Her Maverick M.d.. Teresa Southwick

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       On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, the reality of sharing a bed with Jon was a fifteen.

      It pushed twenty when she felt the mattress dip from his weight. And the masculine scent of his skin drifted to her, firing up her hormones even more.

      “Good night.”

      “‘Night.” His voice was ragged, rough.

      Dawn couldn’t speak for him, but she was as tense as a bowstring and ready to snap. “Jon, I—”

      He threw back the covers. “This isn’t going to work.”

      She rolled over to face him. “What’s wrong?”

      “I want you.” There was no mistaking the need in his voice this time. It was honest and raw. “I can’t help it. I can’t make it stop. If I touch you—” He swore under his breath. “I’m going in the other room.”

      This time he didn’t say anything about sleeping. And there was no mistaking the way her heart soared in response to his declaration. He wanted her.

      Before he could get out of bed she moved closer and reached for him. It was automatic, instinctive. Her hand touched his arm, the warm skin. And this time she said the word. “Stay.”

      * * *

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