The desire bold on her face dared to argue. Her gaze openly traveled his body, undressing him, touching him, working him. His arousal spiked, pulsing hot and hard so abruptly that he hinged forward a little, his breath hitching.
Surprised, her darkened eyes flashed up to his face.
“Need more time,” he managed to protest.
“You sure about that?”
His heartbeat pounded everywhere. His ears. His neck. His groin.
“I feel like it’ll hardly take any time at all,” she said, her voice thick with self-consciousness. “With the way I . . . need you.”
“Is that what you want, Frankie?” He hadn’t intended to move, but found himself in front of her.
“I want something to have changed.” His body thrummed beneath the palm she ran over his chest. “After tonight . . . I need us to have changed.”
“We have changed.”
God, this woman. She’d dragged herself out of the immoral pit of her upbringing—and hadn’t stopped hauling ass until she’d taken charge of the lives of the country’s most esteemed family. Talk about reinventing herself.
“And I don’t want to wait anymore,” she said to his mouth.
“Me, neither.” He took her small pile of clothes as she shoved it against him. “But for our first time? We can do better. Longer. After this briefing, we’ll go back to my room and I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”
If there was anything she deserved, it was time and tenderness. After the life she’d lived, the years they’d spent building up to this moment. Not rushed and panting and pressed against her work desk with their clothes bunched, her elbow knocking a coffee mug to the floor as he grasped her hips tightly, filling her again and again and—
He almost groaned as his cock strained.
No, God. Not that.
Why was it so damn hot in here?
“I really like the sound of your room,” she said, a throaty admission.
Hauling his desire into line, he made himself nod.
“For our second time,” she added.
Blood roared in his ears.
“Twenty-two minutes and counting,” she whispered with a wicked little smile. “You might want to hurry.”
He was hardly aware of throwing her clothes over his shoulder as he pressed her back against the nearest wall. She moved with him, making a soft noise he’d never heard from her before—a kind of hungry whimper—and it left him awed and gratified and sensually ravenous all at once. Her face was close, chin angled up, her breath a scent he was desperate to swallow. “Frankie, can I—”
“Yes,” she said, and met his open mouth with hers.
Her kiss was like falling into his own heart and landing in her arms. She was there; she’d always been there. It almost knocked his knees out from under him. She was a wave crashing over him, a slide-tackle hauling him down. He slammed his palm against the wall and pushed harder into the slick sweetness of her tongue, her mouth, her need for him.
This was—she was—everything.
Her taste spread through him like he’d always known it would—like wildflowers and flame and an open sky—and the world levelled out around him.
With Frankie by his side, he wouldn’t slip off the edge of duty and into disaster. He could lead without losing himself. He could be a cowboy royal, for she’d always known him as both and would bind those parts of him together. With her, he could handle his future.
Their future.
They kissed desperately. Wide and wet and fierce like a storm rolling in.
Her hands were tight in his hair, her body hard against his. He ran his knuckles down her side and she broke the kiss as he grazed the edge of her breast, her back arching. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee and pressed his quad firmly between her legs.
“Oh, God.” Her breath hitched as she slid over him.
His bones ached with the urge to please her. “Tell me what you want.”
“I told you, with the way I need you, this won’t take—” Her eyes fell closed as she rolled her hips, rubbing against his thigh again. She shuddered. Hard. Heavy. Way closer than he’d expected. “Kris, please.”
Frankie. His best friend. Begging for him.
Edgy with need, he ran his hands over her hips. Then he was peeling her dress up and over her head, discarding it as he flicked her bra open and drew the straps down, collecting her underpants on the way and letting both drop to the floor.
Skin. Curves. Breasts. Beauty.
It knocked the wind right out of him. He’d never pretended to be a saint—he’d