Gideon was staring at her, his chest rising and falling in a harsh rhythm. She thought maybe that if she reached out then, he might have turned and walked out. So she just pushed her jeans down her thighs, along with her panties. Naked now, she stood there waiting. She figured this was best. If he turned around, if he rejected her while she was naked, vulnerable, maybe it would even the scales. The old wooden boards of the floor creaked a little as he took one step, then another toward her. She licked her lips, hardly daring to breathe. “And what about tomorrow, Mac?” he asked. “You going to push me away . . . again?” She saw the answer he thought to be true in his eyes. Slowly, she shook her head. “Mac?” She held out her hand. For the longest time, he didn’t move. Then he did—toward her. In the time it took for her to take a deep breath—whether it was to blow out in relief or to brace herself, she didn’t know—Gideon had hauled her up against him and she found herself pressed against the wall. She went to kiss his neck, but he tangled a hand in her hair and yanked, forcing her gaze to meet his. So she stood there, trembling and barely able to think past the want while he tore at the zipper of his jeans. He let go of her hair but only so he could pick her up and brace her against the wall at her back. A moment later, he came inside her, hard and forceful, and the screams trapped inside her lungs seemed to explode throughout her entire body instead. She could feel that scream—it had a taste, a rhythm, a need all its own and it belonged solely to the man who held her pinned to the wall.