a baby.
    How incredible he smelled and did he want to make her feel good? She could go for a good, hard fuck.
    Max smashed his fist into the steering wheel and ground his teeth together. Replaying in detail every second of last night wasn’t helping. He’d gone home and jerked off, frantic to get relief, and it still hadn’t worked. In the sleepless hours that followed, he’d put together his proposal.
    He slammed his car into gear and headed home, careful to set the cruise control because in his current state of mind he was ripe to be pulled over for reckless driving. He’d wanted Tasha forever, and he swore they’d be good together, but would she be willing to admit it? She was almost as stubborn as he was, and she’d always, always pushed him away. Made him walk the line as a friend and nothing more.
    Thank God they’d had the time over at the house. His mouth watered at the memory of her lips under his, her nails scraping down his back. He wanted to be naked, buried deep in her body and have her mark him then. He needed to listen to her moans as she approached climax.
    Ahhh, shit . He needed a fucking cold shower.
    Tasha would probably sleep like a log for most of the day. Then she’d stew and consider his offer from fifteen different angles before coming to a conclusion. He certainly intended on providing the guidance needed to push that decision in the right direction. Still, he couldn’t do anything more today. Maxwell turned down the long driveway to his house with a heavy heart and a raging hard-on.
    Right now, he hated waiting with a vengeance.

Chapter Four
    His sister’s car sat beside his house and Max swore. He didn’t want to have to be polite