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“Be safe,” she echoes after me, but I’m already out the door and dashing to Cash’s truck. He grabs the stuff from my arms and lies it gently in his backseat, and then we both get in.

I’m suddenly nervous as we trek toward his place.

This could be it.

The night.

He pulls into his garage, and he helps me out of the truck. He hands me the clothes on hangers and handles the suitcase himself. I follow behind him as he leads me up the stairs and down the hall to one of the guest rooms.

“Will this work?” he asks.

I glance around and nod. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

I feel so lucky that this is the man I picked to drunkenly marry. He could’ve been some psycho asshole, but instead he’s the perfect gentleman.

I walk over, and my intention is to give him a quick kiss as a thank you. As my lips connect with his, he wraps an arm around me and hauls me into him. My hands come up to balance myself, resting on his biceps, the firm muscles that have intimidated his shirt sleeves all evening.

He’s so solid and strong everywhere, and I love when he pulls me into him. It’s warm here in his arms. That mouth that’s very nearly in a permanent cocky smirk is fused to mine, and he’s not smirking now as he shifts his hips and I feel his rock-solid erection near my hip.

His mouth opens to mine as my pulse kicks up a few notches from racing to flying. His tongue is confident and sure as it moves against mine, and he holds me against him as his other hand starts to explore, first going up into my hair back by my neck, then trailing down slowly until his fingertips dance down to my hip. When they land there, they dig in, like he’s barely holding it together, barely hanging on by a thread as he wars with himself with whether to take me to bed right now or maybe later.

At least that’s what I think he’s warring over.

He stops abruptly, pulling back and leaning his forehead to mine. “I don’t want to rush into anything with you.”

I step back, blinking in disappointment. It feels like maybe I’ve done something wrong. We had a fun time tonight, and I’ve done a little research into him and his reputation over the last few days since he’s my client.

He doesn’t normally take things slow with women—at least, not from the outside. He’s had several high-profile relationships, but none lasting longer than a few weeks according to public record, namely Instagram. He occasionally attends events with the same woman more than once, but it’s a fairly rare occurrence.

But he doesn’t want to rush into it with me.

“Hey,” he says softly, and my eyes lift to his. “What’s wrong?”

I cross my arms over my chest as I let my vulnerability show. “Is it something about me?”

He sets his hands on my upper arms and bends down so his eyes are level with mine. He shakes his head. “Trust me. I want this maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anything from any woman. I’m insanely attracted to you. I want to fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”

A shudder runs through me at those words.

“But we’re married, and we just agreed to give this a try for a year. We have an entire year, Ive. There’s no rush because for the first time in my life, I have time on my side. And you do, too. You don’t need to rush into anything with me, either. I want you to be totally sure this is what you want. You only get one first time.”

I feel this overwhelming sense of gratitude for his words. I rush into his chest, and I tip my neck back to kiss him some more.

And that’s it. We kiss. It’s deep, and it’s intense, and it’s building the anticipation for what will come down the line when we’re both fully sure we’re ready for it.

I’m ready. The anticipation is already killing me. But I also know it’ll only make it that much sweeter when the time comes.

CHAPTER 18: Cash Maddox

Croissants

I’m spearheading a youth hockey camp most of the weekend, so I don’t get to spend time with Ivy on Saturday or Sunday. She’s been working on moving her shit out of Everleigh’s place and into my guest room, but she’s out with her sister-in-law on Saturday night, and she’s already asleep when I get home Sunday night and again on Monday night, the last day of the camp.

I find her in the kitchen on Tuesday morning. She’s tapping away on her tablet, getting ready for the day, when I walk in.

“What can I make you for breakfast?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m fine. I have some stuff at the office I can grab,” she says.