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everything .
    Mark gives me a smoldering look. His lips twitch with a sexy smile. “You, Ms. Myerson, are looking at me like a woman with a mission.”
    I run my hands around his waist to the front, then up the planes and dips of his muscled torso, finally sliding down, down, down...until he inhales sharply, his neck suddenly tight. His thighs flex, thick and coiled on either side of my hips.  
    “Not a mission, Mr. Paulson.”
    I begin unbuttoning his jeans.
    “A plan.”
    And then my wrists are high above my head, pinned to the bed, and whatever thin thread of control I thought I had is gone. Long gone.
    Like my mind.
    Mark bends over me and his tongue flicks at my belly button. I gasp and squirm, heat pooling between my legs like lava.
    I feel him smile against my belly. He’s impossibly tall and strong, his arms holding mine high, his triceps bulging before my eyes. But I’m not focused on what his arms are doing on right now.
    That tongue, on the other hand...
    I alternate between excited, unremitting joy and anxiety fueled by the unknown. Mark runs his mouth up, the line following the middle of my body, hot wetness leaving a trail that gives me goosebumps. I wiggle under him but can’t break free. I don’t want to break free. This feels so good. So new. So much .  
    His mouth lingers between my breasts and I am transfixed. The stubble along his jaw tickles and tit i l l ates. He moves and takes one nipple in his mouth, tongue like wet, hot fudge. I am suddenly self- conscious. What if I’m not enough? What if I’m too inexperienced? He’s seven years older than me and worlds away in terms of life. He’s a war veteran, a federal agent, a man used to going deep under cover to get what he wants. He’s a powerful, dominant adult.  
    I’m just Carrie. No one. A nobody with a dad who died in prison. My biggest adventure was moving away to follow dad and working in a check processing office.
    How can Mark want me ?
    I tense. Mark stops. His eyes catch min e as his lips separate from my body. My mouth goes dry and waters at the same time. Mark has a way of looking at me that makes all the rules of physics stop applying. I can be weightless and heavy. I can be in motion and still. I can be hot and cold.
    I can be terrified and in love.
    “What’s wrong?” he asks in a voice that makes me melt. He takes my hand and puts it over his heart. His chest hair tickles my palm. I could touch him forever. He feels so good. So safe.
    So strong and good and whole and real .
    “I...I’m not sure,” I say, ducking the question. I know exactly what’s wrong.  
    He leans down for a kiss, his lips like velvet as his hands caress my arms, which I’ve brought down by my sides.
    “Talk to me, Carrie,” he murmurs, rolling off me and onto his side. We’re still touching. The room is filled with fire and shadows. I resist the urge to jump up and leave. That’s what I do when I’m nervous. When I’m confused. When I’m overwhelmed.
    I leave.
    It’s so much easier than staying.
    Except...that’s not true any more. Leaving town three years ago robbed me and Mark of all that precious time together . Of a chance at happiness. And now here I am, half-naked under his own half-nude body. Yet I’m struggling with too many wounds from the past.
    And making a few new ones, too.
    He runs his hand into my hair, fingers sp l aying, his palm cupping my jaw. “Talk to me,” he urges.
    I can’t.
    I touch him instead. Maybe my hands and fingers can tell him what my mouth isn’t ready to say.
    “ Is this the language you want to use?” he croons.  
    Something in me releases. A layer of tension unclenches. I’m covered in blanket after blanket of fear, and one of them just unfurled, evaporating like dew under a morning sun.
    His hand cups my breast. He’s gentle. Respectful. His eyes tip down, long lashes at rest against his cheek . Mark’s mouth kisses my nipple with oh, so much of a whisper.
    I reach for his body, my hands