Or does he?

He's studying me too deeply. Almost tortured. And I realize maybe he doesn't.

I take his hand and open it, and then I set the penny inside.

His eyes raise to me, questioning.

"I want you to make love to me."

He inhales sharply and closes his fingers around the penny, his voice rougher. "Only that?"

"No." My voice is low and very soft, but on fire with meaning. "I want you to love me very hard. Because I'm pretty sure I've never loved someone as hard as I love you, Maverick."

His every muscle tightens when I say it, his shoulders, his jaw, his arms, his legs, and I can see a flash ripple in his eyes as if he can barely keep himself in check.

He's known rejection, and I almost feel as if acceptance is new to him.

As if he doesn't know what to do with it.

"I know that we still have a lot to learn about each other. But I also know there will never be another Maverick in my life," I keep going. "I came here to find myself. And I think I did. And I also found . . . you."

"And I found you," he counters gruffly, standing suddenly closer, his eyes devouring me.

"So." I clear my throat and go on, "I want to be with you. For as long as we have. An hour, a week, or just for the summer. I feel things for you that I don't understand and I want to. You're not your father, and I'm not my family. And for some reason, Maverick, I think that you're quiet enough that you can hear me. And with you, I don't need to wonder what you mean. Because you say what you mean."

"I fucking want you, Reese," he growls, impatient.

"Have me then. Right now. And tomorrow."

"Both of those. And after." He grabs my waist and lifts me, and I curl my arms around his neck. I see his jaw tighten as he looks at me, studies me. Memorizes me.

His eyes drop to my breasts. His hands shift lower, to my ass.

And he raises his eyes to mine.

"You're priceless. Gold. Not gold, you're the whole fucking mine to me. Do you know that?"

God, those eyes. So stormy right now.

"Maverick, Racer swallowed and choked on a little train wheel," I blurt out. "He wasn't breathing right, he was purple-"

"He all right?" He sounds harsh and angry, his hands clenching my hips convulsively. And I know it's because he cares.

"Yes. He's okay. I just . . ." He sets me down. "I was distracted. Thinking of . . . our trip together. And the next thing I saw was him choking. I didn't even know it was the train wheel until I realized the train he'd been playing with had only three wheels. Remy twisted him upside down and then tried to pull it out, but it seemed caught. . . . We rushed him to the hospital." I wipe my tears. "That's why I couldn't make it to the airport. I wanted to come. I ended up at the hospital, but I clung to your penny and to thoughts of you. And so I came here."

His eyes cloud with a mix of sad tenderness. "Reese, what you're asking me to do-I don't need you to give me back the penny. It was all I had to give you. But now I have more. And I'll have even more still."

"But I want you to have the penny for a while. For luck."

He tucks it into his jeans pocket and then raises his hand and lays his fingers on my hair, runs them through the strands as he uses his free hand and gently pulls me into his arms.

I'm knotted up, waiting for his lips, waiting for his skin to touch mine. But he's running his fingers down my hair as if it's lovely. As if it's made of streaks of honey or rays of sunlight or yellow diamonds. When I tip my head up, I feel him place his lips on the bridge of my nose, five times. On my . . . five freckles?

I tip my head up higher, and Maverick finally yields to the impulse and tastes my mouth. I taste him too, soft, hungry. Gripping his shirt in my fists. A shirt I want to take off so badly.

The things this man does have no precedent, will have no predecessors; they couldn't.

I boost myself up with my fists and curl my legs around his hips, and his muscles ripple beneath me as he starts walking us to the room. My fingers trace the tattoo on his back, over his shirt. He stops walking. Closes his eyes. He holds me tighter, close.

"Reese," he whispers in my ear.

He tips my head back and clenches his teeth, his eyes raw and violent.

"What?" I pant, pressing closer. My breasts ache, my sex aches, my whole body aches.

"When you do that . . ." he begins, dark and hot.

I run my fingers over his tattoo again, and he presses me against the nearest wall, and crushes my mouth with his in a kiss that curls my toes and makes me clench my legs around his hips tighter as he grinds himself to me.

I touch his face. "You're the first big decision I've made on my own. The first good decision."

He looks hazy with desire as he gazes hotly at my smile, then frowns at me. "How do you know I'm a good decision?" he asks, his voice rasping in his throat.

"Because I know you."

His expression flashes darkly with emotion.

"Spend the night," he says. Nuzzling me.

I nod. "But I need to be back by the time Racer wakes up."

"Okay," he concedes, stroking a hand down my bare arm, savoring me. "How long do we have?"

"I'd say it's long." I giggle.

God.

Maverick is so hard against me.

His eyes dance playfully. "Dirty girl."

"I'd say five a.m. would work?"

He cups my face tenderly and kisses me again. "You want to lie down with me now?"

"My head on your chest? Like that?"

He scoops me up from the wall with both arms. "Just like that."

I'm floating and everything is a blur as he carries me to the bedroom, kicks the door shut, and sets me down on the oversize bed. He opens the buttons of his shirt and I hear it land softly on the carpet, and I scoot back and watch him crawl over the bed, muscles rippling, like a panther, lying next to me and pulling me to his side.

I swear Maverick is wearing his heart in his eyes as he looks down at me and holds me against his chest.

I set my cheek on his bare pec.

"Oh," I say.

He frowns down at me. "Oh what? Not comfy?"

"VERY."

Hard. So warm. I can smell his aftershave, his soap and his deodorant and his skin. I slip my arm around his waist and scoot over closer, and he tightens his arm around my shoulders and stares up at the ceiling, exhaling slowly, as if he's at last relaxed.

I'm quivering with the feel of his arms around me. And I feel him tense at the feel of me. Smelling my hair, his body taut as my fingers absently trek the dents of his abs. I can almost hear him tell himself, Easy, Maverick. . . .

But his hand is on the move already. His fingers-long, tan-slip under my shirt and cover my breast through my bra. He squeezes a little, brushes his thumb over my nipple. It's already hard. I gasp when he caresses, and he takes the gasp into his mouth.

I fall to my back as he leans over me, sliding his other hand under my shirt to cup my other breast as he kisses my mouth, slow and easy, but with his tongue. His marvelous tongue.

The noises I make, soft, fluttery, make him groan in his chest. "You like that, Reese? God, I like my hands on you." He tugs my shirt over my head and reaches behind me to open my bra.

He leans over to memorize the shape of my breasts, the weight, the form, the taste, the look of my nipples, the texture. He sucks me gently, murmurs, "I want you wet. I want you wet when I dip my fingers here." He drags his hand between my legs. I arch my hips on impulse, craving the touch.

"I am wet," I gasp.

He unbuttons and unzips my jeans and slips his fingers inside, into my panties, and then he groans when he brushes his fingers between my folds. And I'm soaked. My panties are soaked, my folds are soaked, soaked for him, and he says, "I could drink you, Reese, and never get thirsty."

I brush my hand against his cock and he groans.

"It hurts?"

"Best kind of pain, the one you give me." His tongue flashes out to rub across my nipple again and I let my fingers wander his shoulders, his flexing arms, and his perfect back.

"I love touching you, Maverick," I whisper as I arch again and lick my tongue into his mouth. This is only my second time, and I'm curious. I'm alert to the way his breath changes. The way my body softens and weakens and wets for him. The feel of my nipples grazing against the flat wall of his chest. The way my hips seem to lift, wantonly and on their own, upward. Asking for it.

I'm already high and I keep rising and rising as he eases his finger inside me. I bury my nose in his neck, and Maverick presses me closer to him. I'm panting, and he's breathing deeper than usual.

I bite his throat exploratively and drag my fingers over his tattoo, tracing it in my mind.

"Reese," he rasps. "When you do that . . ."

"What?"

He looks at me with eyes that look heavy and hazy with desire.

Desire for me.

And I think . . . maybe. Love.

"You're the only person in the world who gets this tattoo," he rasps thickly, and then he crushes my mouth and kisses me, ravenous and deep.

We've been waiting for this and we're both so wired, we can hardly speak. Maverick tugs my jeans down my body, gets rid of every scrap on me. And then he gets rid of his perfectly sexy clothes and he is so . . .

Freaking.

Perfect.

Naked.

Hot.

And in fucking bed. With me.

I don't even have time to be self-aware. Or time to feel a little too voluptuous. I'm a little firmer and sleeker now, though still curved. But the way Maverick's silver-metal eyes eye-fuck me as he comes over to lie on top of me tells me that this man, this man, thinks I'm gorgeous and perfect and amazing and female. The proof of that is, though I have never seen another erection in my life, I'm sure there could not be one as big and hard and greedy-looking as Maverick's.

He shifts above me so that our bodies are at maximum contact. So I can feel his cock between my legs, and I like the maximum contact so much. Too much. I shiver and fist his hair and breathe rapidly in and out, anxiously, through my mouth. "Oh god, Maverick, I've wanted this too much."

"I still want this too much, Reese," he says as he goes to his knees, and I watch him, and I know that he can see me watching him-his chest, his arms, his abs, his erection.

Just as he's watching me. My chest, my abdomen, my hips . . . my pussy.

We're impatient.

I start grabbing him to me and he's high on me, I can feel it in the strength of his kiss, his arms as he grabs my hips and drags me down the bed toward his erection, hard and Maverick's, and he watches me as he plunges. I gasp, my cheeks hot, my hair getting tangled behind me as I toss my head to one side and then to the other. The pleasure of this man inside me is absolute.

He's all I want.

He takes my knees and drags my legs around his hips, driving in deeper. So deep my vision goes blurry, and his eyes go dark, almost engulfed by his pupils.

I raise my head and kiss the scar above his eye, where I stitched him up once. He groans, undone, and sets his forehead on mine. He slides a hand between us, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

"Are you letting go for me?" he murmurs.

He buries himself deeper, grabs my hips and holds me down so I have no choice but to take him, deeper and deeper, as far as he wants to go. As far as I want him.

Hands on my hip bones, he moves in me, and I move with him. Like a dance. We go faster and faster. And I never want to stop. I never want to stop moving, watching, tasting, getting fucked by Maverick Cage in Maverick Cage's bed.

I always wanted to be loved, and I think he loves me because I'm ready to be loved, and he's ready too, and here we are.

We're having hot sex but we're making love, him and I, and I want to say it. I want to say the I love you because who knows if there's tomorrow, if I'll ever get to say it again, if I'll see him after the season; who knows what happens tomorrow and yet I know now that I have to say it.

I'm coming and I want to bring my heart to an emotional climax too, and when I can only gasp and see colors and stars and Maverick's gorgeous male face before me, I hear him.

"That's right, Reese," he says, kissing my lips until my chest is ready to explode along with the rest of me. "You're with me now."

IT'S EARLY IN the morning. Three, maybe, or four. And I'm the Sexpot in Maverick Cage's Bed. The Lucky Sexpot.