Page 6 of Taming the Bad Boy

I press my chest to her warm back. She tenses slightly but quickly relaxes. I take her hand, show her how to adjust her grip, and guide her arm back and forth for a couple practice swings.

“Just relax,” I whisper in her ear. “Focus on the center and go again. You’ve got this.”

She swallows nervously as I step back and takes a deep breath. My eyes soak in her hips as she swings the ball back, then forward, and then releases.

This time, it lands smoothly. No thud. No bounce. This time, it’s a clean hit, knocking the rest of the pins down for a spare. She spins around to face me, a thrilled smile dancing across her lips.

“I did it!”

Goddamn, what I wouldn’t do to see that smile every day. I might even give up my patch.

I smirk and throw her a goofy thumbs-up. “Hell yeah, you did.”

We play for about an hour, and of course I let her win. I can’t help myself. Whenever she outscores me, she does this little happy dance, swinging her hips and causing all her best parts to jiggle and shake. Never in my life have I been more desperate to throw a girl over my shoulder and take her home.

But I hold myself back.

Tonight isn’t about simply claiming her. Tonight is about proving to her that she is mine in every way that truly matters. That I’m more than what her father has said about guys like me. That we could work. And by the time we’re leaving, she’s practically glowing with happiness. I hold the door open like a gentleman, guiding her out with a soft hand on her back, and when we step out into the night air, she looks up at me with an adorable smile.

“This was great,” she says softly.

I step closer, so close I can smell the scent of the shop still hanging onto her, like a perfume personally designed to attract me. “Oh, you think the night’s done?”

Her lips quiver. “Isn’t it?”

I shake my head, letting the backs of my fingers brush across the soft skin of her neck. She’s so goddamn sexy. So delicate. But she’s also fiery and sassy and knows she can stand up for herself.

I’m fucking smitten.

“Not yet, baby.” I smirk. “You won. Now you have to tell me what I owe you.”

Her plump red lips part as she looks at me. Her eyes quiver, as though she’s trying to choose between two different responses. One that she is afraid will be a mistake. A wonderful, life-changing mistake. Blood rushes to my center as I watch her internal struggle.

Finally, she raises herself up on her toes, wraps her arms around my neck, and pulls me down into a kiss.

Jesus Christ, I was not expecting that.

That’smy job.

Her lips are soft and sweet, and her tongue presses against mine with a passionate heat. A wildness beneath her innocence. I groan into her mouth as my hands lock around her waist, pulling her close as I deepen the kiss.

I can taste the orange soda that I bought her on her tongue, feel the nervous shiver in her body, and a single word snaps into my mind.

Mine.

Ivy is mine.

I pull her tighter and slide my palm up her stomach, searching for the hem of her shirt. But she pulls back, her lips gleaming, her eyes wide.

“Fucking A, Ivy,” I growl, my pulse running rapid through my veins.

She bites her lower lip like she’s so innocent. Like she didn’t just pull me down to kiss her. “So…what you owe me is”—she swallows, looking away for a split second before bringing her eyes back to mine—“a second date.”

Yep. Absolute perfection.

I’m beyond smitten.

My lips twist into a knowing smile. I trace the line of her cheek with my thumb, lost in her abject beauty. “Second, third, fourth,” I chuckle. “You can have as many as you want, baby.”

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