The mention of my home state barely dips my mood. Not with her warmth and sensual scent wrapping around me. “Anything I can do to help you decide?”
“What’s your name?”
I hesitate, run my hand through my hair, then say, “Evander.”
It’s technically not a lie. I’d given her my grandfather’s name, my middle name. And the irony isn’t lost on me. The name means “good man.” Something neither of us ever was. But she’s heading to Kentucky, and I’m not taking the chance she might recognize my uncommon first name.
“Your name sounds like you should be smoking a pipe and wearing a plaid jacket with corduroy patches on the elbows.” Her gaze runs over me again. “But you don’t look like a professor.”
“Oh yeah, what do I look like?”
“With those cold blue eyes, but a full mouth that is somehow masculine.” She taps her lips, and I can’t help leaning toward them. “I’d say a mob boss very, very high up in the hierarchy. Maybe at the top.”
“Close,” I say, stepping even closer until there’s barely an inch between us. “But I prefer to think of myself as more of a legitimate businessman with a few questionable associates.”
Her laugh is throaty and genuine. “Legitimate, huh?” She reaches up and adjusts my collar, her fingers brushing against my neck. The contact sends electricity through every nerve ending. "And I’m just an innocent girl on a train."
“You’re playing with fire, Ivy,” I murmur, my hands finding her waist.
“Good thing I don’t burn easily,” she whispers back, leaning closer.
"That confident?" I ask, my thumb tracing a slow circle on her hip.
"Always." Her eyes challenge me. "Are you?"
"About what I want? Yeah." I shrug, playing it off like I don’t want to press my body into hers and chase the high her surrender will give me. "About whether I should want it? That’s a different question."
"Philosophy from a mob boss." She tilts her head. "I didn’t expect that."
"I’m full of surprises, Ivy."
"Prove it," she breathes.
It’s a challenge I should refuse.
But can’t.
Our lips crash together. We aren’t gentle or hesitant. I’m hungry, desperate, but she’s drowning, finding air in my rough touch. Her hands tangle in my hair while mine press her closer, taking in every curve through her thin dress that’s making me impossibly hard. The train rocks beneath us, but I’m steadier than I’ve been in years.
When we finally break apart, our breathing is ragged and uneven. She smiles at me with those bourbon-colored eyes.
“I’ve decided what I’m doing tonight,” she says, biting on her full bottom lip.
I brush my lips lightly against hers. “And what’s that?”
She takes my hand and pulls me toward the door. “You.”
Chapter Two
Thorne
“Your room or mine?” Ivy asks.
If we go to mine, Bruce the Porter will be there with his, “Mr. Blackstone, welcome back. Is there anything you or your guest needs, Mr. Blackstone? Mr. Blackstone. Mr. Blackstone. Mr. Blackstone…” She’s going to Kentucky. I won’t risk my last name ruining this thing between us.
“Yours.” My words are rougher, hungrier. I press her against the corridor wall, gripping her waist and pulling her against me with enough force that her breath catches.
I lean in like I’m going to kiss her lips, but right before I sift and brush my mouth along her neck, inhaling her potent scent of gardenia and amber. She is delicious. I can’t help running my tongue along her pulse. She tilts her head to give me better access. Her soft moan sends fire straight through me.
