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  “Quit checking out my ass.”

  I jerk my eyes up, startled. “I wasn’t,” I say haughtily and trail after him.

  He draws to a stop at the dresser and turns, amusement etching his features. When he leans in close, the scent of his body wash fills my senses. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you weren’t checking me out,” he challenges. His voice is slightly raspy, sending shivers down my spine.

  Frantic, I glance over at his dresser, and the detailing captures my attention. “Oh, wow.” I immediately know he made this by hand. I reach out and stroke the ornately carved design along the edges of the dresser. “This is beautiful, Becket.”

  “Thank you.” He offers me a smile that strikes me as almost bashful. It’s such a bizarre quality, considering this man is well over six feet tall and has his face plastered on city buses and graces the covers of magazines.

  He slides a drawer open and pulls out a folded T-shirt along with a pair of boxers for me. I accept them gratefully and thank him before I turn to leave.

  Curiosity gets the best of me when I reach the doorway because I pause and turn. I’m caught off guard to find him so close behind me. “When I first knocked, I could’ve sworn you said my name.” There’s a questioning lilt to the end of my words.

  Becket grimaces, and he scrubs a hand along his jawline. “Yeah, about that…” A faint flush spreads across his cheekbones. And it dawns on me.

  “Becket Jones,” I tease with a grin. “Were you—?”

  “Look at the time!” He places his hands on my shoulders and steers me toward the hallway. “Have a good night.”

  I dig in my heels while sputtering, “Wait!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” He releases his hold on me once I’m over the threshold. “Fine. I’m a damn perv, and I was…”

  I spin around. “You were…” I prompt, my lips tugging upward, stretching into a smug smile. “Thinking of me?”

  He squints at me, the edges of his mouth twitching. “A gentleman never tells.”

  I close the distance, placing my palm flat against the hard wall of his chest. He hisses at the contact, and his body heat radiates beneath my hand. “Maybe I want you to tell.”

  Becket lowers his face and whispers, his hot, minty breath washing against my lips. “Let’s just say I thought of you while I was in the shower and leave it at that.” He leans back as if gauging my response.

  I nibble my bottom lip as a surge of arousal strums through me and stare up at him. “Was it hot?” I whisper. “Like the other night, when we…talked?”

  A short, throaty laugh escapes his lips. “You’re not trying to make this easy, are you?”

  I raise my eyebrows suggestively. “Oh? Am I making it hard?”

  He groans. “Ivy.”

  I rise to my tiptoes and press my lips to the base of his throat. “I like when you say my name like that.”

  His hands move to my damp hair, tangling his fingers in the strands. “Ivy.” He dips his head to bring his mouth to my ear and whispers huskily, “Just so you know, I’m not putting out tonight.”

  I can’t help the laughter that bubbles up, bursting free. Leaning back slightly, I gaze up at him. “Is that so?”

  He winks smugly. “Yep.”

  “Well, then…” I tip my head in the direction of my bedroom down the hall. “Guess I’ll head back to that big”—I take a step backward—“lonely bed.” With a dejected sigh, I offer him my most endearing sad look.

  “Oh, no.” He shakes his head and tsks at me. “You did not just break out the sad puppy dog eyes.”

  I flash him a wide-eyed look of exaggerated innocence and back down the hallway. “Did I?”

  His mouth stretches into a smile that screams mischief. I’m a split second too slow, attempting to turn and rush to the haven of my room when he surges toward me. I laugh with surprise when he catches me around the waist, and I drop the borrowed clothes to the floor. His muscled arms hold me firmly even as I struggle.

  Suddenly, he freezes, his mouth at my neck. “Oh, shit.”

  “Oh, shit, what?” I whisper cautiously.

  “My towel just fell.”

  My lips form the shape of an “O.”

  “I’m going to back away slowly. Be a lady and don’t look, okay?”

  I roll my eyes. He can’t be serious. “Sure thing.” Pfft. As if.

  His arms slacken, and he turns to grab the fallen towel. I whirl around and catch sight of the tightest, finest ass I’ve ever encountered.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe.

  He spins around, holding the towel to his crotch, and I frown at him for taking away that incredible view. “You said you wouldn’t look.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “You have got to be the only man who doesn’t want to flaunt his stuff in front of me.”

  He rears back. “I beg your pardon? It’s not just ‘stuff.’” He glances down at his crotch and speaks in an exaggerated whisper, “Don’t listen to her. You’re so much more than ‘stuff.’”

  I shove at him with a laugh, and he grins, allowing me to steer him back against the wall. “Becket.”

  “Ivy,” he parrots.

  Our eyes lock and something shifts. I realize I’m standing between his legs with nothing but his towel and my robe between us. Heat radiates from his body, and I fall captive to his darkening gaze. I drop my eyes to his lips, and my own part when I distinctly recall how they felt on mine. I realize just how desperately I want his lips on mine once again. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a man before.

  “Who are you?” I whisper with a hint of wonder in my voice.

  He appears contemplative. “Hmm, I don’t know.” His expression turns hopeful. “An average-looking guy who happens to look decent in a football uniform?”

  My laughter can’t be contained. He grins, and his lips part to likely spout off another wisecrack. Helpless to the undeniable way I’m drawn to him, I act fast.

  I lift to my toes and fit my mouth to his, ignoring the warning bells in the back of my mind that I’m breaking too many of my own rules. That I’m allowing myself to be far too vulnerable to this man.

  I ignore everything aside from the way Becket’s lips feel against mine. My hands move to clutch his shoulders while he allows me to take control of the kiss. When I toy gently with his bottom lip, tugging it between my teeth, something snaps within him.

  He releases the towel he’s been clutching to cradle my face with both his hands. His fingers sink into my hair, and he tilts my head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with mine. I can’t seem to get close enough, my hands gliding over his firm body. When I skim my palms down his sides and veer off to grip his ass, he makes a hoarse sound deep in his throat.

  Suddenly, he shifts our positions, pressing my back against the wall to cage me in with his hard body. I part my legs to allow him to nestle his body between, and my robe parts. The moment his bare flesh meets mine, our combined groans fill the silence. The kiss turns more feverish, his tongue darting against mine, and I shift my hips against his impossibly hard cock.

  Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against mine, our breathing labored. His eyes are closed, and his chest rises and falls with ragged breaths.

  “Trying to take advantage of me, huh?” He lightly drags his cheek against mine. “Think I’m easy prey?”

  “Why don’t we head to your bedroom and find out?”

  He stills for a beat, then leans back to peer down at me. His expression is sober, no traces of earlier humor. He traces my bottom lip with the pad of his calloused thumb, and his eyes follow its motion before rising to lock with mine. “I’m not having sex with you.”

  Why not? I don’t voice my question, but it must show on my face because the edges of his mouth hitch upward.

  He grabs his towel, wraps it around his waist, and walks back to his room without a backward glance. When he arrives at his doorway, he pauses briefly.

  “Because, Ivy Hayes, I’m the guy who wants more.”

  19

  Becket

  “I need advice,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “What’s wrong?” Blue’s tone is heavily laced with worry, and I rush to clarify. God knows I can’t have her going into premature labor because of me.

  “It’s about Ivy.” I glance toward my closed bedroom door before I resume my pacing and give my best friend the concise rundown.

  “You…got busted taking advantage of yourself in the shower?” Her voice is threaded with amusement.

  I groan and drag a hand down my face with a wince. “Yep.” Then, I offer a melodramatic, “Why do I have to be such a gentleman? It’s so taxing.”

  Her soft laughter greets my ears and brings an easy smile to my lips. “Becket Jones, tone down the libido.” She pauses, and her voice sobers. “You really like her, huh?”

  There’s no mistaking the hint of smugness in her tone.

  “I do.” Before she can say more, I press on. “But she told me she doesn’t do relationships.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and blow out a long, slow breath. “And we all know—”

  “That’s not your MO.” Her comment isn’t spoken with recrimination. Only with understanding. “But you plan to try to change her mind.”

  I huff out a small laugh at how well she knows me. “I do.”

  “Beck…you know there’s a chance you might not succeed.”

  “I can’t not try.”

  There’s a beat of silence. “You’ve only known her for a few weeks now?”

  “A month.”

  “Okay…” She hesitates. “Look, I thought she’d be great for you because she was not only pretty but had the best shirt, and I honestly had a good feeling about her. I can’t explain it. I didn’t realize she was opposed to relationships. And, Beck”—she releases a long sigh—“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  My mouth tilts up in a hint of a smile at the affectionate concern in her tone. “I know, gorgeous,” I murmur softly. “That’s one of the many reasons I love you.” A thought hits me. “By the way, have you given any more thought to me being your stand-in birthing coach?”

  “Hold on.” It sounds like she pulls the phone away and calls out, “Knox? Yes? Okay, I’ll be right there!” She returns the phone to her face, her voice sounding clearer and closer. “Gotta run, Beck.”

  I roll my eyes at her faked conversation with her husband. “You’ll consider it. Trust me.”

  Laughter lines her voice. “Talk to you later. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Once I end the call, I collapse onto my bed to stare up at the ceiling while I fiddle with my cell phone and ponder Blue’s words.

  A smart man wouldn’t pursue Ivy, a woman who blatantly declares her aversion to relationships.

  I don’t take part in casual sex. I’m just not cut out for it. I discovered that after the shit hit the fan with my last relationship.

  It was said I’d never be a good enough quarterback to win the Heisman Trophy.

  I broke records at the University of Florida and won the Heisman twice.

  It was said the Jags would never rise up the rankings to make it to the Super Bowl.

  We proved them wrong. Twice now.

  Ivy’s a challenge, sure. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t give it my best shot and show her relationships aren’t something to be avoided. Hell, some of my closest friends have relationships I can’t help but envy. Blue and Knox. Presley and Hendy. These couples have shown me what’s possible.

  And I can see the potential of what Ivy and I could have. If she’d just…give it—give me—a chance.

  A long, slow exhale spills past my lips, and I realize Daisy’s doggy bed in the corner of my bedroom is empty. Since she’s normally here by this time, doing her routine three circles before settling onto the cushioned pillow for the night, I find her absence odd.

  I drag myself out of bed to go check on her, now concerned since it’s unlike her to break routine. I check downstairs and even out back, in case she used the automatic doggy door programmed to her collar.

  No Daisy. I check every possible place in the house only to come up empty.

  Now, I’m panicked, my heart racing. I return upstairs and notice the hint of light spilling from beneath Ivy’s bedroom door.

  I knock gently, and after I hear her soft, “Come in,” I hurriedly speak. “Sorry, but have you seen—”

  I stop short, not believing what I’m seeing.

  My eyes flit between Ivy, curled up on her side in bed with the covers to her waist, and the small puppy currently snuggling her like her life depends on it. Ivy’s gently scratching right behind Daisy’s ear where she loves it.

  Traitor.

  “Daisy.”

  Her ears perk up, and she tips her head to the side endearingly.

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Did you bother Miss Ivy?”

  “Tell him noooo,” Ivy coos to the pup.

  I watch her, fascinated that this little four-legged ball of energy has managed to tap into the more nurturing, softer side of Ivy.

  “Stop staring at me.” Her eyes rise to lock with mine.

  “Just admiring two beautiful ladies.”

  Ivy’s gaze travels down my body in a lingering caress, over my bare chest and simple pair of nylon shorts, to my feet. Her gaze meets mine again, and the sexual tension grows dense within the room.

  “Daisy, time for bed. Let Ivy get some sleep.” I whistle and wave, gesturing for her to follow me down the hall.

  She doesn’t move.

  Ivy laughs softly. “Looks like someone likes me better.” Her eyes shine with humor.

  I try again, yet Daisy simply remains curled up beside Ivy. With a sheepish look, I look at Ivy. “Guess you have an overnight guest in your bed.”

  “I know what we can do.” Ivy shifts, carefully scooping up Daisy in one arm while she shoves the covers back. “I’ll give you a lift to your dad’s room.”

  Her words don’t immediately register as she rises from the bed. My cotton T-shirt drapes over her petite body, hiding her curves. The boxers, evidently rolled up a few times at the waist, grant me a better view, exposing her toned thighs and calves.

  “Let’s get you in bed.”

  At Ivy’s words, my eyes snap up, only to find she’s speaking to my dog.

  Not me.

  Dammit.

  I spin around and follow her down the hall to my bedroom. When she bends over to set Daisy in her bed, the fabric of the briefs rides up the back of her thighs.

  Look away. Look away. Look. Away.

  Nylon shorts are not forgiving when it comes to hard-ons. Which means I need to get it together, so she doesn’t turn around and find me standing here, ogling her like a complete perv.

  I focus on Daisy, relaxed on her bed. Ivy backs away, as if suddenly nervous, and nears the door. She takes one step through the doorway, and when Daisy scampers over, Ivy freezes.

  Our eyes meet and I let out a sigh filled with mock disappointment. “Go ahead.” I toss a hand in gesture. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sleep alone.”

  Eyes sparkling with amusement, Ivy lowers her gaze to peer down at Daisy. “What do you think? Maybe we can stay for a bit?”

  I tip my head to indicate my bed. “It’s large enough; you’ll have your own space. No risk of accidentally touching me.” I arch a brow and flash her an easy grin. “Unless you want to.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re just trying to get me into it.”

  With a scoff, I watch her walk around to the other side of my California king to where the covers are unmussed. She pulls them back and slides in while Daisy settles in her spot for the night.

  A beautiful woman is in my bed. One I’d love nothing more than to strip naked and explore her body with my hands and mouth.

  I flip the light switch, blanketing the room in darkness with the exception of the faint slivers of light emerging through the slats of the venetian blinds.

  I slide into bed and pull the covers up.

  “Good night, Ivy.”

  There’s a beat of silence.

  “That’s it?” Her tone is hushed yet laced with humor.

  “I didn’t realize you wanted to chat.”

  “Maybe you can tell me a bedtime story,” she suggests, teasing.

  “Ah, what story would you like?”

  She hesitates. “Can you tell me about your tattoo on your chest?” Her voice turns gentler, softer. “It’s such a beautiful, elegant script.”

  I smile in the darkened bedroom. “It’s actually something my mother used to say.” I relax as I lie on my back and slide a hand beneath my head. “It says ‘Only love.’”

  “I’m assuming there’s a story behind it?” Ivy prompts gently.

  “When my mom would get exasperated or upset with me or my brother, Brantley, she’d always close her eyes, take a deep breath, and murmur, ‘Only love.’ When I finally asked her about it, why she did that, she said, ‘Becket, when you feel like you’re on the edge—on the precipice of making the wrong choice—of saying something hurtful, it’s a reminder. Only love. Act in only love. Speak in only love. Otherwise, you’ll likely regret it.’”

  I draw in a long breath before I exhale slowly. “It started after Mom had finally had enough. She’d put up with our father’s numerous indiscretions. She’d said enough was enough and refused to continue to be disrespected.” I pause for a beat. “I’ve always had zero tolerance for cheating, and I admire her for sticking to her guns.” My lips draw up into a half smile at the memory of my mother standing up for herself and, in turn, providing her sons with a valuable life lesson.

  “Wow,” Ivy breathes. “That couldn’t have been easy for her.”

  “No, it wasn’t. But she told us one day we’d understand. Love—the real, worthwhile kind—wasn’t like that. It didn’t leave you feeling like less of a person.” I close my eyes and recall her sitting us down to tell us we were going be a family of three. In her gaze, the unique combination of anguish and determination had shone, and I’d never been more in awe of her.

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