Annihilated her, she decided.

Even now, when he was splayed over her like a man suffering from blunt force trauma, and their heartbeats knocked together like a couple of manic tennis balls, he touched his lips gently to the side of her throat.

“Okay?” he asked.

Okay? Was he out of his mind? You were okay when you slipped on the ice and caught yourself before you fell and broke an ankle. You were okay when you sank into a nice warm bath after a tough day.

You were not okay when your system had been turned inside out and right side in again.

“Yeah.” What could she say? “You?”

“Mmm. Mackensie’s naked in bed with me. I’m really okay.”

“I’m still wearing my boots.”

“Yeah. Even better. Sorry, I must be heavy.” He rolled off to tuck her up against him.

“Carter, you’re nearly as skinny as I am. You’re not heavy.”

“I know—about the skinny part, I mean. Nothing seems to change it. Cor—somebody talked me into working with a personal trainer once. But who has time for all that? Buff isn’t in my DNA.”

“You have an appealingly lanky body. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Besides, you use it like a stevedore.”

“I’ve been saving up.” He grinned, studied her face. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m not. I know this because I’m a professional. I have an interesting face, and can play up its assets. I have a skinny build as well, which is reasonably toned from—well, thinking about working out as much as actually. It’s like a coat hanger. Clothes look pretty good on it. Otherwise it’s just wire.”

“You’re beautiful. Don’t let anyone tell you different . . . ly. Sorry, can’t help it. It’s differently.”

She laughed and snuggled in. “Yes, Professor. And aren’t we both being post-coital—ly—complimentary.”

“You’ve always been beautiful. You have red hair and sea-witch eyes. And dimples.” He thought if he had another fifteen minutes or so, he could lap her up like ice cream and watch her rise again.

She tipped up her head to smile at him. His eyes were closed, his face utterly relaxed. He’d look like that when he slept, she thought. If she woke up before him, she’d see him just like this.

Lazily, she traced her finger under his jaw. “And what’s this intriguing little scar here?”

“From a fencing mishap.”

“You fence—like Captain Jack Sparrow?”

“If only. I bet you have a thing for Johnny Depp.”

“I am alive. I am female. Next question.”

“He transcends generations. It’s interesting. Grown women find him compelling, sexually, as do the teenage girls I teach.”

“I saw him first. But I’m actually finding another man compelling, sexually, at the moment. Fencing mishap,” she prompted as he grinned.

“Oh, that. I was running from a couple of kids who wanted to entertain themselves by pounding on me. I had to climb a fence, and in my usually nimble and graceful way, which unfortunately doesn’t resemble pirates or the actors who play them, managed to slip. Gashed myself on the wire.”

“Ouch. When was this?”

“Just last week.”

Chuckling, she rolled on top of him. “Brutal little midgets.”

“They were. I was ten, but they were brutal little midgets.”

“Did you get away?”

“That time.”

He tugged the short ends of her hair to bring her down for a kiss. Sighing with it, she nestled her head in the curve of his shoulder.

It felt so good, she thought, cuddled up like this. Skin to skin, with the twin beats of hearts quieting, and every square inch of her body perfectly tended by a man she found ridiculously appealing on every possible level.

She could stay like this, exactly like this, for hours. Days. All sleepy and warm and tangled up with the delicious Carter Maguire. And in the morning, they could . . .

Her eyes flashed open. What was she thinking? What was she doing? The morning? Hours and days? The quick kick of panic had her jolting upright.

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Oh, nothing. Nothing. What could be wrong?”

He sat up with her, all kinds of rumpled and sexy until her heart and hormones threatened rampage.

She had to get out. Get out now. Back to reality. Back to sanity before she did something stupid like fall in love.

“I just . . . God, look at the time! I have to go.”

“Go? But—”

“This was great. Everything . . . really great.” Jesus, Jesus, she was wearing nothing but boots. “I really lost track of the time. It’s late.”

Obviously baffled, he looked at the clock. “Not especially. Don’t—”

“School night,” she said, trying desperately to keep it light while she hunted for her underwear and panic galloped inside her like wild mustangs.

Where was her bra, where was her bra?

The hell with the bra.

“I’ve got a million things left to do. I have to get started really early tomorrow.”

“I’ll set the alarm. I’m up by six anyway. Stay, Mackensie.”

“I really wish I could. Really.” How many times could she say really in five minutes? She was about to beat the standing record. “But, well, duty calls. No, don’t get up.”

Please, please don’t get up, she thought as he got out of bed.

“Stay,” he said, and touched her cheek as she dragged on her shirt. “I want to sleep with you.”

“We checked that one off the list, big-time.” She added a big, bright smile.

“Sleep.”

“Oh, that’s really sweet, Carter. I’d love that—another time.

Three events, presentation. Busy, busy.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Gotta run. Thanks for everything. I’ll call you.”

And fled.

OH, SHE WAS A TERRIBLE PERSON. A CRAZY PERSON, MAC thought as she drove home. She was probably going to hell, too. She deserved it. But she’d done the right thing, the only thing. For herself, and for Carter.

Absolutely for Carter, she told herself.

Going to hell? Ridiculous. She should get a medal—they should erect a damn statue for her, for doing the right thing.

She’d done the right thing, and that was all there was to it. Now everything would be fine. Everything would be okay.