I’m not laughing now, though. More like I’m grabbing for Archer, bringing him down on top of me, his big body pushing me into the mattress. I wrap my legs around his hips, curl my arms around him so I can stroke down his smooth, damp-with-sweat back as our mouths find each other, lazily kissing, nipping at each other’s lips, tangling our tongues.

He tastes amazing. I love the sounds he makes, the way he holds me. And when he slowly slides inside my body, inch by excruciating inch, a shudder sweeps over me, my eyes shutting against the intensity of emotions swirling within. He doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as breathe, and I’m breathless too. I’ve never felt so connected to another person before.

It’s frightening. Exhilarating.

“Christ, you feel so good,” he whispers close to my ear as he slowly begins to move. I shift with him, lifting my hips, tightening my legs around him. He’s thrusting faster, almost as if he can’t help himself, and I’m fine with it. More than fine with it. I rock against him, sending his c**k deeper inside my body, and he’s groaning, straining above me, already close. I can see it in the tension in his face, across his shoulders.

He warned me it would be fast but I don’t care. I’m close too. I’ve been on edge since he made me come on the terrace. There’d been no relief with that orgasm. More like it ratcheted me up, helping me realize what I was missing, not being with him like this.

“Say you’re going to come,” he whispers, his ragged voice sending a shiver over my skin. “Say it.” He reaches between us, his fingers slipping over my clit, rubbing circles around it, driving me straight out of my mind.

“Yes,” I moan. “So close.”

Archer rears up on his knees and grasps hold of my waist, pulling me closer as he pounds into me. I watch, breathless at the brutal way he’s handling me, truly f**king me, and I wonder if any man I’ve ever been with has done this. Fucked me like Archer is at this very moment.

That would be a firm no.

The men of my past always handled me gently, as if I were made of glass and might shatter at any moment. Not Archer. He’s all macho, primal fierceness, his hands gripping me, his c**k pounding inside of me, his mouth brutalizing mine. It’s as if he’s completely overcome.

I love it.

Closing my eyes, the familiar sensations threaten to wash over me, and I try to hold them off. Whimpering, I shake my head, pant his name and then I can’t hold back any longer.

I’m coming. Lost in the deliciously warm pulsating sensation as the second orgasm of the night takes me completely over the edge.

He collapses on top of me seconds later, his warm weight comforting, yet making it all feel far too real. His mouth presses to my neck, wet and hot as he whispers unintelligible words. I smooth my fingers down his back, feel the shivers still trembling through him, and I kiss his cheek, murmuring, “You should probably go soon.” I wince the moment the words leave my mouth. I really don’t want him to leave.

But he needs to. If he lingers . . . I might want him to stick around. Then I might do something stupid. Like admit how much I care for him, how much I wish he were a permanent part of my life.

Yeah. He’d flip out and run like a scared little boy if I ever said something like that.

Lifting up so he can meet my gaze, he studies me, his brows furrowed, his mouth curved in a frown. “What?”

Uh oh. Did I say the wrong thing? Come on, Archer isn’t one who lingers in a woman’s bed, is he? “You um, you should probably go, don’t you think? I don’t want my brother to see you sneak out of my room.”

“He’s probably asleep. That guy sleeps like the dead.” Archer’s studying me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Yeah, but . . .” He’s right I’m sure. I don’t want to risk the chance. Besides, I need time alone. I need to process what just happened between us.

“So you’re kicking me out.” He sounds incredulous, looks angry.

“No . . .”

“Yes,” he cuts me off, his voice tight. “I get it, though. Don’t want Gage to find out. I agree with you, actually. He’ll hang me by my balls from a tree, and I happen to like my balls, thank you very much.”

He climbs out of bed, snatching his clothes off the floor impatiently, giving me an unintended eyeful of those very balls he happens to like so much.

Crap, I’ve made him mad. I didn’t mean to but I can’t have him lingering. It’s bad enough what we just did. I don’t do one-night stands, especially with guys I know and run the risk of seeing again. Worse, I don’t want to get attached. Or put expectations on us that this sort of thing might happen again.

Because no way should it happen again. That would be a big mistake. Huge. No more fooling around for Archer and me.

Even though I want to. I hate that I’m pushing him away. His reaction is confusing. He acts like he’s hurt by my denial.

I’m hurt too. More than I would ever dare admit. Deep down inside, I think . . . I want more. For once, I’m ready to take that risk and go for it. Do something so completely out of character just to see what would happen.

“You still want to see Hush later today?” he asks, his voice quiet, his back to me. He has on his underwear, nothing else, and I let my gaze wander over him, drinking in all that pure masculine beauty.

He is beautiful. I wish we had more time. I’d explore every inch of his skin with my mouth, given the chance.

Your chances with Archer just expired.

“Yes,” I answer after I clear my throat. “I would love to see Hush.” We can handle a mistaken sexual encounter between friends, right? Of course we can . . .

“Great. Well, it’s been real,” he says after he slips on his pants, still sounding sort of huffy, and I watch him go without saying another word. He quietly shuts the door behind him.

I flop against the pillows and rest my arm over my eyes, groaning out loud. What the heck is wrong with me? I had amazing sex with a man I’ve known almost half my life, and then I push him out like he’s some sort of stranger I secretly banged.

I can’t help it. I start laughing.

My life has turned completely surreal.

Archer

DAMN, COULD I feel any cheaper?

I’m skulking down the hall of my very own home, shirtless and shoeless, my clothes and shoes clutched in my hand, my pants unbuttoned, for the love of God, and ready to fall from my hips. My footsteps are light as I’m literally sprinting across my house. If Gage came out at this very moment, he would take one look at me and know exactly what I’d just done.

His baby sister.

Grimacing, I shake my head and head toward my bedroom suite, which is on the other side of the house. I’m breathing a little easier now that I’m out of the guest wing, but I could still get caught. That I’m even thinking like this makes me feel like an absolute jackass.

This is my house. I’m twenty-fucking-eight years old. I shouldn’t have to sneak around like some sort of teenager out screwing around with my secret girlfriend.

But here I am. Sneaking.

I’m still shocked over how Ivy kicked me out of bed before the come dried on her skin; she was that ruthless about the entire encounter. Crude, I know, but true. I’d been ready to wax poetic and go on and on over how amazing that entire experience had been. Because as quick as I’d come—embarrassingly quick, I’ll admit, but damn I was overwhelmed with the fact that I was actually inside her—sex with Ivy had been mind blowing.

I wanted to tell her how much I wanted to do it again. Clutch her close and cuddle for Christ’s sake. I don’t f**king cuddle. I’m the one who kicks them out of my bed. I’m the one who says, Hey, it’s been real, but you need to get your pretty little ass out of here.

Always, I sleep alone. For once, I wanted to sleep with someone else. Really and truly sleep. Hold her close, feel her skin on mine, smell her. I can still smell her. Feel her. Taste her.

She gave me the boot instead.

Yeah. Bizarre. I feel like the tables have been turned on me completely. I don’t like it. Not one freaking bit.

But since I saw her earlier this evening at the wedding reception, she’s flipped me on my head. What’s up is down and all that other bullshit. I haven’t felt right since. It f**king sucks. I have a business to run, employees to take care of, the potential to open another Hush location on the horizon and a volatile father to handle.

The last thing I need is some woman twisting up my insides.

I stride inside my bedroom, slamming the door behind me and head toward the bathroom. I need a shower. Maybe if I wash away the memory, the feel of her skin on mine, her scent, her taste, then I could forget her. Ivy.

Doesn’t help. As I stand under the scalding hot water battering my body and scrub at my skin, I can still smell her. Hear her panting, frantic breaths, the way she said my name just before she came. Smell her flowery, delicious skin, taste her greedy lips and tongue . . .

Fuck. I glance down, the water beating a rapid tattoo on the top of my head, and see my erection. Fucking stupid thing. No wonder women loved to go on and on about how men only think with their dicks.

They’re pretty dead on in that observation.

Restraining myself, I refuse to jerk off. I just came not fifteen minutes ago, you’d think I’d be over this. Over her.

Apparently not. Having her once wasn’t enough. I want Ivy again.

I furiously wrench the faucet off and grab a towel, rubbing it haphazardly across my skin, not really drying it. The soft terry cloth slides across my erection and I grimace. Pissed that I’m teasing myself. What the hell is wrong with me?

Ivy Emerson is what’s wrong with you, jackass. She’s played you at your game and actually came out on top. Where does that leave you?

Miserable. Pissed. Eager to go back to her room and have my way with her again . . . slower this time. So I can linger over her body, see what she likes, where she prefers to be touched, taste her between her legs and see how long it takes to make her come with just my tongue . . .

Rubbing the heels of my hands against my eyes, I blink them open, stare at my reflection in the steam-covered mirror in front of me. I’m a wreck. Eyes wild, skin still wet from the shower, mouth and jaw so tight I look like I might shatter. Rigid and tense.

All over a woman.

I let loose a loud, growling “Fuck!” and hit the lights off, stride back into my room. Climb into bed na**d and still damp, yanking the covers over my head in the hopes I can shut off my whirling brain.

Doesn’t work. I want her with me. Snug against me. I need to come clean with myself. I’ve lusted over her for years. Since her high school graduation, like some sort of pervert, considering I have a solid four years on her and the last thing I should’ve been doing was wondering if she could possibly be na**d beneath her ceremony gown.

Of course, she wasn’t. She’d been eighteen and pure and beautiful. She’d given me a hug and thanked me for coming and all I could think about was how much I wish I was coming. Inside of her . . .

Yeah. I had it bad for her then. I still do. And I shouldn’t. I’m not the relationship type. My parents warped me for good. Ruined me for any woman. I might be able to hold my shit together for a while, but she’d wear me down eventually and discover the real me.

I’m not worth it, not worth making it last. I’m selfish. A complete prick. She’d find out quickly, if she doesn’t know already, and she’d bail. Wonder why she wasted her time on me, if she’d even consider me, that is.

And then there’s that stupid, fucked-up bet I made only a few hours ago. A million dollars rides on the idea that I won’t let any woman trap me.

The crazy thing? I know Ivy Emerson is worth a million dollars.

But am I?

Chapter Six

Ivy

SOMEHOW, ARCHER ARRANGED for a fresh set of clothes to be waiting for me when I opened my bedroom door earlier. They sat in a neat, folded pile, tucked in a bag that was set in front of my door. A pair of black cotton cropped pants, a bright pink T-shirt, and a pair of my favorite brand of flip-flops. All in the proper sizes, all of it cute and something I would probably pick out on my own if given the chance.

How the hell did he know my sizes? Sorta scary.

I never heard anyone pass by the door either. And I would’ve. I tossed and turned, hardly getting any sleep, what with my thoughts consumed by what happened between Archer and me.

Images had flashed all night. The way he looked at me. How he touched me. The things he said to me.

I can’t f**king wait to be inside you.

God, I melt just remembering how dark his voice had sounded, the way he whispered those words close to my ear, his hands all over my body.

A shudder moves through me and I let loose a frustrated huff, then proceed to take a long shower in the hopes the hot water would wash away all of my useless and overwhelming feelings for a man I have no business feeling anything over.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Considering I’m in Archer’s house after being in his arms the night before, he permeates everything.

I both secretly love it and openly hate it.

I get dressed quickly, pulling my wet hair into a low ponytail with a band I found in the bottom of my purse. Slicked on some lip gloss because that’s all the makeup I brought with me.

No one’s called me, no Gage, no Archer. No one has even knocked on my door, and finally curiosity gets the better of me. I open the door and peek my head out, glancing left, then right, but the hall is empty. Gage’s door is closed. The house is quiet; it’s like I’m staying in a museum or something and I step fully out of the room, contemplating going to knock on Gage’s door.

What if he’s still sleeping? It’s already past nine and Gage isn’t one to sleep in. Deciding I need to know what’s up, I approach the door and knock, stumped when he doesn’t answer. No way can he still be in bed. And if he is, what a total bum.