Mr. Virile and the Girl Next Door by Gwen Hayes

thing herself.
    She was mulling over last night’s perplexing kiss over a mug of fair-trade organic coffee when someone knocked on her door. She looked down at her jammies decorated with sheep and shrugged. Not her best look but maybe it was a package delivery. She loved packages. She hadn’t ordered anything, but she still got excited at the possibility.
    The peephole provided her with mixed emotions. On her stoop was the not the UPS man, but Dane, his dog, and a box of doughnuts. Her belly tingled, but, crap, what was he doing here? Why hadn’t he called first? Why didn’t she wear sexy lingerie to bed every night? And why did she care what he thought of her sleeping attire?
    Frustrated, Holly threw open the door. “Our next date is Friday night.”
    His masculine energy overwhelmed her and all he was doing was standing on the other side of her threshold. Even as he smirked at her attire, she fought the urge to climb him like a set of monkey bars on her personal playground. His t-shirt molded to his chest tightly, tempting her to remember the rush of heat that followed when his bare skin had brushed against hers in his basement. His hair was still damp from the shower, and she could smell his evergreen soap. And maple, which must have been the doughnuts.
    He ignored her comment about Friday. “Nice sheep. Can I come in?”
    She stood aside and bid him in with an exaggerated gesture. After closing the door, she scratched Boss behind the ears while Dane set the box on the coffee table. “Did we have plans that I’m not aware of?”
    She’d barely gotten out the words before he’d turned and scooped her into an embrace and a kiss that stole her breath. He kissed her like a desperate man, a man so far gone that he pulled from her things she hadn’t meant to give him. Hadn’t meant to feel. He wrapped her into a reckless kiss, ramping up her confusion and throwing her into her own desperate place where kisses both soothed her and plunged her further into the abyss.
    She didn’t want to feel this much. She couldn’t afford to want him. She felt little pieces of her heart cracking off as he chiseled away at her with his hungry kiss. His mouth demanded so much from her as his tongue twirled and caressed her into submission. Her fingers, with minds of their own, furrowed beneath his shirt, up over the taut muscles of his abdomen until finding the thick patch of hair covering the hard muscles of his chest.
    His hands roamed her back, stopping to squeeze her ass and grind her pelvis into his. She loved the way he felt against her, all hard and full of purpose. His hands came back up to her head and he kept them there as he pulled back to look into her eyes. His own were wild and dark and exciting. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
    “Doing to you?” she croaked.
    “I swear to God, I came by for a civilized breakfast. Your goddamned pajamas turned me on. What the hell? They have sheep. And you have little bits of mascara under your eyes. I don’t understand what is going on, why I can’t get within ten feet of you and I’m as hard as stone. Why the sight of you sleep-rumpled in cartoon pajamas makes me want to drag you to bed. Why I can’t stop thinking about what you feel like under my hands.”
    Holly’s hand automatically came up to wipe the mascara away and he attacked her again, pulling her to the couch and knocking the doughnuts off the table. He didn’t even yell at his dog when Boss went for the pastries. He just kept drugging her as he fed her kiss after kiss, his big hands tunneling through her hair, holding her in place.
    She wanted him. Bad. Every nerve in her body was attached to her core, zinging pleasure like electrical currents. Her skin felt tight and she wanted to climb out of it and into him.
    No. This wasn’t right. She needed to stop this. Any minute now.
    When his hand went to the buttons of her pajamas, Holly finally heeded the warning buzz in her head and placed her hands on his