Anticipation licked through her as if she were at the start of a race, right before the bell rang and the gate swung open to free the horses. “I’m sure.”

He stood and lifted her at the same time, tossing her over his shoulder. She landed with a muffled oof, laughing and trying to shove her hair out of her face. This side of Wolfe was new, and her body felt electrified, the shoulder beneath her stomach solid rock.

She might have taken on more than she could handle.

He strode into the kitchen, reached for the whipped-cream can still on the table, tossed it in the air, caught it, and headed toward his bedroom, his steps even and sure, his strides long and purposeful.

“Whipped cream?” she gasped, the blood rushing to her face as she turned her head to the side to breathe, her cheek resting against his broad back.

“We’re gonna make a sweet memory,” he murmured, reaching the bedroom and kicking the door closed with the back of one foot. It slammed shut, the sound amplified by her too-aware body and mind. He flipped her over, then stood, towering over her with heat and strength, his gaze hungry and a mite intimidating. “Take off your shirt.”

There was only one possible answer. “No.”

His slow smile awoke every girly part she had. “We’re doin’ this my way, green eyes.”

She bit her lip, contemplating his rock-solid body. “Who says?”

“Well?” He shook the whipped cream can. “Is this going to end up with me inside you, probably covered in sugar, making you scream my name?”

“Hopefully,” she croaked, her knees wobbling. Had she ever been this aroused?

“Then it’s my way.” His smile widened, giving him a boyish look she’d never seen on him before. Her heart just flipped right over and submitted. He finished shaking the can. “Now. This is going on you. That’s a pretty shirt, and I’d hate to get it messy. You have two seconds to take it off.”

Humor bubbled through her arousal, torturing her. “Fine.” But she wasn’t going to make it easy on him. Keeping his gaze, she slowly, very slowly, released each button, her breath catching as his smile disappeared and he looked even hungrier. “You look like a wolf about to eat,” she whispered, dropping the shirt and revealing her white lacy bra.

“I am a wolf about to eat.” He ran a knuckle along the tops of her breasts, his breath catching, his gaze heating even more. A smooth flick of his fingers released the front clasp, and the bra, too, dropped out of existence. Then he sprayed her, over her breasts, causing flecks of whipped cream to pepper her face.

She laughed, protesting. “Wolfe—”