“I thought we were kissing so that guy thought I was yours,” I breath against his mouth.

“They better fucking know you’re mine.”

My heart flutters. Just hearing him say the word mine sends chills through my nerves. This is bad, but I can’t seem to stop it.

The front of his pants are consumed by the hardness beneath, and he grinds it against the perfect spot between my legs, causing me to whimper. It’s everything we did before, but this time I want more. This time I’m not going to run away.

I can’t get enough of his mouth, the texture of his beard against my lips. The gentle softness of his tongue as it caresses mine.

He grinds against me again, and I’m suddenly desperate for him to peel away the thin piece of fabric between us. I want him inside me in this hallway right now. The thought of him slamming home over and over, the two of us fogging up the windows of the door to the ballroom, gasping and panting so others can hear, has me purring with pleasure again.

“Let’s finish this at home,” he says, putting me down.

I groan my complaint as he pulls down my dress and drags me out the door before I can even fix my hair. His hair is still sticking in ten different directions. All eyes are on us, and I know my cheeks are still bright red as we make our way to the valet desk.

There’s not one thought in my head about deeds or wills, but the warning still lurks in the back of my mind. I shouldn’t be doing this. Murph is the last person I should be getting emotionally involved with at the moment, but I have myself convinced—it’s just sex.

I refuse to take my hands off of her in the car on the ride home. One hand is reaching across the console as I drive, squeezing the inside of her thigh and just thinking about the moment when I get to tear away that dress and lose myself in that perfect body of hers.

We don’t say a word in the car, but we steal hot kisses during the long red lights. I don’t know what this thing is between us. I’ve never felt this way before. The most intensity I’ve ever felt has been alcohol-induced, late night bar encounters. But this thing with Savannah...is different.

I don’t normally want to claim girls. But I want to claim her. I don’t want anyone else’s eyes or hands on her again.

When we pull up to the house, we both freeze at the sight of an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Instinct says it must be the hospice nurse...until I notice the Nevada plates.

“Is that Shelby?” she asks quietly.

“No,” I growl. My hand leaves her leg, and I notice her slump in her seat when it does. She can feel the change in the air.