His does too. A quick glance up, and he searches my face as though seeking an affirmation. Whatever he sees must tell him that he’s not alone in this because he doesn’t let go.

Neither of us says another word. Blood rushes hot and thick through my veins, as the backs of his fingers skim slowly, oh so slowly, up my arm. His pulse thrums, quick and visible just beneath the golden skin of his throat. I want to lick that spot, put my mouth there and suck. I want him. I want him so badly that I’m going up in flames.

A quiet, pained sound escapes me as his knuckles drift toward my inner arm, just to the side of my breast. I’m shaking deep within myself, an increasing tremor that spreads outward, until my breath comes in choppy pants that I fight to control.

What am I doing This is Drew Baylor. Nothing good can come of this. I need to be strong. I need to stop this. To walk away.

I twitch, leaning into his touch, wanting, needing him more.

His lips part with a sigh, as if touching me is both a relief and a source of pain. Somehow my hand settles on his hip, the bone solid beneath his skin. He tenses, a visible clench that has his biceps bunching. The next instant, my fingers steal under his shirt.

His skin is hot, as if he’s burning up from within. My palm glides along rippling muscle, smooth and toned, the cotton of his shirt tickling the back of my hand as I go. He holds so still, when he shivers it’s an earthquake. My questing thumb finds his nipple, and he stops breathing altogether. The little nub of his nipple beneath my thumb turns me on so much, I bite my lip to keep from moaning. Oh, but it’s getting to him too. He swallows audibly, those little tremors within him growing stronger.

I press down hard.

With a choked cry, he stumbles forward, his forearm hitting the wall beside my head as he braces himself. Warm breath caresses my cheek, the sound of his panting filling my ears.

Shaking, Baylor stands there, so close that his heady scent and vivid heat envelop me. I draw that crisp, clean scent in, and grow lightheaded. Unable to resist, I flick my thumbnail over his nipple. He grunts, his h*ps jerking as if pulled on a string. And then he retaliates.

His long index finger curls around the strap of my top. For a moment, he simply runs his finger up and down the strap, toying with it, each pass drawing closer to my breast. Then he tugs, sliding the strap over my shoulder by agonizing degrees.