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All my bravado at the bar was long gone—which was his fault, really, because what else was I supposed to do when he told me he’d make me scream.
And! He whispered it. Against my ear. Maybe there was a certain type of man who got special instructions on how to make a woman’s legs all quivery and the instruction manual started with something like: gently place your lips against the shell of her ear and whisper.
Cameron was that sort of man.
But he’d just been all territorial. He’d gotten jealous, and holy shit, did I like that.
Being completely honest with myself, if the roles had been reversed, and I saw Marcy Jenkins slide a hand over Cameron’s shoulder, I might have ripped her hair out. Which meant that before any whispering in ears had happened, I was primed.
If anyone else had done it, they would’ve gotten a jabbed fist to the throat, but there I stood in the middle of the bar, ready to divest myself of my panties because he’d whispered that one little sentence.
I wanted him to make me scream.
I wanted another night with him because now I knew. I knew things that I didn’t know before, and I wanted to make the absolute most out of that.
If this man could deliver on all bed-type activities, and manage to get me on a motorcycle without kidnapping me—then he damn well deserved a second night.
My hands tightened imperceptibly around the flat planes of his stomach as the rumbling bike pulled in front of a large A-frame cabin. The whole front was a sharp, impressive triangle made up of windows, warm golden light showcasing an open family room and big kitchen, and a staircase to the far right leading up to a loft-style second floor.
It was stunning.
The sound of the bike cut off, and as gracefully as I could manage, I tugged the helmet off my head.
Cameron swung his long leg off first, then studied the damage to my hair with a wry grin.
“Oh shut up,” I said without heat. “I know you get some kind of sick pleasure from me being at my worst.”
He took the helmet and carefully set it on the handlebars, then turned, wordlessly gripping the back of my neck before he claimed my mouth in a searing kiss.
The kiss ended almost as quickly as it began, and my head spun as I registered the way my hand fisted the material of his shirt.
“I get pleasure from you all the time, Ivy,” he said, voice low and rough, something that drew a shiver down my spine. “Maybe someday you’ll believe it.”
They were simple words that set off a very complex reaction.
Didn’t he know that was the most impossible thing of all for me to believe?
Love almost always came with a performance of some sort. Something with a clear metric, data that could be shown and weighed. A grade. A paper. A title given.
It was a good thing my eyes were already closed from the kiss, because if I’d seen the look in his eyes when he said it, I might have done something horrible like cry or ask him to hold me while I was fully clothed.
He stepped back and held out a hand to help me off the bike.
I took a second to gather myself before I swung my leg over, tugging my skirt down once I had two feet on the ground.
“You built this,” I said as he preceded me up the large deck that surrounded the front of the house. In the dim lights coming from the house, I saw comfortable, oversized deck furniture and a table.
“My dad and Wade helped. But it was my design.” Then he smiled over his shoulder. “If you want to see Greer’s head explode, go ahead and remind her of that. She hates that I wouldn’t let her help me.”
The inside was gorgeous. More modern than I expected, with sleek lines and warm wood tones interspersed with leather and clean white walls and hardwood floors laid in a herringbone pattern.
I exhaled a quiet laugh. “I imagined something very, very different,” I admitted.
He watched me wander through the kitchen as I trailed my fingers along the edge of the massive rectangular island.
“A shitty bachelor pad?”
“No.” Then I glanced over my shoulder. “Maybe a little.”
