Tasting Fear by Shannon McKenna

scenario, too. The one where he ripped the clothes off that slim, lusciously curved body, pinned her up against the wall and nailed her, deep and hard, until they both exploded. His heart thudded. His ears roared.
    Cool it, bonehead. The moment was so fragile, so uncertain. She was intensely sensitive to his every word, his every goddamn thought.
    He caught her eye flicking to his lap and darting nervously away. Yeah, the boner of the century, trying to rip the seams of his jeans loose. Aching with each heavy thud of his heart for the soft touch of that cool hand. Heat burned into his cheekbones. He gave her a shrug that said, yeah, and so ? He couldn’t control his physiological responses, but he could, by God, control his behavior. He wanted her to know that, but there was no good way to say it. Better to keep his mouth shut.
    “I just need for things to be…under control,” she whispered. “I have enough to be scared of right now, without piling it on, you know?”
    He rubbed his hand against his face, feeling around instinctively with his senses for a way through this labyrinth. He did not want to turn around and go back. No. He could not. That wasn’t even an option.
    He flung the door of the truck open. The rain on the earth had released a deep, sweet, spicy perfume, and drops pattered heavily down onto him. He circled the truck, and stood outside the passenger-side door, staring at Nancy’s huge eyes through the rain-spotted glass. He mimed rolling down the window. She did so, frowning in perplexity.
    “What the hell are you doing out there in the rain?”
    “Continuing our conversation. You need control. Control it, then. The car door’s the limit. I won’t violate it. I swear upon my sacred honor that I will not touch any part of you that’s inside that door.”
    She looked away, embarrassed. “Oh, God, Liam. You don’t have to play elaborate games like that with me. You’re getting soaked.”
    Like he gave a shit. “That’s my problem, not yours,” he said.
    “But it makes me feel guilty!” she protested.
    Ah. Yes. This was progress. “The guilt is your problem,” he informed her. “I can’t help you with that. Sorry.”
    She laughed at him. Something primitive inside him capered with glee. Yes. It was working. She was lightening up. Praise God.
    “So?” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re just going to stand out there and get drenched, then? That’s silly.”
    “It’s a crafty attempt to disarm you with my gallantry,” he told her. “Is it working? Are you charmed?”
    She wrinkled her nose at him, leaned out the window a little. “I think you’re out of your mind.”
    His grin stretched all the way around his head. “You’re charmed,” he said. “And you’re outside the limit. Any part of you outside the plane of the window is fair game, remember? The tip of your nose and your forehead are at serious risk. This is by way of a courtesy warning.”
    “Very gentlemanly of you,” she said demurely.
    “I’m trying like hell,” he said, with stark sincerity.
    And she didn’t pull back. In fact, she leaned a tiny bit farther out. And her fingers were curled over the side of the door.
    He jerked his chin toward her hands. “Outside the limit.”
    Her lips formed words that didn’t quite make it out of her mouth, so she swallowed, and tried again. “I…I know.”
    His heart started to thud again. The rain was increasing, its soft, patter beading his face, and hers, as well.
    Over the limit. Fair game. She’d been warned. She knew.
    He reached out, as slowly as if she were a bird that would take flight at any sudden movement, and touched the backs of her cool, slender fingers. So pale. Wet with rain. Unexpectedly, her hands turned beneath his. Excitement jolted through his chest. Palm up, like flowers, blooming beneath his hands. Opening, offering. Yes.
    He leaned closer. The rain whispered, murmuring, pattering tenderly against every new leaf. She glowed like a South Sea pearl,