I glance at Tahoe, a part of me wanting him to like them. Which is irrelevant, I guess, because sometimes your loved ones don’t love each other. But his smile is genuine, and my parents are obviously so impressed they’re nearly tripping on their words.

Mom is dressed fashionably as usual, her dark hair like mine pulled back into a neat bun, tons of faux pearl necklaces draped around her neck. “I have to say, the news came as a shock to us, a shock,” she admits, as Tahoe pulls her chair out.

I’m so tense, I’m relieved when Tahoe takes his seat and summons the waiter and motions in my direction for someone to get me a drink.

Rachel is the opposite of me. She’s so close to her mother that she’s always wanted that kind of connection for my mother and me, but you can’t force these things. And yet I’m surprised by how much we enjoy the evening together. Tahoe simply has a way of putting everyone at ease, and I think that seeing me so happy actually makes my parents more receptive to me somehow.

I can really tell that my mother is charmed by Tahoe. Not being one to mince words, she tells him that he’s just the man she’s warned me about all my life. That he has the smile of a bad boy and the face of a heartbreaker.

It amuses me that she sounds a little bit like his mother did. I nudge his ankle under the table and chide him. “Such an incorrigible ladies’ man, shame on you.”

His foot toes back my ankle and he smirks. “Yeah, but you’re my lady now.”

My mom can’t seem to resist kissing Tahoe on the cheek before they leave. She pats his beard and thanks him for being so good for me.

“Did you hear what she said?” I frown as we climb into his Ghost. “Good for me? Not to me?”

He leans across the car console and kisses my temple, his dimple forming a little nook against my cheek because I suppose he really liked that stroke to his ego. “Yeah, I heard.”

I roll my eyes but I smile to myself. Because I know, I’m good for him too.

* * *

For Christmas, I give him me…wrapped in nothing.

He gives me a key to his apartment.

I’m not ready to move in, but when I tell him that, he pats my butt and says, “Well hurry, ’cause I am.”

So on December 27th, I take a few things over. And I haven’t slept in my apartment since.

On New Year’s, there’s a party hosted by the high rollers Tahoe, Callan and Saint hang out with.

We dress up, go out, and mingle. But Rachel and Saint stay home with Kyle, Emmett and Wynn are spending New Year’s traveling, and Tahoe and I are far more interested in sexy times than mingling, so we don’t stay at the party for long.

* * *

The party was held close by so we’re able to reach his apartment in fifteen minutes. I kick off my shoes and drop my clutch on the sofa, then gaze out the living room window while Tahoe takes a bottle of champagne from his collection and sets it in an ice bucket to chill. He then drops down on the couch.

“Come here.” He crooks his finger in the shadows, his eyes glowing.

I gulp. “You should get a pet; it’s like your favorite phrase: ‘come here,’” I say.

But I start walking forward, helpless as a sleepwalker.

He rises to full height as I reach him. “I only like you to come here. Come right,” he pulls me into his arms and kisses my lips, adding a little tongue, “here.” He brings his hands to my face and starts removing my lipstick.

I groan and halfheartedly try to squirm free. “Don’t remove my makeup.”

“Don’t put it on then.” He smirks and holds me more firmly.

I frown at him. His gentle fingertips soon ease the frown away.

I find myself standing utterly still, studying his face as he has his way and erases my makeup until my face is bare. His eyes shine with tenderness, sky blue and so raw that I feel raw too. I feel wanted and accepted and untouched by life, hopeful and in love, and I never thought I’d feel like this again.

I won’t cry.

I won’t cry I won’t cry Iwon’tcry.

Lifting his jacket, I duck underneath and pull it over the back of my head and hide myself as I press my bare face against his shirt buttons. My cheek pushes flat against his pecs. His chuckle rumbles against my cheek as he spreads his hand on my back. My fingers tug his shirt free of his waistband and slide underneath to tease a path up to his pectoral muscles. And his nipples.

I finger his nipple. He makes a sound in his throat that rumbles really deep. I open a few buttons and push his shirt aside to expose his other nipple. And I suck it.

His chuckle over my mischievousness fades to a groan. He shrugs off his jacket, then he finishes unbuttoning and shoulders off his shirt, frowning laughingly down at me. “Are you hiding from me? Don’t hide from me.”

Groaning, I put my hands over my cheeks. Through the spaces between my fingers, I meet his gaze.

His eyes are dancing in amusement.

His laugh fills the room. He’s enjoying seeing me like this and he shamelessly forces my arms to my sides. His voice darkens with lust. “Come on, let me look at you. You look edible right now.”

I leave my arms at my sides.

He holds my gaze as he tugs my sweater dress over my head, then lowers my strapless bra, and one of my nipples appears. He takes it in with hot male appreciation. He frees my other nipple and leaves them there, exposed.

He bends his head. He nibbles first. Bites the tip of one a little bit. The gentle tug of his teeth causing the tip of my nipple to swell and my sex to ache with an absolute craving to be filled. He turns his attention to my other nipple, biting it gently. He tugs, releases, licks it, then full-on kisses it. When he covers it with his mouth and sucks, I buck in pleasure. I arch and clutch at his back, raking my nails over his muscles.