It had started with the kiss. I hadn’t wanted it to stop, but I wasn’t into exhibitionism. But as we drove through the dark night, I thought of his mouth on mine. The way he’d held me. Tipped me back. Licked into me. One of his hands had been on the back of my head, the other cupping my ass.

He knew how big my ass was. And I knew how big his dick was. I hadn’t held it, but I’d felt that hard length between us. Not just earlier, but in his office the weekend before.

I wanted him. I wanted that fling Mary had mentioned.

Especially now that he’d just alluded to sharing a bed with me to my mother. Her mouth hung open… again, by his response.

“Right, sweets?” he asked, running a thumb over my lower lip, his pale eyes watching the motion.

I blinked, then licked the tip of his thumb. “Thatcher’s staying with me.”

Since I was watching him, I saw the way his eyes flared with heat. Darkened.

“Goodnight, Mother. Amy,” I said, taking Thatcher’s hand and leading him upstairs.

As we ascended, I heard Amy’s voice. “How does she get to spend the night with a guy and I can’t be with Michael tonight?”

“Because your dress is white for a reason. Hers is gray.”

Thatcher squeezed my fingers at the insinuation. I wasn’t a virgin and Mother thought Amy was.

I went down the corridor and pulled Thatcher into my room, then shut the door behind us.

He glanced around, took in the pale blue walls, the cream carpet. During the day, the windows overlooked Cutthroat Mountain, but he only had eyes for me.

“No boy band posters?”

“My mother redecorated when I went to college. The walls used to be green and yes, there were boy band posters. I’m not telling you which.”

Going over to the bed, he took off his hat, tossed it aside and winked. “It’d be weird to sleep in here with you with Justin Timberlake eyeing us.” He bounced up and down.

The bed squeaked. He did it again. And again.

“What are you doing?”

“If your mother thinks you’re a hymen-free hussy, then she might as well hear a show.”

I burst out laughing.

He put his finger to his lips and grinned. “Shh.”

I heard the clack of high heels out, then silence. Amy’s room and the master suite were further down the hall. They could definitely hear. And wonder, although the sound made it pretty obvious.

Oh. My. God.

I walked over to Thatcher, stood between his parted knees as he continued to bounce up and down. “You don’t care what they think?” I asked. “They barely know you and this isn’t the best impression.”

“They think what they want no matter what we do,” he replied, his voice tipped low.