Mastered by Malone (Haven, Texas 6)

He had her sweatshirt and T-shirt off quickly and was crouching in front of her to remove her pants. She was so caught up in thinking over what he’d just said that she didn’t even notice him stripping her down to her bra and panties.

“That doesn’t mean I want to . . . that I’m interested . . .”

“You practically salivated when I talked about my paddles.”

“I did not!” Fuck. I almost did.

He just gave her a knowing look. “Don’t try to fool me, little girl. We both know you’re very interested.” He shook his head. “This is a damn stupid idea.”

“What is?”

He just studied her for a moment. Then he took off his shirt and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Got to do better than this.”

“I don’t understand anything of what you’re saying,” she wailed. “I’ve just had a panic attack, vomited all over us, and now I’m standing in your bathroom in nothing but my underwear while you’re distracting me with all those abs and skin and whatever . . . so if you want me to understand what you’re saying, you’re going to have to lay it all out.”

He cupped her face between his wide hands, and she realized she was trembling. After effects. Mostly after a panic attack, she crashed into bed exhausted. Of course, she was usually alone. And she’d never thrown up on someone in the midst of one.

First time for everything. Yay.

“Sh, Mia. It’s all going to be okay.”

“It’s not. It’s really not. My life is shit.”

“Don’t swear, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby.”

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. Then he did the best thing ever. He held her. Just held her. Even though the shower was steaming up the bathroom.

He held her.

He ran his hand up and down her back. A quiet murmur of reassurance reached her ears every so often, but for the most part they just stood there. And gradually she became aware she wasn’t shaking as much. The coldness that usually engulfed her during one of these attacks was being replaced by heat. So much heat.

She tried to pull back. To her surprise he let her move.

“I should . . . I should go use my bathroom.” She shouldn’t be there. With him. Both of them partly naked. It was a bad, bad idea. A man like Alec Malone wasn’t for her. He’d chew her up and spit her out and they both knew it. In fact, he already kind of had. Several times.

He didn’t pull punches. He could be a little mean.

And she really wanted to bury her head against his chest and feel his arms wrap around her again.

“You should. But you’re not going to.”

“What?” She stared up at him in surprise. Her brain wasn’t working properly. It was full of cotton, something that was pretty normal for her after a panic attack. What wasn’t normal was ending up half-naked with a man.

“Mia, you just had a panic attack. You couldn’t breathe. Then you threw up. I can’t leave you on your own right now,” he answered her patiently.

Oh. Right. He just wanted to make sure she was all right. That was nice, she guessed.

Too bad she didn’t really want nice. She’d rather have hot. Have him declare he couldn’t resist her. That he’d been wanting to do this ever since she’d arrived on his doorstep. He needed to ravage her. Possess her.

Damn, you’ve got an overactive imagination.

“It’s okay, I’m used to being alone after an attack. I’ll just have a shower and go to bed.” She looked around the bathroom then down at herself. “My clothes.”

“Are in the hamper. They need to be washed.”

“Right . . . right . . . do that tomorrow.”