My heart was pounding in my chest as if I’d just done a dozen burpees. My hands shook. My core throbbed.

Kissing Ramsey Badd would be a monumentally stupid idea. Just because he could eat my pussy better than any man to put his face between my legs didn’t mean I was ready to suck face with him. Sure, the only thing I could think about—aside from DON’T LET RAMSEY KISS YOU!!—was how magnificent and perfect and glorious and amazing his cock had been…assuming memory held true, that is.

The whole thing had happened really fast, mind you, so my memory was a bit hazy. All I really remember is hauling him into the empty hospital room on a horny whim, thinking I’d never see him again or, if I did, it’d be fine and dandy and no-harm-no-foul. But then I’d shoved him into that stupid little plastic-leather chair, yanked his jeans and drawers off, and had found myself face-to-face with penis perfection. I remember thinking: Holy mother of shit! The man is hung like a goddamn rhinoceros!

That was not much of an exaggeration, either. I’d had some nice dick in my slutty little life, but if all I ever did was suck that man’s cock one time, I could die a happy woman, because it had been just that pretty.

And now…shit—I wanted it. I wanted his cock.

I didn’t want complications and emotions and vulnerability and sensitivity and all that lovey-dovey, sucking face, simpering terms of endearment, ooey-gooey-rich-and-chewy romantic horseshit. I didn’t want to tell him any more of my deep dark nasty secrets. I didn’t want to cuddle him after we made love—I wanted him to fuck me hard and make me come until I went cross-eyed, and then fall asleep like a douchebag. I wanted him to fuck me doggy-style, legs in the air, bent over the bed, face down ass up—dirty nasty filthy sex.

What I didn’t want was face-to-face intimacy, breathing each other’s breath, staring into each other’s eyes, whispering and shaking in the drowsy afterglow. What I didn’t want was to wake up with him and never want to move.

Because people left you.

Mothers died, and fathers changed.

Men used you and abandoned you.

Fucked you and dumped you. Told you you were beautiful, fucked you in a train station, and left you dripping cum in a bathroom, alone, terrified of getting pregnant and diseased, with no money, no friends, and nowhere to go. Men called you a fat whore so you’d feel like shit, like you didn’t deserve anything better than their pathetic ass—and you believed them and took the pathetic scraps they were offering, and then you’d feel even worse afterward and try to eat and drink your way to feeling okay again.

Men were walking, talking dicks: pieces of meat to be used and discarded. They weren’t for liking, or wanting, or needing. You didn’t get attached. You didn’t see their qualities, only their flaws and faults. You sucked their bank accounts as dry as you did their dick, and felt zero remorse—not because you didn’t have your own money, or because you were a sugar-baby, but because it was easier and simpler and better to use them like a coldhearted succubus than to pretend you were capable of something so human as an emotional connection.

Because you weren’t.

The ability to form emotional connections with men had been seared, scarred, and taken from me a long, long time ago.

So no—I wasn’t about to kiss Ramsey Badd. Because he stank of danger. He gave every indication that he was the kind of man who wouldn’t even realize he was using you, and wouldn’t think twice about walking away after he was done—and would leave you half-in-love and imagining a forever after a single fuck.

Nope, nope, nope. Not doing it. Not going there, not with anyone, but certainly not with him.

I stomped across the bridge, knowing full well I nearly gave away my emotional reaction to him nearly kissing me. But once across the bridge, the forest soon closed in again and swallowed the trail. I remembered all too well how suddenly we’d come across the bear, so I forced myself to slow down, letting Ram catch up—I had zero interest in running into a bear with Ramsey fifty feet away.

I kept him a few paces behind, though, because I was still feeling off-kilter and pissy, and if he tried to strike up his usual flirty banter, I’d either snap at him unfairly, or do something even dumber, like maul him.

Gah, my stupid libido was revving at the redline. Him and his stupid mouth, his stupid tongue, stupid lips. Even stupider beard, scratchy and silky at the same time as his face nuzzled between my thighs, licking me to an orgasm that had left me weak in the knees in a way I’d not felt in a very long time.

I did remember that part of our hospital room tryst with crystal clarity: using just his mouth, he’d made me come so hard I literally saw stars behind my closed eyelids. And listen, I’m never exactly quiet when I orgasm, but I don’t typically scream like a horror movie heroine the way Ramsey made me. That’s new, and unusual. And that’s just his mouth. No fingers, no cock, no toys.

Argh. I’m so conflicted. I honestly feel a little desperate to fuck him, just so I can experience at least once how he can make me feel, what he can do to me with plenty of time and privacy at his disposal. But, on the other hand, I’m scared to go there with him because I do feel these tiny fragile little threads of connection to him on an emotional level, and if I were to have sex with him I’m worried those threads would grow and strengthen, and then he’d prove true to his character and abandon me like every man always has—and, in my mind, always will.

Yeah, yeah, yeah—Rome hasn’t abandoned Kitty, nor has Rem abandoned Juneau. And none of their cousins—not one of the eight of them—has abandoned their respective significant others. So, I guess I’m fully aware that the data in this case is somewhat stacked against me.

But try telling that to my heart.

It won’t believe you. The numbers, the data—that means nothing to my heart.

“Izzy.” Ram trotted to catch up to me. “Yo, Izzy, hold up.”

I slowed my steps a bit, glancing at him. “Yeah?”

“What’s the rush?”

I shrugged. “No rush.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well, you’re really pushing the pace, babe. We have all the time in the world.”

I focused on slowing my pace, because he was right. No point exhausting myself. I wasn’t going to be able to get away from him, obviously. I needed him, because I had no clue what I was doing out here, and he did. I’d chosen to accompany him on this stupid hike, for reasons I’m not entirely clear on. Proving something to him? But why should I care? Proving something to myself? I’ve never cared about being outdoorsy, so why start caring now? There’s no good reason to be out here with him, on a three-day hike in the Alaskan wilderness. Sure, this is a well-maintained public trail, fairly well-trafficked, not far from civilization. It’s not like we were way out in the trackless wilderness of the deep bush. But still—this was more wilderness than I’d ever experienced.

Up until now, my idea of wilderness was being out of range of Wi-Fi without my no-sugar-added vanilla, almond milk, quad-shot lattes.

“You know, Izz, I’m noticing a trend, here.”

I glanced at him, faking boredom. “A trend, hmm?”

“Yup.” He reached back, snagged his canteen, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, replaced the cap, and secured it once more. “Whenever things get too real or personal between you and me, you start literally, physically, trying to run away from me.”

“Do not.”

He continued as if I hadn’t denied it. “And then you blame me for being annoying which, I’ll grant you, is probably partly accurate, because you’re fun to annoy. But there’s more to it, I think.”

I wanted to deny it again, but if I denied it too hard, it’d be a case of “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” and he’d see right through that. So, instead, I took a different tactic.

“Why is it fun to annoy me?”

He grinned, rolling a shoulder. “Because your reactions are always so predictably entertaining.”

I glared at him. “I am not predictable.”

He just laughed. “Oh yes, you are.”

I made a face of disbelief. “I am not. Kitty and Juneau were just telling me how unpredictable I am.”

He took his hat off, scrubbed his hand through his hair, and replaced the hat. “I’ll bet you I can make you smack me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, not anymore. You’ve told me the reaction you want, and now I won’t do it.”

He snorted. “You wish. I am absolutely certain I can get you to smack me.”

“Like, a full-on across the face slap?”

“Sure. That, or just an annoyed whack to the chest or arm.” He winked at me. “The trick is, I’m not gonna do it now. It’s gonna be when you’re not expecting it. My point is, I’m getting to know how you’ll react to certain things.”

I huffed and shook my head. “Yeah, right. You wish.”

He bumped me with a shoulder. “You don’t believe me?”

“Nope.”

“Make a bet of it?”

I stuck out my hand. “I’ll take that bet.”

He eyed me sidelong as he shook my hand. “So…what are the stakes? I’ll even let you choose.”

“That’s risky business, letting me pick the stakes.”

We rounded a corner and reached the bottom of the steepest hill yet, and I watched how he leaned forward and took long, deep strides, pushing hard on his back leg to propel himself up the hill, and I mimicked that.

“No money,” he said. “The stakes can be anything except monetary exchange, because that’s boring.”

I nodded. “I wasn’t going to make it money anyway.” I laughed as a ridiculous idea popped into my head. “Okay, I’ve got it.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Uh-oh. You’re laughing. Not a good sign.”

I pointed at him. “Right! Because you have no idea what I’m about to say! Because I’m UNPREDICTABLE!”

He snorted. “I wasn’t saying you’re predictable as a person, or in the things you do and say—just predictable when it comes to getting you to react to something that will annoy you.”

“I still call bullshit on that,” I said. “Therefore, the terms of our bet are these: You claim you can do something to make me involuntarily smack you, and I say you cannot. If you succeed in getting me to involuntarily smack you, I’ll walk one mile with my tits hanging out. But, if you don’t succeed, you have to walk a mile with your dick hanging out.”

He guffawed, halting to bend over laughing, smacking his knee. “Oh man, oh man! Seriously, Izz?” He wiped at his eyes. “You’re serious? Those are your terms?”

I nodded. “Yep. You win, I walk a mile with my tits out. I win, you walk a mile with your johnson swinging.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “You realize this is a well-trafficked public trail, right? Just because we haven’t encountered anyone yet doesn’t mean we won’t—it’s basically guaranteed we’ll see either other hikers or mountain bikers or both at some point.”

I nodded. “I know. And the rule is no covering.”

“You’re crazy!” he said. “Legit nuts.”

I smirked. “I’m confident I’ll win.”

“And so am I.” He held up a finger. “Hold on, though. We have to narrow the criteria: when I say you’ll smack me, I mean any kind of involuntary strike anywhere to my body.”

“I’ll agree to that,” I said. “But I’m going to rule out any kind of jump-scares.”

He stuck out his hand and we shook again. “Agreed,” he said. “I wasn’t going to jump-scare you anyway.” He scratched his jaw. “Do you jump-scare easily?”

“Nope,” I said, a little too fast. And then I jabbed a finger in his face. “And we just agreed no jump-scares.”

“No, we agreed jump-scares don’t count toward the bet. Not that I wouldn’t jump-scare you at all.”

I glared at him. “You better not, Ramsey. I’m serious. The last person to jump-scare me got a broken nose—so do it at your own risk. But be warned: it won’t be cute or funny or sexy. I’ll deck the shit out of you.”

“Duly noted,” he said wryly.

And so we hiked in silence for a long while. The first hour, I was on high alert, anticipating something in every movement he made. Gradually, I relaxed. Which, I was fully aware, was part of his plan. Once I’d stopped startling at every movement, I focused on trying to figure what it was he thought would make me smack him. God knows he could be annoying enough that just about anything he did was capable of eliciting some kind of a reaction from me. But enough to annoy me that I’d whack him? I couldn’t think of anything that would fit in that category.

Another hour passed, and by this time I was sweating profusely. We’d gone up and down several hills of varying sizes, and the weight of the pack was beginning to drag on me. I wasn’t quite gasping for breath, but I was breathing hard and I knew I had rather unattractive pit stains happening. I kept adjusting my pack, hoping a different tightness or looseness of the straps would make it more comfortable. My core hurt from keeping it balanced—and by core, I mean my actual core muscles, not my…other core. My thighs ached. My calves ached. My shoulders were screaming. My back was in knots.

I was hungry again.

But, god…was it beautiful out here. The sky was clear blue, with only a few wisps and shreds of white cloud here and there; the sun was bright and warm. Birds flitted overhead, chirping and singing. The trees sighed in a constant breeze, the sunlight shining through them to dapple the ground with shade and light. Every once in a while, the forest would clear or we’d ascend a hill, and I’d get a glimpse of a mountain in the distance—and since we were constantly but gradually ascending, I realized the mountain top was getting closer and closer with every mile we hiked.

We reached a break in the trees where the creek cut close to the trail. I leaned against a tree and shot Ram a look. “I need a quick break.”

He nodded without comment, shucking his pack and helping me off with mine.

“Thanks,” I said automatically, as he set my pack on the ground near his.

Only, he didn’t move away. He stayed right there next to me, not quite behind me. Just…looking at me.

I arched an eyebrow at him, laughing uncomfortably. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged; I was leaning with my back against a tree, and he was leaning his shoulder against the same tree. “Just…visualizing.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Oh boy. Visualizing what, dare I ask?”

“You.” His voice was low, a quiet rumbling murmur.

“Me, huh?” I cupped my breasts. “Imagining what I’ll look like if I was to lose our little bet?” I laughed. “Keep imagining, in that case, because buddy, that’s all you’re gonna get.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I was visualizing. I’m perfectly content to let that be a pleasant surprise.” He leaned closer, and I stiffened; he was so close I could feel his breath on my ear, feel his voice as much as hear it. “And honestly, visualizing may not be the right word.”

“Fantasizing?” I suggested.

“Nope.” He paused for effect. “Remembering.”

I caught my breath, hating how immediately I was affected by what I knew he was insinuating. I clamped down on the reaction, but it was intense and immediate and visceral—my thighs clenched, my gut tightened, my eyes widened, my nostrils flared, and I felt the dampness of desire flooding through me.

“I hope your memory is good, because that’s not happening again.”

He nipped at my earlobe, and I tensed even more. “No?”

“Nope. Onetime only performance.”

He inched closer, and his body pressed against mine, his chest and belt buckle pressing against my arm and my hip…and something else, maybe. Something harder, thicker, longer.

“So, you’ve never thought about a repeat?”

“Nope. Not interested.”

“You’re telling me,” he whispered in my ear, “that there’s no part of you interested in slipping that warm, soft, strong little hand of yours in my jeans? You’re not at all interested in wrapping your hand around my cock? Just thinking about it, I’m getting hard. You remember, don’t you? Pushing me into that room, shoving me down into the chair, and dropping to your knees? I know you remember. You ripped my jeans open so fast I didn’t know what was happening.” His voice dropped, and I strained to hear. “You stroked me twice and then you were going to town. Or rather…going down. Your mouth was so hot, so wet, so tight.”

“Shut up,” I hissed. “One time. One.”

“Yet I haven’t forgotten it.” He pressed his hips against my thigh, and I definitely felt him, now. Not quite all the way hard, but growing. “You remember?”

“Nope. Forgot about it completely.”

He laughed. “Liar. I bet you’ve thought about it.”

“Nope.”

“I bet you considered putting those lips of yours around my cock at least once since we’ve been hiking. Probably after I got done eating your sweet little pussy until you screamed.”

“Have not,” I breathed.

He laughed again, a quick sarcastic bark. “Lies,” he whispered. “You’re full of shit.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.” He writhed against me. “You’re thinking about it right now. You’re thinking about my cock. You can feel it, can’t you? I’m getting hard. In a few more seconds, I’ll be so hard I might pop out the top of my jeans.”

“Good for you,” I snapped, determinedly not looking at him or his jeans or his fly or the assuredly giant ridge behind it.

“You wanna know a secret?” he whispered.

“Nope.”

“These jeans are a little too big. The belt is necessary, because without it, they’re easy to just yank off without even unbuttoning. One little tug is all it’d take.”

“Well then, get to tugging, if that’s what you’re into. I’m not touching you.”

“Oooh, so stubborn.”

My temper flared.

Who the fuck did he think he was, calling me stubborn?

I glared at him then, giving him the evil eye. “You’re a dick.”

“Nah—you’d be sucking me if I was a dick.”

Oh, fuck, no.

I felt my arm moving—my temper was in control by that point, and I was powerless against it. Fuck him. I felt my hand crack across his cheek with a loud slap that echoed in the forest.

He just grinned at me, rubbing his cheek. “Gotcha.”

I made a sound that was somewhere between a scream of rage and an animal snarl—and before I could stop myself, I smacked him again. He let it happen, the bastard. He saw my hand coming, and just let me slap him again.

“Does that mean I get two miles?” he asked.

“You are such an asshole,” I snapped.

He grinned even more broadly. “Yep. But I won.”

I narrowed my eyes. “All of that…the whole…” I waved a hand vaguely, “cock-sucking stuff…all that was just to get a rise out of me?”

“Not just—I knew it’d work, especially if I managed to work a nice insult in there somewhere…” His grin shifted to a lascivious smirk, hooded eyes, smoldering promise and lust. “It was nothing but the raw truth.”

“Which part?” I asked.

“All of it.” He shrugged. “Except the part where I said you’d be sucking me if I was a dick—that was a joke, meant to get a rise out of you.”

“A joke?”

“Yep.”

“Because it kind of sounded to me like you were insinuating I’d suck any dick that came my way.”

He moved to stand in front of me. “I know it did—that was the point. It got you pissed off enough to slap me.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I didn’t think this through, huh? Now you’re actually pissed.”

“Um, yeah.”

“It was a joke. Meant to win the bet, that’s all.”

I glared at him, giving him the evil eye so hard it was a wonder he didn’t burst into flames. “Well, congratulations, Ram, you won. And fuck you.” I shoved my fist, middle finger raised, right into his face. “Was it worth it?”

I stormed away angrily, fuming inside.

A joke?

He makes a comment like that, and it’s a fucking joke? What the hell was his problem? Did he really think I’d find that amusing? Like, oh, hahaha, you won, let me take off my top now that you’ve basically called me a cum-slut.

I heard him behind me, following at a safe distance.

I was still walking—or rather angrily stomping—fifteen minutes later when I realized I’d stormed off without my pack. I stopped abruptly and turned around, only to see Ram carrying my pack along with his own.

He arched an eyebrow and smirked. “Just realized you forgot something?”

I snatched it from him, swinging it onto my back and securing it. “Shut up.”

“Izz, it was a joke—a bad joke. I’m sorry.”

“You’re just such a fucking dick, Ramsey! I mean, yeah, of course I’m gonna smack you if you say some shit like that! Who wouldn’t?”

He moved closer. “You know, I don’t think you actually find that comment as insulting as you’re pretending.”

I blinked at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I think there’s another reason you’re pissed.”

“And what would that be, since you know so much about my emotions, oh infallible master of my feelings?”

He sidled closer yet, and once more he was in my personal space, staring down at me with those big deep bright blue eyes. “I think you’re pissed because I got a reaction out of you. You were on the lookout for me doing something, and I got you riled up anyway.” His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, and I physically flinched away at the unexpectedly tender touch. “I think you’re also pissed because I was turning you on, and you hate that I can turn you on so easily.”

“Not true,” I breathed.

He just kept his eyes on me. “True,” he countered. “You were turned on, hating that I could turn you on, and then I came out with that boneheaded comment. I mean, it worked, and I knew it’d work. I guess I just didn’t realize how well it would work.”

“Congratulations,” I said dryly, “you know how to piss off a woman.”

He laughed. “Oh, I’m really good at that. It’s basically my specialty.” He smirked, and then, in a move so unexpected and sudden, he touched his lips to mine, so fast and so light I didn’t know what happened and then it was over, leaving my lips tingling and my mind blank. “You’re just especially easy to piss off. The problem for me is, you’re sexy when you’re pissed. So I’m like a cat around you—drawn to pissing you off even though I know it’s a dumb idea. I just can’t help it.”

“I’m not sexy when I’m pissed,” I huffed.

“Are too.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I am not!”

“How do you know? You ever see yourself when you’re pissed?”

“No, it’s just fucking dumb! What about me being angry makes me sexy?”

“See? You’re getting pissed and it’s hot.” He smirked, shrugging. “Everything about it is sexy. Your cheeks get all pink and rosy, and you get this wild energy like oh shit, what the hell is she going to do now? Plus, you tend to stomp around a lot when you’re pissed and, baby girl, you get some serious bounce going on when you do that. Coming and going, you pissed is a fine sight. The trick is getting you to cool off again.”

I glared. “I don’t cool off easily. Once I’m pissed, I tend to harbor it for a while. So, you know, good fucking luck.”

He laughed. “You drop more F-bombs than any chick I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“Blame my dad. He dropped F-bombs left and right. My folks rarely fought, but when they did, it was invariably about my dad cursing.” I heard the words come out of my mouth, but I absolutely could not believe I’d just said that.

I’d spoken more about my father to Ramsey in the last several hours than I had to anyone at all in the last ten years.

Ram just nodded. “I see.” He winked. “I happen to find it hot.”

I sighed. “Is there anything about me you don’t find hot?”

He pretended to think. “Nope, not that I’ve noticed.”

I wanted to keep being pissed, because it was a great defense against my other emotions, but that comment sapped the anger out of me. “Well, that makes you pathetic, then,” I said, falling back on snark as my first line of defense. “Because I think I’ve been kind of a world-class bitch to you.”

He laughed. “Yeah, kind of.”

“Nice.” I laughed. “Let me guess—you think it’s hot?”

“Nope. But the fact that you’re being a bitch in an effort to pretend you don’t like me and that you’re not attracted to me…that’s hot.”

“I’m not pretending,” I snapped. “And it’s not a game—I’m not playing hard to get.”

“You know, I tend to spend more time outside, on my own, than around people, and I think that’s made my bullshit detector super sensitive.”

“It’s not—”

“You said a few hours ago that you don’t hate me,” he interrupted.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I like you.”

“You don’t want to,” he said. “So of course you’re not going to admit to it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Yep.” He tapped me on the nose. “And you love it.”

And with that, he pushed past me, ending any reply I might’ve made, because I refused to shout my comeback to his absurdly broad shoulders as they retreated.

I stomped a foot and growled in irritation—which only made him laugh. Which just pissed me off all the more.

“I take it back!” I shouted after him. “I do hate you!”

He turned around to look at me. “Can you do the foot stomp again? Your tits bounce when you do that.”

I almost did just that out of sheer anger, but just managed to restrain myself.

I followed him, after a minute—I had to calm myself down first. It took about forty-five minutes for my temper to cool off, which meant I spent forty-five minutes mentally berating him, coming up with belated comebacks that I wish I’d said, plausible arguments for how not attracted to him I was, plausible reasons as to why I truly didn’t like him.

But then, once all that faded and I mentally returned to just enjoying the hike—despite my mounting exhaustion and bone-deep soreness—I started to see the humor in the whole situation.

He’d been one hundred percent right—he knew exactly which buttons to push, and how I’d react. He’d played me like a goddamn violin, and I’d responded precisely as he’d expected.

The bastard.

The smug, smug bastard.

Where the hell did he get off seeing me so clearly? How did he know my buttons so well? How could he play me like that?

I felt stupid for playing into his plan, but at the same time, it was kind of funny.

The longer I thought about it, the funnier it got.

I mean, if I hadn’t been turned on and fighting it, and then pissy about being turned on and fighting it, his comment about me sucking him if he was a dick would’ve been funny. I wouldn’t have been insulted by it in the slightest. If Kitty or June had said it, I’d have laughed and high-fived them. And probably agreed that, yes, if Ram was a dick, I’d suck him.

I couldn’t help a snicker of laughter as the hilarity built inside me. Eventually, I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I had to stop to laugh.

Ram paused, glanced back, frowning, and then came to stand nearby, leaning against a tree, eyeing me. “What’s so funny?”

I choked down a snort of laughter. “The whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

“The bet, and you winning it. How you won it.” I breathed slowly and deeply to calm myself. “Oh man, oh man. I spent the last forty-five minutes raging inside, but now, suddenly, it’s just funny. I mean, you really did play me like Joshua Bell plays a violin.”

“Who?”

I shook my head. “Josh Bell? Violin prodigy? No? My mom was into classical music, and I still listen to it sometimes.” I waved a hand to dismiss the subject. “Point is, you played me. Well done. You won.”

He pushed away from the tree. “Yeah, well, I absolve you of the terms of the bet. I won unfairly.”

“Ram.” He stopped and turned, and I met his eyes. “You won fair and square.”

He shook his head. “I was a dick.”

“Yeah, you were. That was an asshole thing to say to me. But you were right in that, normally, I’d have found that funny rather than insulting. You claimed you could get me to smack you, and you did.”

“Izz, I said I absolve you—”

“Very chivalrous of you,” I said. “But I don’t accept your absolution.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

I sucked in a deep breath and held it—looked around to make sure the trail was empty, even though I knew I was going to go through with this regardless. With Ram’s eyes hard on mine, carefully watching my every move, I hooked my fingers into the neck of my T-shirt and the cups of my bra and yanked them both down to bare my breasts. Only, instead of just flashing and shaking them a little, I tucked the shirt and cups down underneath my tits. My heart thudded, adrenaline coursing through me.

Of all the inappropriate shit I’ve done in my life, public nudity wasn’t up there for me. I’ve fucked a lot of guys, but I never went on spring break, and so never got the opportunity to drunkenly flash my tits at anyone.

Right now I was stone-cold sober, and had my tits out in public. Holy shit.

Ram was staring. Unabashedly, openly ogling my breasts.

I wiggled them at him. “Get a good look?”

“No, I think I need a closer one.” He took a step toward me.

I held out my hand to stop him. “Whoa, hold on. This isn’t an invitation to touch.”

He just laughed. “Fine. Be that way.”

“I will. I’m honoring my end of the bet.” I pointed at the watch on his wrist. “I expect you to be honorable and tell me when it’s been one mile.”

He glanced at his watch, and then nodded at me. “One mile, starting now.”

I started walking.

HOLY SHIT.

I’ve never appreciated a sports bra as much as I did, then. Every step sent the girls bouncing, flopping, and jiggling so hard that during a jagged little downward curve I ended up having to hold them in place simply to stop the pain.

Ram kept pace with me, of course, and essentially never stopped staring.

“Is it a mile yet?” I asked, after about fifteen minutes.

He laughed. “Nope. Half.”

“Shit.” I couldn’t help a laugh, then. “This hurts.”

“Your pride, or literally?”

“Literally.” I glanced pointedly at him. “If anyone’s pride should be dinged, it’s yours. You’re the one with zero control over his eyes. It’s like you’ve never seen tits before.”

“None as perfect as yours,” he said. “Besides, you yourself have said any number of times there’s no guarantee of anything happening between us, so I’m just soaking it in.”

I snorted. “I see.” I eyed him. “Again, you used that word—perfect.”

He shrugged. “I use the words that seem to fit.” He indicated my breasts, which were bouncing as we slogged up a long, shallow hill. “Those are perfect.” He leaned backward to look at my butt. “That? Perfect, too.”

“You’re an idiot. They’re just butt and boobs, Ram. Seen one, seen ’em all.”

He shrugged again. “True. But seeing actual perfection is rare.”

We kept walking, then. For how long? Another fifteen minutes? Half an hour? I was focused on my feet, picking my path up another hill, and so I didn’t hear them until they were right on top of me: cyclists, or mountain bikers, or whatever they’re called, coming up behind us.

“Passing on your left!” one of them called, as they approached from behind.

I didn’t have time to cover up, which I’d have done regardless of my own rule. But they were zipping past us in a blur, two young, buff, hot college guys in expensive helmets and riding expensive bikes, with expensive backpacks and expensive sunglasses. The second rider to pass twisted to glance back at us, out of curiosity or habit, or whatever; he saw me with my pale, freckled, DD breasts casually plopped out over my shirt.

He rode off the trail, crashed into a downed tree, and flipped straight over the handlebars and into the bracken.

I covered myself with my hands. “Shit!”

Ram was laughing hysterically as he hopped over the downed tree to help the poor guy up—he seemed more shaken than hurt, and more worried about his bike than himself. He thanked Ram as he climbed over the tree and righted his bicycle, bringing it back onto the trail and checking it over.

“I’m really sorry about that,” I said, still clutching myself with both hands.

The rider just eyed me. “I mean, if I’m gonna wipe out, that’s a great fuckin’ way to go.”

His friend was stopped a few feet away, standing with his bike between his legs, twisted to watch the whole thing. “Dude, Jake, let’s go. Quit ogling the hot topless chick and get your ass back on the fuckin’ bike. She’s out of your league, son!”

Jake, the cyclist who’d crashed, flipped his friend off with both hands. “Fuck off, Hank.” He winked at me. “Can I get another look before I go?”

I glanced at Ram, who just shrugged, arms crossed over his massive chest.

“Sure,” I said. “But it’s gonna be fast. Ready? One…two…three.” On three, I dropped my hands for a split second, and then replaced them. “There you go. Just to make up for causing you to crash. Now shoo. Go ride your bicycle, sonny.”

He laughed. “Best crash ever, man.” He reached out a fist to Ram. “You’re a lucky motherfucker, bro.” With that, he stood with one foot on a pedal, swinging on and propelling himself into movement in a single, practiced motion, clicking his other foot into the pedal as he sped away up the hill.

When they were gone again, I let my hands drop, and burst into laughter. “Oh my god. I can’t believe that just happened.”

Ram was grinning. “I mean, it’s not that hard to believe.”

“No?” I asked.

Ram shrugged. “I mean, not really. Men are pretty easily hypnotized by tits, you know. Even totally average tits will make us zone out. A big ol’ pair of perfect knockers like yours? I’m pretty sure you could turn a gay guy straight with those. A straight guy? We’re helpless.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes even as I blushed and suppressed an embarrassingly breathy giggle of flattered glee. “You’re so dumb, Ram. Seriously. They’re literally just breasts.”

“They’re literally just the most amazing breasts I’ve ever seen.” He grinned. “And babe, I’ve seen more than my fair share. Trust me on that.”

“Aaaand then you ruin it with that comment.”

“What? It’s just the truth.” He gestured at my chest. “And those are easily the most attractive pair I’ve ever seen. It’s a compliment.”

“Wrapped in chauvinistic braggadocio.” I reached out, grabbed his wrist, and looked at his watch. “Has it been a mile yet?”

That was a miscalculation—grabbing his wrist like that put me within touching distance. He stared down at me, at my hand on his thick wrist. His eyebrow arched, and a smirk crossed his face.

I lifted my chin. “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t I dare what?” he asked.

“Do what I think you’re about to do.”

He leaned closer, so his forehead brushed mine, his lips ghosting teasingly over mine. “What is it you think I’m going to do?”

If I said it, I’d sound ridiculous. Pathetic. Like I had something to worry about, like I was scared of him.

He pulled back, that stupid sexy mysterious irritating smirk on his face. He bent, slowly, so there was no missing his intention. Both of his big hard hands cupped my breasts and lifted them—I gasped, a sharp, aroused inhalation. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. I meant to tell him to stop, to not touch me, but I couldn’t.

His lips closed over my nipple, the left one, suckling gently, and then his tongue fluttered over it and circled it, and I felt my nipples hardening to diamond points of aching arousal. He shifted to the other breast and paid the same homage to it, sucking the thick, pink aching nipple into his mouth, kissing, nuzzling, licking.

And then he backed away, straightening and grabbing the straps of his pack as if to prevent himself from going any further.

Which, at that particular moment, I may not have minded.

He sucked in a deep breath, and then reached out, tugged my bra and shirt back into place, covering me. “It’s been two miles.” He grinned. “My bad.”

“I knew it!” I shouted. “I knew it felt like more than a mile!” I whacked his arm. “You jerk!”

He smirked, shrugged. “I lost track.”

I glared at him. “Bullshit.”

“Like I said—hypnotizing. I swear—I lost track.”

“You have a watch that keeps track for you.”

“Doesn’t do any good if you don’t look at it.”

I stared. “I asked you if it had been a mile! You said no, it’s been half a mile.”

“It was half a mile…then. We walked a ways after that, and I got so distracted by the sight of your boobs that I forgot to keep track of the distance.”

I shook my head. “Dick.”

He just laughed. “Guilty as charged.”

“You sound almost proud of it.”

“Once again, you’re getting pissy because I turned you on, and you hate that I can have that power over you.”

I narrowed my eyes at him in aggravation. “You do not have power over me, toolbag.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

He sighed. “Do I have to prove it?”

“Yeah, you do.” I lifted my chin proudly, defiantly.

Stupidly.

Because I knew, deep down, that he absolutely did have power over me, at least in that respect.

Plus, making him prove it could be fun. Disastrous emotionally, but fun. And I mean, if the worst thing I get out of this business with Ram is an achy, breaky heart? Well…I’ve survived worse. I’d be fine.

“Ohhhh man, you are gonna eat those words, sweet cheeks.” He patted me on the butt as he moved past me and continued up the trail.

“I’m not the one who’s eaten something today,” I muttered.

He just laughed. “No, and damn right.” He licked his lips. “You ready for another go around? I’m getting a little peckish.”

Shit, shit, shit.

Everything kept backfiring.

I waved a hand at the trail. “Just walk, Ramsey,” I snapped. “I’m ready to set up camp, and you promised me fresh fish.”

He chuckled. “After all this hiking we’ve been doing, I’m not sure how fresh your fish is at this point, but I don’t mind. I’ll still eat it till you scream.”

I howled a wordless shriek of annoyance, and whacked him across the chest again as I stormed past him. “YOU ARE SO FUCKING ANNOYING!”

His only answer was another satisfied chuckle.