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“It is,” I assured her.
Her eyebrow rose slowly. “I have very little experience with men, Cameron, as you know.” Satisfaction poured hot and slow through my veins because her only good experience was with me. “If you’re going to pull that caveman bullshit every time a man looks at me in this town, you and I might have an issue.”
My jaw clenched, and her eyes narrowed in on it.
“Are we?” I asked. “What’s that?”
“I have no problem telling some meathead with a death wish that if he puts his hand anywhere on my body, he’ll lose that hand before he can blink.” She licked her lips, and I made a sound deep in the back of my throat. “I don’t need you stepping in because you feel like you have some claim on me.”
“I do have a claim on you,” I said in a low voice. “Because you know what you said to me last night, Ivy? You said we shouldn’t do it again. Not that you didn’t want to. Not that you regretted it.” Her eyes flared, the color rising in her cheeks. “So we can sit here and pretend we’re just friends. We can drink over at that table in the corner and trade stories all night, and I’ll keep my hands off you like a good boy, and you can lie to yourself that that’s all it is.” I leaned closer, and she lifted her chin like she couldn’t stop herself, like she had to bring her lips closer to mine, even if it gave her away. “We’re not just friends, and I don’t want to pretend we are. I know what you feel like from the inside, and I think if you’re being honest with yourself, you want me there again.” I dipped my head down and spoke against the shell of her ear. She shivered. “Say the word, duchess, and I’ll make you scream.”
She let out a harsh puff of air. I heard so much in that one tiny exhale.
Annoyance.
Shock.
And pure fucking lust.
Because her pupils were wide and black, her chest heaved, and her hands clutched the back of the stool like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to her seat.
Ivy turned suddenly, facing away from me to down the rest of her wine, then she dug in a tiny, expensive-looking purse, slammed a twenty down onto the bar, and stood from the stool.
Her heels brought her lips closer to mine, and I had to breathe through the clawing desire to dig my hands into her hair and lick into her mouth in front of the whole damn town. Already, I’d made far more of a statement than she likely realized.
By morning, every person in Sisters would know about this, and I couldn’t find it in myself to give a single solitary fuck.
Ivy’s eyes sparked hot when I didn’t concede an inch. “That’s a big promise, Wilder.”
My chest expanded when I took a deep breath, the front of her breasts just barely touching my shirt.
“You need to be clearer than that if you’re asking me to deliver on it.”
We both knew I could, too. The only question in my mind was whether I could wait until we got back to my house, or if I’d need to pull off the road and find a sturdy tree out of view.
No.
I wanted Ivy in my bed.
I wouldn’t be the one walking away this time. Just like I would stand here all night and wait until she said the words.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long.
Her throat moved in a swallow. “Take me home, Cameron.”
Chapter 23
Ivy
I was on a motorcycle.
In a dress.
I was on a motorcycle, in a dress, my arms wrapped tight around a very impressive set of muscles, and my skirt shoved up far enough so my thighs could bracket Cameron’s body as he drove us to his place.
I can’t say it was as sexy as they made it out to be in books and movies because I sort of thought I might die as the night wind rushed over my body, and my arms had a death grip on the big, strong man driving the giant hunk of metal.
There was no discussion of my place versus his place, and I couldn’t find it in myself to care as the bike hooked around the back of a previously unseen drive before the driveway curved, then slowed when a seriously impressive home came into view.
