Page 18 of The Bourbon Bride

I suck in a breath and want to jump out of the car to get away from the mortification that is burning my skin.

“Thank you for being honest,” I whisper.

“I’m not finished. The women I sleep with see only my Amex black card and what they can get from me, so I treat them in kind.”

“Gotcha.” I try to pull my hand away from his, but he stops me with a slight tightening around my fingers.

“I would love to see every inch of your body trembling under mine as I turn you inside out with pleasure. I want to trace kisses across your body to map your soft skin and find every spot that makes you moan and call out my name.”

By the time he stops talking in his deep, sandpaper rasp, I’m breathing heavily with sweat beading on my forehead, a drop tracing its way down my spine. My thighs rub together, looking to find some relief from the heavy pull in my center that floods my panties with warmth.

“Wow,” I breathe out. When I risk a look in his direction, I catch his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip the same way I’m dying to.

“Does that sound remotely casual to you?” His voice takes on a gravelly quality that continues the barrage of feelings that drag me into his undertow.

I stay silent.

“Answer me.”

“I-I don’t think so.” My voice is a husky whisper of its proper volume, but I’m unable to give him anything more.

“Trust me, it’s not.”

I simply nod my acceptance because I don’t have the capability of forming a coherent sentence.

“Have you been with a man before?” His question is soft, looking for confirmation.

My cheeks heat and I look down at my lap, my brain going from incredibly intrigued to embarrassed with the flip of a switch. What if he doesn’t want to be my first? I could be too inexperienced, too fragile and new.

He likely wants a woman who knows her way around a man’s body.

I don’t know how to please someone like him. I don’t even know the mechanics of what the first step would be to achieve that. I could never meet his expectations for a lover, and he’s going to hate it if we do sleep together. I’ll be a disappointment.

“Paige, are you a virgin?” he asks again, more directly.

I nod my head, too flustered to speak the acknowledgment.

I hear a groan and think he’s offended, regretting his decision to help me at all, regretting telling me what he would do to me, and wishing he had stayed silent. I risk a glance in his direction, my cheeks hot with shame now. He returns my stare, but his mouth is a sensual smile and his eyes are intense.

“I would love to be your first. I will absolutely, and with happiness, ruin you for any other man if it meant you were mine. None of that will happen unless it’s exactly what you want, and when you want it. I won’t touch you until you tell me when you’re good and ready for me.”

He clears his throat and returns his attention to the dark road. The implication that I will be ready for him at some point hangs between us like forbidden fruit. I’m alreadythis closeto reaching for it to see how good it would taste, damn the consequences.

He just promised to not only take my virginity but turn me into a sensual creature he’ll worshipwhen I’m ready. Praise Jesus, I just found a man willing to wait until I’m comfortable and begging for him. Sorry, Jesus, I don’t mean to invoke you when it comes to sex, but hallelujah!

“We’re here,” he says a few minutes later, turning into a driveway and pushing a button that causes a heavy wrought iron gate to swing inward and allow our passage.

I lean forward to catch whatever view I can in the flashes of the headlights as we wind back into the heavily wooded property.

“Are we still in Atlanta?”

“Northwest Atlanta, yes. I have a few acres of property, so it feels more rural.”

“I wouldn’t say rural, more like an enchanted forest, but okay, Hayes.”

He slows and I turn back to catch sight of the huge, modern home constructed of glass, wood, and steel.

“What the heck?” I say out loud.

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