Page 40 of The Playboy

And even the final night that the guys had been here, I’d insisted we stop by the club just in case she came in.

I didn’t know why I was like this. Where this sudden change had come from. Why, after all these years of being single, of never sleeping with a woman more than once, of living the playboy lifestyle, this woman—whose name I still didn’t know—was threatening to change me.

But I couldn’t fight it.

I tried.

She was just what I wanted.

What I needed.

“I’m twenty-two.”

A little younger than I’d thought, but that didn’t bother me.

“And your name?”

She laughed. “I’m not a John or David or Andrew either.”

“Jesus”—I shook my head—“you’re fucking relentless—that’s what you are.”

“You like that about me.”

I growled, “I like many things about you.”

It blew my mind that she would barely give me an inch despite what had happened between us the other night. Or that I’d told her I’d been coming here to look for her, proving how interested I was and that I wasn’t giving up.

The women I’d been with in the past would have killed for this. They would have done anything for me to show up somewhere to look for them, for me to be consumed with them the same way this stunning stranger was owning me.

Yet she couldn’t care less.

I didn’t know if that infuriated me or gave me a constant erection.

“Your name …” I echoed, letting her know I wasn’t letting her avoid the question.

“Why does it matter?”

Her gaze intensified when I swiped my thumb over her lips. She didn’t have on any gloss. Just some mascara, and that was about it. Her skin was a shade tanner than the last time I’d seen her, her freckles popping from the new glow. I wondered if I’d find tan lines under her black dress, one that looked identical to the previous outfit she’d worn.

“Because I want it.”

“Do you know what I want?” She took a deep breath, like there was a war inside her and she was trying to settle it.

“Me.”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, which bumped out her lip. “But didn’t I tell you to leave? That I wasn’t someone you should be interested in or pursuing? That I’m—”

“You’re exactly what I want.” I leaned my face down, our mouths so close. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m just asking you to spend the night with me. And while you’re in my bed and my mouth is all over your body, I want to know what I should call you.” I grazed my nose across her cheek, the only spot my palm wasn’t covering. “What went down on the bus was hot as fuck, but if I’d been able to say your name while I was coming, that would have been so much fucking hotter.”

Her chest rose.

Her body gave off more heat.

The tension gradually began to leave her posture, and she leaned in toward me, as though she wanted me to take her weight.

“Brooklyn.”

Finally.

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