And the look in his eyes now…it’s hot.

Like the flick of a switch, I feel my whole body come alive against his.

His body on mine, and his hard-on pressed against my thigh. Knowing that just being this close to me does that to him does crazy insane things to me.

I bite my lip.

He draws a sharp breath. His chest contracts on the movement. His eyes darken with want.

Lowering the spoon to my mouth, he runs the base of it over my lips, coating them in ice cream. I suck in a breath at the cold contact.

Tossing the spoon to the floor, he lowers his head. Keeping his eyes on mine, he very slowly runs his tongue along my lips, licking the ice cream from them.

Sweet Jesus.

I’m frozen. Every muscle is locked tight in place. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.

And I really don’t.

I really, really don’t.

Since the moment I met Carrick, all I’ve thought about is what it would be like to kiss him, to taste him…and now, it looks like I’m about to find out.

Even though I really shouldn’t be doing this because no good could ever come of it, I can’t seem to find the will to stop.

But I should at least try.

“What are you doing?” I whisper. My words are weak and pointless.

He blinks those blues of his slowly, moistening his lips with his tongue.

God, he’s beautiful.

When his eyes open back to mine, I see just how wired with desire they are, and it hits me straight between my legs.

“I’m winning,” he whispers.

Then, he takes my mouth in the most sensual, delicious kiss I’ve ever experienced.

Every nerve ending in my body sparks to life. It’s like I’ve been sleeping, my body lying dormant for these last twenty-four years, and now, he’s awoken me with the single touch of his lips.

His tongue moves into my mouth, sliding along mine. I can taste the sweet ice cream on him.

He tastes like every single one of my dreams come true.

On a moan, my arms go around his neck, my fingers curling into the hair at the nape.

My action seems to set him off. On a growl, he knees my legs apart. Lying between them, he presses against me. Every hard inch of him is nestled up against my aching sex.

God, that feels amazing.

And I know I’m in the worst kind of trouble because I don’t want him to stop, especially when he starts grinding himself against me.

The famous bass line from Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” suddenly blasts loudly from my phone on the coffee table, jolting me from Carrick and from the moment I’ve let myself fall into.

Shit! What am I doing?

“Ignore it.” He brushes his lips over mine again, and his fingers thread into my hair, bringing me back for more.

And God, do I want to keep kissing him.

But my brain has kicked into gear now, and it’s saying I need to stop this.

Because nothing good could come of this continuing. Apart from a ruined friendship.

Carrick’s a driver. And he’s my friend.

I feel an uncomfortable twist in my gut.

Pressing my hands against his chest, I push him away. “Stop. We need to stop.” I’m breathless.

“Stop?” He looks less than pleased at that idea.

I kind of am myself. But stopping is the right thing to do.

“Yes. Stop.” I wriggle out from underneath him, sliding off the sofa. I get to my unsteady feet and start to back up. I need to put some distance between us. “That…it shouldn’t have happened.” I touch my fingers to my lips. I can still feel him there.

Carrick is sitting up now, staring at me in confusion and frustration. “It absolutely should have happened. And it needs to keep on happening.” He gets to his feet.

“No. I can’t do this with you.” My voice is sharp. I don’t mean it to be.

“You can’t do this with me?” His face snaps into anger. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You know that moment when you know you’re digging yourself into a hole, but you can’t seem to stop the digging, no matter how hard you try?

Yep, I’m there right now.

“It means, you’re you, and I’m me.” I press a hand to my chest.

“I’m me?” He’s starting to look beyond pissed off.

I’m getting confused, and I’m exasperated. Quite frankly, I’m also horny. “Yes! You’re Carrick Ryan, man-whore supreme! You shag anything that moves, and I don’t want to be one of those moving shags! And I work for you, and you’re a driver, and I don’t get involved with drivers. You know that!”

The silence hits like a dull thud in my head. I’m not fully aware of everything I just said, but I know it wasn’t good. I’m getting that from the way he’s looking at me like I’m a really bad taste in his mouth.

Sighing, I drag a hand through my hair. “Look…that came out all wrong—”

“No, I think it came out just right.” His voice is tight, hard.

“I…” I don’t know what to say. I let out a resigned sigh. “I should probably go.”

“Yeah. You probably should.” He’s not looking at me now. He’s turned away, facing the window.

Picking my phone and room key off the coffee table, I slip my feet into my flip-flops.

When I reach the door, I say to his back, “I’ll see you later?”

I wait a beat and get no answer. Yanking the door open, I let it slam shut on my way out.