His hands roamed wildly, cupping her jaw, gripping her hip, sliding up her ribs under her dress, fingers splaying against the bare skin of her stomach.

She arched into him.

Needy.

Craving

And then..

He stopped.

Grayson's lips hovered over hers, his forehead pressing against her own, his breath ragged and harsh. His eyes were squeezed shut. His jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping.

He was trembling.

"Fuck," he breathed. Not angry. Torn. "Tess, I.."

He didn't finish.

But she knew.

She felt it radiating off him in waves—the raw, aching, bone-deep want that had him shaking like a man standing at the edge of something...