Page 108 of Surprisingly Us

To beg on his knees for my forgiveness.

And to kiss me and relieve this ache between my thighs.

Huh, my brain is a confusing place to be right now.

“Is this how it starts? Do the women just fall into your bed?” I ask, stretching out on the navy comforter.

“I’ve never had a woman in my bed,” he says quietly.

That gets my attention. I lift, propping myself on my elbows.

“How’s that possible?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t fuck in my bed.”

For some reason that makes me laugh.

I study him. He’s gorgeous. His carefree attitude and rebellious nature making him even more fascinating. How does someone just not care what other people think?

But Rhys does care. He cares about what the foundation board members think and his grandfather’s opinion of him and his stupid competition with Jerrod. Just not about me.

I swing my legs over the side of his bed and stand before walking over to him.

I stop right in front of him and his eyes drop to mine.

“Then where do you fuck, Rhys?” His nostrils flare and a surge of pride rushes through me. After the night I’ve had, I like the idea of knockinghimoff balance. Tilting his world off its axis like he did mine with that proposal.

“Anywhere but here.”

“Hmm.”

My hands slide under his tuxedo jacket, and up the front of his body. Beneath my palms, I can feel his chiseled abs contracting through the luxurious fabric of his shirt.

I’ve seen him without his shirt. I know what’s underneath but exploring him this way is fun, too. My fingers tease their way up to the knot in his bow tie. I’d straightened it earlier tonight when I first saw him, but now all I want to do is yank it off.

I find the flattened ends and pull. The knot releases, and I tug the fabric from around his neck and toss it aside.

Why is that so satisfying?

Being angry and turned on is a heady combination.

I start to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Rhys stands there, letting me do what I want. He knows the engagement stunt was crossing the line. I want retribution. I want to cross some lines, too. When the buttons are undone, I yank his shirt out of his pants and move to push it off his shoulders. I’ve forgotten that he’s still wearing his jacket. I gruntat all the material bunching up until he assists me with their removal.

When his magnificent shoulders and torso are exposed, and his glorious tattoo is uncovered for my perusal, he lifts his hands out to the side in a ‘what now’ gesture. It only serves to annoy me. Getting naked doesn’t affect Rhys. He’s not nervous or embarrassed. He doesn’t feel the pressure of my eyes on him like I felt everyone’s eyes on me tonight when he dropped to one knee.

This might be harder than I thought. He looks unimpressed. It hits me in this moment, that’s Rhys’s default setting. It’s a defense mechanism. To avoid caring too much, he pretends to not care at all.

But I want a reaction from him. I want to see him come undone.

My fingertips explore his tattoo, loving the feel of the raised ink beneath them.

I recall his question.What do you want, Lettie?

At his shoulders, my fingers dance over the ink there before slowly sliding down to his chest. With my teasing movements, Rhys’s nipples tighten.

I’ve never explored a man’s nipples before. Are his nipples as sensitive as mine are?

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