At Any Cost by Cara Ellison Page B

began to dance in her mind. Yes, she did know why—she knew it instinctively. He still felt it too: the wild, ungovernable attraction between them. In his indirect way, he was acknowledging it—confessing his feelings. The sudden shock of elation nearly knocked her to her knees. She wanted to dance. To laugh. She had to think of something to say but had no idea what it might be. She looked into his eyes and saw the old unmistakable longing there, the raw emotion, and before she could say anything, her body answered for her. She stepped closer and pressed her lips to his.
    Worst idea ever. But oh God, he could not stop kissing her. How had he lived this long without having something this good? After the initial shock of the sweet contact, his body shifted gears, plunging into overdrive. Her lips were silky soft, yielding to him instantly as he deepened the kiss. She tasted as luscious as he remembered—like vanilla. Delicious and sweet. She felt even better. Soft and warm and scrumptious all pressed up against him.
    His inner resistance was gone, demolished in a torrent of kisses and searching hands.
    At the worst possible time. Not that he was in much of a position to care at the moment because for the first time in four years, every single one of his cells was vibrantly, fully alive.
    Fallon pulled back, her blue eyes dazzled, color high on her cheeks like a child with fever. Her glossy blonde hair whipped back in the wind. So heartcrackingly beautiful. She was shaking violently and he wanted to embrace her, to share the heat boiling under the surface of his skin, but she resisted. She met his gaze squarely, then slowly, deliberately placed her shaking hand over the massive bulge in the crotch of his pants. Her eyes slightly widened and her breath caught in her throat. “Oh God … Tom …”
    Pleasure licked up his nerve endings, swirling and spiraling through him. Some dim voice in the recesses of his mind valiantly urged him save himself. Remove her hand. Protect the life he’d created for himself—the stark independence that he’d come to treasure more than even love or intimacy. But the voice was getting smaller until it was only a faint, indiscriminate din in the cacophony.
    Fallon gently scraped her fingernails up the length of his cock; even through the barrier of his clothes, it nearly brought him to his knees. It had been a long time since he had felt this out of control of his own body and yet so fully inside his own body, so aware of every breath, every nerve ending being stroked and teased. He couldn’t think about anything but getting her in bed. Didn’t even have to be in bed. A wall, a floor, anything. Just needed to be melded against her soft, strong body. Inside her. It was thirty fucking degrees out and he was burning up. He could vaporize the polar caps like this.
    â€œYou have three seconds,” he said levelly.
    A smile teased the corner of her mouth. “Three seconds for what?”
    He didn’t trust his voice.
    â€œOne,” Fallon breathed softly against his chin. “Two.” She lifted her face and pressed her juicy pink lips to his, then dragged the kiss down his jaw to his neck. Her velvety warmth felt like a luxury he shouldn’t be able to afford. Fallon pulled back, a little breathless, and met his gaze candidly. Her teasing smile vanished. “Three.”
    For a moment nothing happened. Then Tom grasped her wrist and firmly removed her hand from his groin.
    An expression of mortification swam across her pretty features. She pinched her lips together and tears sprang her eyes.
    â€œCome on,” Tom said.
    â€œOh my God,” Fallon whispered. Humiliated, she hid her face with her hands.
    â€œCome on.” He grabbed her elbow and edged her toward the exit.
    Tom climbed down, ensured there was no ambush lying in wait, and then signaled for her to come down. Careful in her high heels, Fallon delicately climbed down and