Page 33 of Covert Temptation

The woman had no damn idea what he was capable of—or how long he could last. Though he recovered quick enough to perform almost back-to-back the previous night, that was farfrom typical for any man. Seemed a year-long dry spell did have its benefits, especially when it came to pleasing Kennedy.

The windows were dark with stillness, and the snow outside cast a faint glow. He powered through another set of push-ups, counting each in his head the same way Kennedy counted the number of steps to reach the front door or the bedroom.

The question of why she did that circulated through his mind, mingling with other questions regarding his research on Daniel Sheen. He had a lot of work ahead of him today.

His shoulders flexed as he dropped into another plank hold. He hardly noticed the way his core engaged because another muscle had memory—of bracing himself between Kennedy’s sweet thighs right before driving into her slick, tight heat.

He gritted his teeth and continued to hold for thirty seconds…a minute…before rolling out of it and performing a quick succession of sit-ups, hooking his feet under the edge of the couch.

Routine was everything. He needed this. Every morning, without fail, he woke early and worked his muscles in the base gym until they ached and his head cleared.

In the field, that balance kept him alive. But last night had wrecked his equilibrium, and not only because of the sex.

The way Kennedy had burrowed into him like she belonged there, warm and pliant and trusting, made him feel like he was home, something he hadn’t experienced in far too long.

It hadn’t felt like a one-night mistake. That was the problem.

He was halfway through the circuit again when he heard a soft footstep on the floor. He faltered for a brief second but held his plank, more than his body rigid as she came close enough that he caught the scent of her shampoo.

He kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He just had to keep his head down, retain focus.

Then he made the mistake of looking up at her…and instantly regretted it.

The woman stood in the doorway, wearing the same nightshirt he’d stripped off her the night before. Now that it was daylight, he saw it was striped with blue and white like it belonged to a man.

And he did not like that.At fucking all.

The faint light coming through the kitchen windows outlined her body beneath the thin cotton sleepwear, leaving nothing up to his imagination. She stood with her legs parted, and he just knew she wasn’t wearing panties again.

And his cum was still inside her.

His balls tightened against his body, prepared for another round of play.

She stood there with no bra, no shame, just long, sexy legs, mussed hair and that half smile that told him she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“Morning.” Her voice still rasped with sleep.

Or from her screams of ecstasy.

He ground his molars.

“I’ll make coffee.”

He said nothing. What was there to say to a woman so goddamn sexy she made his balls as blue as the morning light cast on the snow?

When she drifted into the kitchen, he tried to focus on his workout, going into a set of burpees that would end a man who wasn’t trying like hell to work off his sexual frustration.

She puttered around the kitchen making coffee. Every once in a while, she passed through his line of sight, and he caught a glimpse of the ripe curve of her ass as she reached up to the shelf for a mug.

“Christ,” he bit off, and lost count of his reps.

If she was going to ruin his concentration like this every morning, he would have to carve out a new time for his workout.

She filled the kitchen doorway again, mug in hand. She’d run her fingers through her hair, making it wave off her face. And she wore a soft smile.

He jumped to his feet and strode up to her. “Excuse me. I’m going to get some coffee.”

“Sure.” She shifted to the side, allowing him to inch past her. The hair on his nape prickled with awareness as he felt the heat of her body stroke across his skin.

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