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finishing her schoolwork at the kitchen table while her sister swore off men and crossed the spectrum from ranting to sobbing the deeper she got in her beer after putting the girls to bed. “I don’t need a man in my life. I just like an orgasm now and again.”
    The longer she talked, the lower his brows and his frown dipped. “I’m not pre—”
    Grabbing his crisp shirtfront, she drove him two steps back, to the sliver of bare wall between the corkboard and the workbench, and slammed their lips together.
    Hands flying, he gripped her waist. Now that was more like it. Stronger than he looked.
    He opened his mouth—surprise, maybe, or to argue more—but she stroked his tongue and tasted breath mints. Nice-guy flavor. Thinking he needed to work out all the data and crunch his numbers or whatever he did before he allowed the down-and-dirty bits to get going. Sometimes you had to make the connections, turn the damn thing on, and see how she ran. Deepening the kiss, she slid a hand across his belt.
    He arched his hips from the wall. Poor man had nowhere to go in his dress pants, his cock hot, hard, and grinding on her thigh. He teased in return, curling his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt. Jesus, he spread fucking flutter-strokes at the top of her ass like he meant to drop his hands inside her jeans, cup her cheeks, and haul her to him.
    Better idea. She clamped his wrist and tugged. Right hand, yeah, he seemed to be a righty, and if not he’d have to make do. Dragging her mouth free, she slapped his hand between her legs. Fuck, yes, straight on the seam. The pressure overheated her in the best way.
    Rubbing her with the heel of his hand, he groaned. “Christ, Katherine.”
    “Unh-uh.” Cheek to cheek, she jostled him in her denial.
    Fresh and stormy, he smelled upper-class and dangerous—a man with lily-white fingernails who never showered at day’s end to scrub away his labor. A man who needed despoiling. She took him in, settled his clean scent in her lungs. The metallic tang and sweet-sour oil fragrance from the workbench would dirty him up.
    “My name is Kit.” She rocked into his hand. Now or never. “And I dare you to make me come.”
    * * * *
    Christ, she pushed his buttons with her bold challenges.
    Dick surging, he cupped denim-covered, squirmy woman in his palm and squeezed. “When I’m making you come, you’re Katherine.”
    She shuddered from the feathered auburn tips of her hair to her rising-on-tippy-toes feet. Given her moan vibrating against his neck, she seemed inclined to agree.
    One treacherous current navigated on impulse. Millions more, relentless and unseen, pounded their safe harbor. Turn this woman down, and he wouldn’t be granted another chance. Satisfy her demand, and he still might not, not if she relegated him to just-another-fuck status.
    As he went in for a kiss, she angled her chin away. “Five minutes, bad boy.” Lips twitching, she teased the touch she wouldn’t permit him. “Get me off if you can.” She swept him with her gaze, imperious and searching. “Fingers only, and my clothes stay on.”
    A contest of wills. If he wanted her, he’d have to conquer her, and she wouldn’t go easy on him. Fine, then. He preferred stealth mode anyway. Let her brace for a full-on war while he crept behind her lines and showed her they’d been on the same side all along. She wanted fast to deny him a connection. When he won—no, when they both won—her one-and-done rule would become a daily-with-him rule. But first he had five minutes to stop jumping the flames in her fiery eyes and feel her orgasm under his fingers.
    She raised an eyebrow in cocky challenge. “Giving up so soon, Prince Charming?”
    Using the wall for leverage, he locked his hands around her waist and launched forward in a two-step pivot. Her gasp brought music to their swing. She fit against him face-to-face, the perfect height for wall-fucking. The day she donned a dress, he’d hitch her leg up and over