Free The Last Man on Earth by Tracy Anne Warren

as if it was their first time. Maybe that was the problem. Their first time had been so spontaneous, so uncontrolled, without the need for thought or reason. Only action and reaction and pure, unfettered desire. Everything here was agreed upon and planned, structured.
    Perhaps the solution was to simply unstructure it.
    Before she gave herself too much time to think, Madelyn began to strip off her clothes. She was down to her underwear and bra before the nerves set in again.
    What was she doing? Was she really going to walk back out there naked? What would Zack think? Somehow she didn’t imagine he’d mind a full-fledged peep show, but she couldn’t go all the way. Appearing in her skivvies was as daring as Madelyn Grayson got.
    She took a few minutes more to use the commode, wash her hands and face, and drink a glass of cool water. She finger combed her hair, leaving it loose the way he’d asked her to.
    Spine straight, shoulders back, she took a deep breath and opened the door.
    Zack stood at the window, looking out. The click of the lock drew his attention. “You want to get a late lunch?” He turned and froze, eyes growing wide, lips parted in genuine astonishment. “I guess you don’t.”
    Despite her lingering shyness, his reaction gave her a nice boost of confidence, a feeling of genuine feminine power. She could tell she’d surprised him, and he wasn’t the sort of man who surprised easily or often.
    She strode toward the bed. “I think we should just get on with it. I’m nervous. And I hate being nervous. Once the sex is over and done, I’ll be able to relax.” She turned back the coverlet, folding it to the foot of the bed.
    “You make it sound as if you’re about to be tortured.”
    “No, that’s not it at all. It’s just . . . it’s . . . it’s . . .”
    He crossed his arms. “Yes . . . What is it?”
    Stricken, she met his look. “I’m ruining everything, aren’t I? I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so . . . so . . .”
    “What?”
    “Nervous.”
    “Do I make you nervous, Madelyn?”
    “Horribly,” she confessed.
    “That’s not my intention.” He walked toward her.
    “I know. It’s me, not you. I’m usually far more poised and in control. I’ve never had this problem in the past. It seems to come over me every time I’m in a room with you. And I wish to hell I hadn’t just told you that.”
    He took her hands in his. “I’m not. It’s actually very appealing. Shall I let you in on a little secret of my own? You make me nervous too.”
    “I do not.”
    “Here, feel.” He placed her right hand against his chest, over his heart, and held it tight.
    Beneath her flattened palm, she could feel the muscle beat, hard and quick.
    “See how fast it’s pounding?” he said. “Just like a drum.”
    “That doesn’t prove you’re nervous.”
    “It proves I want you, and that’s enough to make any man nervous.”
    He caught hold of her other hand and brought it up to join its mate, flattening them both against the soft wool of his sweater.
    “Why is it,” she murmured, “that I always end up in my underwear when you’re still completely dressed?”
    “Happy coincidence. But the next time I come out of the bathroom, I promise I’ll be in my briefs. Or better, nothing at all. In the meantime, why don’t you help me rectify the situation?”
    “Undress you, you mean?
    He released her hands and spread his arms wide. “I’m all yours. Please be gentle.”
    She laughed, a bit of her tension easing. “I’ll do my best.”
    Slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of his sweater, she pushed the garment up and over his head, tossing it sideways onto one of the armchairs.
    Drawn as if by some magnetic force, she ran her hands over his beautifully sculpted torso. Next she traced his muscled arms and broad shoulders, admiring their width and masculine grace. He shivered when she moved lower and touched his flat stomach before heading south to the snap of