“I can keep going.” The blood in my veins started to rage through my body. We’d just crossed some sort of line. I could feel it.

“Keep going,” she uttered, her voice a little throaty now. Her hand hadn’t moved from me, and I’m sure she could feel the increasing rise and fall of my chest. That didn’t matter. I wanted her to know how into this moment I was, because she had me so hard that I could barely think straight.

“You’re wearing too much makeup,” I told her, being nothing but blunt now. “You have freckles here—” I ran my thumb along her skin, just under one of her eyes, moving closer so that I could speak against her temple. “And here.” I touched the skin under her other eye. “You shouldn’t cover them. I happen to like freckles.”

“That’s a lot to remember for one five-minute conversation a couple years ago.”

“Oh, I remember everything from that day.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “You made an impression.”

Our bodies were touching now. Her plump, fine breasts were resting against me, with her hand still trapped between us, and the heat of the night causing us both to sweat. I rested my hands on the wall behind her head. Pressing the tiniest of kisses along her hairline, going from her temple down to her neck, I inhaled the scent of her. She smelled like fresh laundry and lilac and a hint of sweet sweat. In my entire life, I’d never wanted anyone more. Judging by the way she next wrapped her arms around my waist, her body practically begging for more, I was pretty damn positive she felt the same as I did.

Desire on a woman had never been so fucking beautiful.

“Rhett,” she moaned.

That was it. I’d had enough foreplay. “You want to go to my place?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 5:

SYDNEY

Manwhore. I knew what the word meant, and knowing Rhett’s reputation, I would definitely label him as one. Kimberly said she’d heard rumors of at least ten different girls he’d been with in high school, and those were just the ones she’d heard about; and in the years since I had to assume he’d tripled or possibly even quadrupled that number. The thought of sleeping around with that many people was unfathomable to me, repulsive even.

And yet, experiencing Rhett’s charm and his power firsthand…was something entirely different. Because he was sweet, dammit, as well as flirty and kind. He’d complimented me on the things I was most insecure about. I hated my freckles. Absolutely loathed them. I had too many of them, kids used to tease me about them when I was little, and I didn’t even have beautiful red hair to go along with them. Only recently I’d found the right kind of makeup that could completely cover them while still looking natural. And like he was fileting me wide open, he’d not only remembered them, he had brought them up to me as a compliment. He’d made me, for a moment, almost love my freckles.

His charm went beyond the compliments though. He had to be, without doubt, the most relaxed person I’d ever met, so comfortable in his own skin. Which was the opposite of myself. I’d have given anything to be that outgoing and fearless.

So I found myself, if anything, with a small crush. That feeling I’d been desperately chasing—he gave it to me. And like any good drug, I wanted more. The number of women that had come before me and would surely come after me…well, that number was irrelevant.

“My car is parked on the street,” he told me, his hand firmly holding mine, as he led me through the parking lot and toward the road. “I’ll drive if that’s cool with you. Then I can bring you back in the morning to get your car. I mean...I’m not trying to imply that you have to stay the night. When my roommate Noah gets off work later tonight, we can do the whole car dance thing then. Whichever, I just—”

“I plan on staying the night,” I admitted flat out. “So you can drive.”

The look he gave me—cocky, a little smug, smiley—was exceptionally cute. “Good answer. I like a girl who knows what she wants. I’ll shut up and stop rambling now.”

“I kind of like your rambling.”

“You might be the only one.”

We didn’t speak after that, but the electric tether that seemed to be linking us only grew stronger. We reached his car, and he opened the door for me. He drove a 1967 Chevy Impala. I knew the exact year and model because my grandfather, who happened to be a collector, had this same car—like, literally the same car was sitting untouched in our garage at home. John would have disapproved, since he hated anything that came from that garage and anything that wasn’t ‘environmentally friendly.’ But the car lover in me was squealing with delight. My grandfather’s Impala in our fancy untouched garage was off limits, so getting a chance to ride in this one was like a mini dream come true. But I didn’t let my excitement show. The last thing I wanted was to start up a conversation about cars. Everything needed to stay superficial. Because tonight was about sex, not about figuring out how much I had in common with North Carolina’s Walking One-Night Stand.

Rhett lived only a few miles from the restaurant, and the short drive was rather…intense. The front seat in the Impala had no middle console, just one joined leather seat that stretched from door to door. Once we were both in the car, he tugged at my waist and yanked me in close against his lean, rather muscular, side. The shifter was located where my feet ought to be, so I had to tuck one leg up under the other to make room for it. Which, wearing this dress, wasn’t exactly ladylike. As he drove, his forearm rested across my legs. The rev of the engine and the way he purposely brushed against me every time he needed to shift gears, was hot, like melt-my-ovaries hot. My skin and whole body tingled in anticipation of whatever was going to happen as soon as we reached wherever we were going.

John would have killed me for this. If he knew whose car I was sitting in, and whose hand was shifting gears between my legs, right this moment, he would have died. Literally died. And somehow, that only made me want Rhett more.

Like I said…intense.

Practically sitting in his lap, I got an up close and personal view of this man. Rhett had very toned thighs. I knew because one of my hands now rested on his right leg. He wore a faded pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt that hugged the lines of his abs, arms, and shoulders so delectably. He needed to shave, but the scruff looked good on him. Lord help me, he was an attractive man with an impressive body, but my absolute favorite feature about him had to be his lips. Not that I could really see his lips at that moment, in the dark. But as he drove and I blindly stared at the road ahead of us, those lips of his—so full, so suggestive, X-rated even—were all I could think about.

The nickname ‘scruff-muffin’ popped into my mind. Rhett had told me how he gave everyone nicknames, and so I figured he deserved one also, even if my nickname for him was too embarrassing to say out loud. Between his five o’clock shadow, the jeans, and his very kissable lips—‘scuff-muffin’ seemed fitting.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked, shifting into second and turning down a side street.

“Nothing,” I muttered.

He let his hand rest on my leg, right underneath the hem of my dress. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“A bad liar and a cute liar. This is my house.”

He turned into a driveway and stopped the car. But I wasn’t paying attention to where we were or whether or not we were moving. The only thing my brain could focus on was his hand and the fact that it was still on my leg. Gently he stroked his fingers down toward my knee, around my knee, and then back up the inside of my leg. A shiver shot through me. At this point my dress was riding up, not even much of a hindrance for him and his exploring hand. Whatever I’d been smiling about before, instantly went forgotten.