You busy?

My heart leaps so hard in my chest I forget the cardinal rules of not texting back too fast. I instantly text him back, No

I wait, my pulse fast in my body as the image of him standing tensely by his asshole father comes to mind.

Pick you up?

Where are we going?

Anywhere

Give me 5 mins

I leap to my feet and hurry to change. “Oh no,” Gina groans from the living room.

I slip into a pair of sexier underwear—white lace. White lace for Malcolm. Then I select a cute little skirt and top. I know Saint is closed off. There’s no real hint of his inner psyche, aside from his rebellious nature, in anything online that I’ve read. The fact that he texted me when I know he’s had a difficult evening makes me feel somehow protective of him in a way I’ve never been protective of anyone except my mother, Gina, and Wynn. I can barely stay inside my skin when I spot the Rolls out the window.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” I tell Gina.

“Rachel!” she calls worriedly after me, but I’m trying not to hear that right now. I can’t. There’s no place in all of Chicago I’d rather be than at his side, and that’s all there is to it.

I climb in the car, my eyes hurting from my glimpse of him across from the bench I sit on. He’s cloaked in shadows, but some of the lights outside the window fall on his neck, his square jaw. His lips. As I grow accustomed to the dark, I slowly study the clear-cut lines of his features. He’s so handsome, with those emerald-green eyes and a secret expression, and suddenly the cool ice in his eyes warms when they fall on me. “You look edible.”

His voice ripples down my body. Quiet, but not cool as usual—warm. Quite unexpectedly warm, as if I’ve just heated up his whole existence.

“Yeah? I’ve got news for you,” I say with a sultry little smile. I value words, but Saint is a man who values action and I want to take some action tonight. I lift my fingers up, tug my sleeve a little to the side to reveal a creamy expanse of shoulder. “I am edible.”

“And I want a bite.”

Seized by my own desperate, growing, clawing hunger, I pull it downward, Saint’s face absolutely livid with lust.

“Where? Here?” I ask in a sensual whisper as I brush my fingers over my shoulder. I can’t even find words to describe how much I like when his voice goes rough like tree bark.

“Right there. I’m running my mouth up your neck, down your shoulders, your arm.”

My breath’s gone.

Like a living, breathing thing ready to devour the both of us, desire leaps between us, arcing from him to me, from me to him. “What else will you do?” There’s need in my voice: arousal. I can’t hide it, not from him.

“I’m going to make love to you hard, and then I’ll take you softly. Show me your other shoulder, Rachel.”

I do.

The car is rolling down the street now, but if you ask me, the entire universe is in this car, looking at me.

My veins sing happily over his stare as I drop my top sleeve as far as it will go, baring the most of my shoulder possible. Every day my desire for him deepens and intensifies, magnifying my attraction to him to a level I could have never imagined. I know him by heart now, the different angles his mouth twists to create each of his smiles . . .

“I’m going to run my tongue over its curve, dip it right where your pulse beats fast,” the Universe says. “Show me more,” he coaxes.

“Mmmm. You’re so greedy. Will anything in your life ever be enough, Malcolm Saint?”

He shakes his head very slowly, as if in warning, a tinge of amusement in his voice. “Nothing’s ever enough and it’s especially true when it comes to you. Show me more, little one.”

I tug my top down an inch, enough that he can see the top swell of my breast beneath my lace bra. He growls in his throat, and I blush and go warm as I straighten myself. “I was happy to hear from you, big one.”

He chuckles. Then, more tree bark, rasping over my skin. “I was happy you could see me tonight. . . .”

I angle my head a little and study him, the roiling energy circling around him. His thirst, his desire, his frustration evident in the fists at his sides.

My heart tumbles over itself to get to him.

“Rough evening?” I ask softly.

“It’s looking up.”

The ice that’s usually in his irises is completely subdued as he reaches out for my hand, pulls me across the car, sits me as close as possible to his side, and starts kissing my mouth, running a path to the shoulder I bared, running his fingers over the curve. Heat, moisture, the softness of his lips with the strong movements of his mouth. “Definitely looking up,” he rasps. “And you?” He nibbles a path up to my mouth. “What were you doing before I came calling?”

“Hmm. Let me think,” I say, pretending to think hard about it. “The real answer? Or the one you’ll like most?”

Shifting so I can watch my fingers slide up his throat, I run them to his square jaw, a jaw that is so stubborn—as stubborn as him—and I like that he lets me touch him like this very much.

“Both.” While he caresses my shoulders with his hands, his thumbs dip into my top, slowly tracing my collarbone.

“I was working.” My own thumbs run over the stubble of his jaw now. “But while I was doing that, I was anxiously waiting for you to text me and invite me somewhere.”

“Anywhere,” he corrects, husky.

“Exactly.” I press my mouth to the corner of his mouth, not even thinking of what I’m doing, acting by pure instinct now. “Are we there yet so I can gorge on you too?”

His arms tighten around me, and one of his hands slips under my shirt to explore the hollow of my back. “Rachel . . . I didn’t want you to see me when I’m not at my best.”

“On the contrary, I want to see you like this. I desire you, I crave you, and I want to comfort you and give you whatever you want.”

Hot lips nibble on my shoulder. “Then I want you.”

“Anywhere” turns out to be The Toy. Away from prying eyes and from the public—to my complete relief and delight—it feels like we’re in another world. The yacht is docked and the crew is not aboard, so it’s just Malcolm and I sitting in silence up on the top deck, both of us still a little sweaty from the hard, and then the slow, fuck he just gave me.

He’s wearing his black slacks but nothing covering his chest, while I’m wearing the shirt he was wearing not long ago. He’s brooding and silent, and I’ve never felt so protective toward something so large and strong before.