“Yes, you did.” I folded my arms over my chest, partially in annoyance and partially to help keep my blanket-toga in place. “You stopped”—I waved a hand, indicating the space between us—“all this.”

“Because your parents are on the other side of that wall, and your bed won’t shut the hell up.” He nodded his head back toward the wall behind him. “Shouldn’t we be a little . . . quieter?”

All my anger and hurt feelings melted away, replaced by . . . I wasn’t sure what. Maybe still a little bit of anger. Definitely some frustration. But mostly relief. “Are you serious?” I threw up my hands. “My old bedroom is on the other side of that wall. All that’s in there now is a treadmill, and believe me, they never use it.”

“Are you sure?” He looked over his shoulder, as though my mother might materialize through the wall and ask him his intentions.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, then.” Doubt cleared from his face, replaced with a slow smile as he turned back to me. “Then why are you all the way over there, and wearing a bedspread?”

“Maybe I look good in this bedspread.” But I took his outstretched hand and let him pull me back to where he was on the bed. He bracketed my body between his spread knees, tilting his head back to look up at me, and whoo boy, there was a throat I wanted to nibble on. So I did.

“God, Stacey, you feel . . .” His hand tightened around mine, and his other hand went into my tumbled-down hair. He swallowed hard, and I felt the movement against my lips. “You feel better than I ever imagined you would.”

I smiled against his neck. “You imagined me?”

“For months. You have to know I did.” He pulled away to take my mouth with his again, and I felt his kiss all the way down to my toes. I moved closer to him, crawling into his lap and letting the bedspread fall from my shoulders.

“I wish I had.” I rocked against him, the friction of my panties and his pants between us both delicious and frustrating. “I wish I’d known it was you, all that time.” That was the one regret I had in all of this. Not so much that he’d lied: we were past that now. But that I hadn’t known the truth. A fine line there—but now that I knew the man behind the words, I wished I’d always known. I wished I could have fantasized about the right man all this time. Because the man in my arms right now was better than Dex had ever been. Better than anyone I could have ever imagined.

“I’m sorry.” He cradled my face in his hands, pressing his forehead to mine. I was drowning in the ocean of his green eyes searching mine. “I’m so sorry. I should have . . .”

“No, it’s okay.” I punctuated the words with another kiss. “I know why you did.”

“No, but . . .” He sighed, his breath ghosting across my lips. “It’s so stupid. All of it. But . . . I’m not my cousin. I don’t know what kind of moves that guy has, but he obviously knows what he’s doing with women. And I didn’t know how to break it to you that I wasn’t . . .”

“Shhhh.” It was my turn to cradle his face in my hands. I let my thumbs trace over his cheekbones, trying to soothe whatever ache inside him made him feel he wasn’t good enough.

“I knew you’d be disappointed, and I kept telling myself that I needed to come clean. I just didn’t know how to . . .”

“I know.” I dropped a kiss on his cheek, his mouth, his chin. The past was behind us. All I wanted to do now was look forward. “I don’t care about his moves. He’s not here. You’re the only one I see.”

“Yeah?” But his hand was back in my hair, his other stroking down my back, urging me closer with a gentle pull. I scooted a little closer in his lap, and we both drew in a breath at the contact.

“Do that again.” He moaned the words into my mouth, tilting his hips up in a slow grind against me, and why were we still wearing so many clothes? We had to do something about that.

“I think it’s time you show me your moves,” I said.

“You think so, huh?” His hand tightened in my hair, holding my head just where he wanted to kiss me more thoroughly. His tongue glided against mine, drinking me in, and I gave as good as I got. I let my hands wander up his chest, learning the planes of his body, the sprinkling of coarse, dark red hair against my palms, and the heat of his skin. His other hand smoothed around the dip of my waist before sliding into the back of my panties, cupping my behind and pulling me more firmly into his lap. A lap that was . . . well, firm. Extremely so.

Before long he lay back in the bed, taking me with him. My breasts were crushed against his chest, and I wanted us to be that close everywhere. He was easing my underwear over my hips, and my hands slid down between us, returning to his open pants. I eased up onto my knees, straddling his hips, alternately rocking over him and wrestling his pants down. Finally. Time to . . .

He broke off our kiss with another quiet laugh. “Seriously. What is wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing!” But he wasn’t wrong. The springs let out a little squeak of protest every time we moved, and the more into it we got, the more . . . rhythmic the squeaking became.

He looked up at me, laughter in his eyes and his hand still down the back of my underwear. “You’ve never noticed how noisy your bed is?”

“Well, no.” He was still hard beneath me and I squirmed on him, making him catch his breath. “I guess Benedick and I don’t move around much when we’re sleeping.”

“Well, I’m planning to move around with you quite a bit.”

“So you keep promising. Will you shut up about my bed already?”

“Hold on.” He slid an arm around my back, and took a firmer grip on my hip.

“What are you—oooh!”

Without warning, he sat up, taking me with him, and from there got to his feet, wrapping my legs around his hips. I locked my arms around his neck to help hoist myself up his body while he took me . . . where?

“What are you doing?” I couldn’t keep the giggle out of my voice. I wanted to protest that I was too heavy to be carried, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble. The blanket from my bed was still tangled between us and he took it with him, dragging it behind us like the train of a wedding gown.

“Getting away from that bed before your mother comes storming up here.”

“Oh my God!” My giggle blossomed into a full-on laugh. I would have smacked him on the shoulder but I also didn’t want him to drop me. “Will you stop worrying about my mother already? My parents can’t hear anything that goes on up here.”

He didn’t look convinced, although humor danced in his eyes. “Promise?” He dipped me back, lowering me to my couch.

“Promise,” I said. But I couldn’t resist. “I mean, unless you’re doing laundry or something. We’re right above the garage.”

He looked alarmed. “What if she decides to do laundry?”

“This late at night?” I shook my head. “Now, shush.” I reached for him, and he sank to his knees in front of the couch. He didn’t kiss me, though, not yet. Instead he pushed gently on my shoulders, laying me back against the couch cushions before tugging my panties down my legs and off. He pulled the blanket away gently, as if he were unwrapping a Christmas present.

“Let me look at you. Please.”

I drew a nervous breath, exceedingly conscious that he was not seeing me at the best angle. I looked better lying flat, not in this half-reclining state. But I couldn’t say no to him. I couldn’t deny the shine in his eyes, the wonder in his gaze as his fingertips glided up my thighs, encouraging them to part for him. Oh, God, he was going to touch me. Finally. And it was going to devastate me. My eyes fell closed and my breath shuddered out of me as his fingers started exploring, fondling, stroking.

“Holy shit.” His voice was weak, little more than a whisper. I forced my eyes open to see him watching my face. “You’re the most beautiful . . .” He slid a finger inside me, then two, in then out slowly, every move deliberate yet gentle. Taking his time. Savoring. Meanwhile, I wasn’t sure I’d survive the night. My hips heaved up to meet his touch and my breasts felt swollen, heavy. I wanted to feel his touch everywhere. I cupped them in my hands, my nipples hard against my palms, not as good as his hands on me but the best I could get for now, and Daniel groaned.

“God, yeah. Keep doing that. Touch yourself for me.” His thumb slid up, hooking over that most sensitive part of me, almost sending me over the edge, and I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out. All joking aside, screaming in ecstasy in what was technically still my parents’ house wasn’t something I wanted to do. But Daniel was making it extremely difficult. He slid an arm around my back again, pulling me to sit up, to perch on the edge of the couch, while he knelt up against me, his hand still busy between my legs, his mouth on the side of my neck.

“You’re so wet.” His voice was a low growl in my ear, and his words sent a thrill through me, making me clench around his fingers. “And tight . . . Is this how you’re going to feel? God, I want you so bad, but I can’t stop.”