He’d argued with himself ever since Katie called with the invitation, knowing he was sticking his toe too close to the fire. The internal argument had continued all during drinks and dinner and coffee afterwards. And then he’d opened his fucking mouth and offered to drive Montana home and he knew he was burned. Not just singed but roasted. She had his number, for sure. Ever since his one disastrous relationship, he’d kept the essence of himself locked tightly deep inside. As long as he kept that distance he could avoid losing himself in anyone again. That’s why the club in Austin worked so well. For an hour he could give physical control to a clever Mistress and satisfy his sexual needs while keeping his emotions locked tightly away. So how to explain that he was sitting in Montana Steele’s kitchen with his pants down to his knees, feeling that somehow more was exposed than just his cock. And trying to hold absolutely still when the soft pad of her finger brushed the head of his shaft.
