HIS FINGERSdented the soft flesh of her hips.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Good. It’s good,” Magda groaned, raking her heavy bangs off her damp forehead and sitting back.
Under her, Riker bit his lip. His brilliant blue eyes slipped shut. Sweat sheened his chest, the lean muscles flexing in time to their joined rhythm.
She sank into the rocking gait of his hips, tension building and receding, building and receding.
Her gaze slid from Riker’s sculpted physique to the overflowing hamper in the corner.
Damn, she needed to do laundry, again.
Riker thrust deeper. She gasped as a scintillating pulse of pleasure spiraled up through her.
But before the coiling ache within could release, a thudding knock reverberated through the thin walls, interrupting their cadence.
Riker frowned. “Who’s that?”
The escalating force within her deflated.
Another knock, this one louder, longer.
Riker attempted to pick it up again, but she flattened her hand to his chest and withdrew from him.
He propped up on his elbows, pouting. “I wasn’t finished yet.”
“We’ll finish later,” she said, grabbing a bra and a tank from the top of the laundry pile. Sweat bit at her eyes and snaked down her spine. Sliding open the glass door that led out to the back of the mobile home, she’d been hoping for a breeze, but instead received a putrid swell of hot, garbage-scented air. Why had they missed the last pickup?
Tugging on her clothes, her shoulders bunched as the knocking turned to banging.
She ripped open her bedroom door, one leg in her jeans. “I’m coming!”
“I’m not,” Riker muttered.
“Stop whining,” she said, zipping up. She snatched his pants off the floor and threw them at him. “Take care of yourself. Or go to the beach. I’m sure you can find someone there to accommodate you.”
He gazed at her with empty, innocent bird eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait for you?”
She offered him a small smile. “I’ll see you later.”
She didn’t wait to hear his response as whoever was banging on her door hadn’t heard her or hadn’t cared. It sounded like they were trying to smash down the door.
Striding down the hall, an ache pricked at her temples as she passed the closet that housed the water heater and the stackable washer and dryer. Even after all these years, the iron in them still got to her.
“Enough already!” she shouted as the door rattled in its hinges. She hoped it wasn’t another pissed off boyfriend who had managed to track Riker down. The last one had trashed her bike.
Pulling open the door, she was about to tell their would-be visitor to lay off the ’roids, but the words dried up in her throat.
On the other side of the door stood a beast of a man in loose gray sweat-pants and a red T-shirt two sizes too small that strained over his muscle-bound chest. Thick black hair hung loose and long over his shoulders, which were as wide as the threshold. His almond-shaped eyes were gray as the winter sea. She didn’t know if it was his mere presence making her heart seize and twist or the scars.
Damion bowed, his hair falling over the taut puckered lines marring his face. “Hello, coz.”
Magda stared at this huge warrior of a man, bowing before her. The last time she had seen him, he’d been in his prime, tall and beautiful, a bit of a rogue, with the agility of a tiger and a sculpted face that made women stop and stare.
Her hand closed around her necklace’s ceramic pendant, a delicate sphere painted with brackwood vines. The surface was cool against her overheated skin. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“Straighten up,” she said. “You don’t need to flatter me.”
