Chapter 14 Caveman-Style
Silas
“I want you to come to New York and clean my apartment like you do at Buffed & Polished.”
I laugh. “So either way you’re getting free labor from me, huh?”
Bailey shrugs, that mischievous glint in her eye. “You picked your own prize. But maybe you can give me a little something-something extra.” Her eyebrows wiggle.
“The champagne room treatment?” I lean in close, my voice dropping. “You’re on, temptress.”
Bailey shivers at my words—full body, eyes rolling back, sexy as fuck.
I break away from temptation and pull the darts out of the board. Neither of us cares who won that game (we both won, really) and Bailey wipes the scoreboard clean.
We go a few rounds, and then I don’t know who starts it, but suddenly neither of us is sitting down. We’re both at the line, taking turns. Bailey’s dialed in, beautiful and graceful as she hits most of her targets with satisfying thunks.
I should be more careful. After that backpacker called us out, we should be keeping our distance. Playing it cool.
But I’ve been without Bailey for three weeks. Nearly a month of texting good mornings and looking at her photos and wanting her so badly I could barely function. And now she’s here, in Here, in my territory, and I can’t keep my hands to myself.
I’m going to blow this. I’m going to give us away. And I can’t bring myself to care.
“Watching you is fucking sexy,” I say as I pass her the darts.
She puts her back to me, right toe on the line. “How sexy, Montgomery?”
I take a step closer. She’s working on twenties, the only one I’ve closed out so far. She throws a dart.
Single one. She readies the next dart. “Wait.”
She stops, arm in the air, poised to take her shot. I grab a belt loop from her jeans and pull us together.
A stranger might think I’m helping her line up her dart.
A Herevian, someone who knows how goddamn good Bailey is at darts, might think she’s the one helping me.
But Bailey’s eyes widen when she feels my erection against her ass.
“Remember my favorite body part of yours?”
“Yes.” Her voice comes out breathier than before.
“Well I think you picked those jeans tonight just for me.”
She swallows hard. I can see the flush creeping up her neck—she’s remembering. That moment in the bedroom when I told her. The way she’d looked at me like she couldn’t quite believe I meant it. Like no one had ever called her ass their favorite anything before.
She takes a deep breath and tosses the dart.
Triple five. I’m under her skin, just as much as she’s under mine.
She takes the next shot quickly, finally zeroing in and hitting a single twenty. I watch her walk to the board and retrieve all three darts. She hands them back to me and crosses her arms while I set up my shot.
“I didn’t wear these jeans for you.”
I’m aiming for the bullseye. My first shot going to the eighteen, which we’ve both closed out. One of her hands drops, dangling between us. I jolt when her hand grazes the front of my jeans.
“I did wear the underwear for you though.”
My next shot bounces off the board.
“Which pair?” I ask, not looking at her.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Images flash through my mind—the red and black lace from the photo shoot, the powder blue that made her look innocent and sinful at the same time, the sheer robe that showed everything while hiding nothing.
Or maybe something new. Something I haven’t seen yet. Something she bought just for tonight.
My hand shakes slightly as I line up my next shot. “You’re evil.”
“You love it.” Her voice is low, teasing, confident in a way that makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of here caveman-style.
Which would definitely get Hunter’s attention.
I take the shot. Miss by a mile.
Bailey’s laugh is pure satisfaction.
The game continues—more touches, more teasing.
At one point Bailey leans over to “help” me line up a shot, her breath hot on my neck as she whispers something filthy enough to make me completely forget what I’m aiming for.
I get my revenge when she’s reaching for her beer and I let my hand trail up the back of her thigh, just barely grazing the seam of her jeans.
By the time we’re down to her final numbers, we’re both wound so tight I’m amazed we haven’t combusted.
Finally it’s down to nineteens for Bailey. She just has to close it out and get fifteen more points and she wins. I step away, back to the table, and take a hearty swig of my beer.
Bailey strikes. Nineteen. Ten. Single bullseye.
Game.
“Thank fuck,” I say.
“You let me have that one,” she says, almost a whine.
“No, I got out of your way,” I point out. “Because I want to take you home so you can sit on my face.”
“Shh. Silas, Jesus.” She glances over at the group that’s abandoned the pool table and has been the perfect cover—loud and drunk. I have no idea how they plan to get up and ski eight hours tomorrow.
“All right. I’ll leave first, why don’t you go sit at the bar for five minutes, make sure your brother sees you, and then drive over to my place.”
She nods, and instead of going out the front I slip out the back and come round the side. In a few minutes I’m home, Echo greeting me at the door with a happy meow. I pick her up and wrap her up against my chest, pinning her and kissing her head while she purrs.
“Okay,” I say, gently tossing her down. “We’ve got company coming.”
I leave my glasses on my bedside table and tidy up, expelling some nervous energy until I see Bailey’s headlights pull into my driveway.
The moment feels enormous. The time apart. The pebbles. The wager she agreed to. The way that tourist saw right through us.
I greet her at the door, and for half a second we just look at each other. Her eyes are wide, a little uncertain, like she’s wondering if this is real or if she’s going to wake up and find herself still in New York, still alone.
“You’re here,” I say stupidly.
“I’m here.” She steps inside, and I close the door behind her, pressing her against it. “Three weeks is—”
“Too fucking long.” I kiss her, and it’s not gentle. It’s desperate and claiming and three weeks of wanting all poured into one moment.
She kisses me back just as hard, her hands fisting my shirt, pulling me closer like she can’t get enough.
I should get us away from the door. Anywhere else—the bedroom, the couch, the floor. I don’t care.
But all I can focus on is Bailey—finally, finally in my arms again.