She tipped her head to accommodate him, soft lips parting, tongue answering his own, even as her slim arms wound around his neck. He wrapped his own arms around her narrow waist and pulled her against him once more, those luscious breasts flush to his chest. Her mouth was hot on his, her thighs taut, the feel of them hardening his body beyond imagination. He stroked a hand over her messy hair, releasing the clip that held it back, so that it tumbled free.

He kissed her temple, her ear, her neck, making his way along her bare shoulder.

“Mitch,” she gasped, her breath hot puffs against his chest.

He drew back, looking into her soft green eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, and her shiny strawberry blond hair framed her face like a halo.

Walk away, he ordered himself. Walk the hell away.

But she pressed a key into his palm.

On automatic pilot, he unlatched the door, pushing it wide. He scooped her into his arms and carried her inside, slamming the door firmly behind them and making his way straight down the back hallway to her bedroom.

There, he lowered her gently to her feet.

“Jenny,” he breathed, reminding himself of who this was, trying one more time to convince himself to do the right thing.

But she came up on her toes and kissed him passionately, and he’d spent far too many years being self-indulgent to summon self-discipline now. His hand moved reflexively to her breast, grasping the soft mound beneath the silky dress. She parted his suit jacket, her small hands sliding around his back, their heat searing through the thin cotton of his shirt.

He shrugged out of the jacket, and it fell to the floor. One of his thighs pressed between hers, easing her dress out of the way. She gasped, as the fabric of his slacks obviously hit home. Her hands fumbled with his tie, and he gave into temptation, slipping the single shoulder of the dress down her arm.