His gaze slid down from her mouth to the insanely large purse hanging from her shoulder. Did she have condoms in there? He didn’t see a box peeking out. But—
Beige bra strap. He blinked, his eyes narrowing as he studied the indisputable evidence that Little Miss Maggie had abandoned her underwear.
Jealousy, the kind usually reserved for people in committed relationships, pounded through his veins. He released his hold on her. She wasn’t his. He had no right to feel possessive of her. None. But hell, he wanted to hit something. It killed him not knowing why she’d taken off her bra.
He looked to her feet. No flip-flops. Maybe she hadn’t taken the time to remove her shoes. The image of Maggie pressed up against the wall of a dirty bar flew through his mind. His hands fisted at his sides. She might not be his, but he still wanted to pound the living hell out of anyone who’d dared to touch her.
“There you are.” She offered him a shy, yet sultry smile. This was his Saturday-night Maggie. Except her breath smelled heavily of tequila.
Hunter unclenched his jaw. “Have fun?”
“Not yet.”
What the—
The need to hit something faded and his brain kicked into gear. Maggie was here. Braless. And ready for fun. Gold star for the Ranger, who’d used his think first, act second training to put two and two together. Miss Maggie had stripped off her underwear for him. Too bad she’d chosen tonight, right after he’d fought a moral battle over whether or not to break into her computer.
Hunter took a step back, the realization hitting him hard like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t do this. Not here in the hall. Not tonight.
This wasn’t just another fling. He cared about Maggie. He couldn’t afford a committed relationship, but she deserved better than a man who’d spent the evening debating whether to invade her privacy. She ought to be wined and dined. She deserved honesty. And for what he had in mind for her, she deserved a bed.
Maggie stepped closer. Too close. He moved away, backing into the wall.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Maggie, you’ve been drinking and we shouldn’t do this. Not tonight.” He needed to talk to her first, when she was sober. He had to find a way to follow his orders, get his promotion and keep his sister in rehab without going behind Maggie’s back.
“Shh.” She pressed her right index finger against his lips. His mouth begged to lick and kiss it. She ran her left hand up his neck into his hair. One step closer and—
Oh, hell.
Maggie pinned him to the wall, her chest pressed up against his. Unable to stop himself, he glanced down. Inside her gray sweatshirt, he could see the tops of her round braless breasts rising above her white tank top. His jeans went from tight to unbearable. Hunter closed his eyes and groaned.
“Hunter?”
He felt the word against his lips as she drew his head down, her fingers firmly laced in his hair. God help him, he let her. He prided himself on his mental ability to endure. Hell, he’d been trained to go without food and sleep while on missions. But go without Maggie now?
Her lips touched his. Gently. Not a real kiss. Not yet. He could still step away. But then her tongue licked across his closed mouth, asking, then demanding entrance, and desire squashed his self-control like a bug.
He kissed her back, opening his mouth against hers. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her closer to him, trapping her against him. His erection pressed against her stomach, threatening to explode just from the tequila-filled taste of her.
She’d come home to him. The first woman in as long as he could remember whom he wanted to wake up next to in the morning had run home to him.
And nearly caught him sitting at her desk, his hands on her computer.
His fingers froze on her back and his lips stopped moving. Ignoring the throbbing in his groin, he grasped for her waist and gently pushed her away.
“Hunter?”
“We can’t do this,” he repeated.
She pressed her palms against his chest. “Why not? No one has to know. Not your colonel, not my editor. We’re just two people venting a little sexual frustration.”
Her devilish hands ran up over his collarbone to his shoulders. Her fingers kneaded his tense muscles, a powerful reminder of everything she’d offered him in his hotel room.
“I know you want me. You said so yourself.” He heard her voice over the roaring pleasure coursing through his body.
“I do, Maggie. But not like this. You’re drunk,” he managed to say. If he had any hope of getting away, he had to leave now. He was a man. He could only resist so much.