Page 27 of Best Part of Me

Me:

Know what?

Rosie:

If he’ll give you his heart too.

A glimmer of hope in this all-odds-against-me quest shines through, and maybe Rosie is right. Maverick confessed he wants to make me happy. He opened up to me in a way he never has before. He risked his friendship with Jones. If he didn’t at least feel a smidge of something for me, he wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have agreed to let me come along.

A Jake Scott song streams through the speakers, and his voice reverberates through my veins. I glance at Maverick, finding him so at ease in this shared space between us. He’s relaxed with one hand on top of the steering wheel and the other resting on the shifter, dangerously close to my leg. A thrill of desire shivers through me. A craving to have that warm hand pressed to my thigh.

He must feel my stare on him because he looks my way. A smile forms on his lips, and I can’t restrain my own.

His chiseled chin gives me a nod. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Cammie, spill it,” he demands.

There’s that stern talking to again. I squeeze my thighs together.

“Just thinking.”

He quirks a brow. “Yeah?”

“Wondering where we’re stopping for lunch. I’m starving.”

He chuckles, and I can’t help but smile wider.

“Yeah, I’m pretty hungry myself,” he growls, moving his hand from the shifter to my thigh and resting it there with gentle pressure.

My skin heats underneath his touch. “I’m serious.”

“Me too.” But his hand increases pressure as he slides it upward, and I shiver.

“Mav,” I say, and the way he looks at me, pupils dilated, I regret using the nickname and bite my lip.

“Hell, Camille, you’re going to fucking undo me right here.”

My eyes widen and shock ripples through me. I haven’t even touched him.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

I shake my head, almost afraid to answer beyond that.

“You’re driving me wild. If you say my name like that again, I’m going to have to do something with that mouth of yours.”

If I thought I was turned on a few minutes ago, that was nothing compared to now. “And if you say things like that, we’re definitely not going to make it to your first destination before dark.”

“Well played,” he says, returning his focus to the road.

I exhale, but my shoulders are still tense at the awareness of the sexual tension between us. When his hand glides even farther, reaching my pussy, I squeeze my thighs together, unintentionally forcing him to stay where he’s at, and he groans. He increases the pressure of his fingers against my pussy, and each stroke is like torturous pleasure felt through the thin fabric of my yoga pants. I’m half regretting the wardrobe choice, as with his precise technique, he could finish me off in a matter of minutes.

“Mav,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

“Are you trying to kill me? Or worse, get me fired? Because I’m about to pull this Jeep over.”

“Then you better stop touching me,” I warn.

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