Ireland

Easton's kiss still tingles on my lips as I step out of the cool, air-conditioned room and into the baking heat of a Las Vegas afternoon. He was right to stop us when he did, but damn if I didn't want him to do exactly what he said he was worried about.

I stand outside taking in the beautiful view until the scent of bacon hits my nose. Bacon? My stomach growls. I didn't eat breakfast before Easton picked me up, and honestly, I was too excited to eat. But now, that smell has my mouth watering.

I head back inside, walking down the hall in search of the kitchen. When I round the corner my heart catches in my throat. Easton stands at the stove, a dishtowel thrown over one shoulder. He looks so damn sexy.

"You cook?" I ask.

When he turns, the grin on his face is boyish and charming. "A few things."

I glance into the pan on the stove. There's the bacon. "What are you making?"

"BLTs. You want one?"

Yes, I definitely do. "Is there avocado?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "I'm a civilized person. Of course there is."

I hop up onto the counter and watch him assemble the sandwiches. "Where'd all this food come from? You said the place has been empty."

"I went this morning before I picked you up."

That's surprising. Nick was the stereotypical rocker. He slept late, drank hard, and partied harder. He also broke my heart into a thousand jagged shards. Maybe it's unfair of me to judge Easton because he's a musician, but part of me can't help the fear of history repeating itself.

"So, where'd you learn to cook?"

He glances away and sighs. "Didn't have a lot of supervision when I was a kid. Mom was gone, Dad was around but not present. Had to learn to feed myself or starve."

"Oh, that's... wow."

"My older brother took care of my sister and me, but he worked a lot and Paisley and I had to figure out how to make more than cereal." My heart melts thinking of him as a little kid.

"I'm sure it must have been hard for you."

"We struggled. I'm not going to lie. When Pais got married, I was relieved she had someone to take care of her."

"So she's happy now?"

Easton's expression goes dark. "Her husband died a few weeks before their first baby was born. Drunk driver."

My gut twists. How terrible. He slides a plate across the counter toward me and I eye him. "Is that why you don't really drink?"

He nods. "It's part of the reason."

"And the other part?"

Hand gripping the back of his neck, he lets out a long breath before he makes eye contact with me. "My dad was an alcoholic. Mom couldn't deal. So, instead of taking us with her, she ran off and left my brother, sister, and me with him. A few years later, he drank himself to death. "

I try not to let pity be my obvious expression. He wouldn't want that. Instead, I take a bite of my BLT and moan, a pathetic attempt to change the subject. "This is so good," I say around a mouthful of food.

A smile turns up the corners of his mouth, not quite reaching his eyes. "It's been my favorite since I was a kid. Minus the lettuce and tomato, I learned to appreciate the veggies after high school."

"A bacon sandwich. Smart kid."

He laughs and nods. "Sometimes. I got myself into a lot of trouble thinking I was smart."

"Kids," I say, chuckling under my breath.

After taking a bite, he joins me on the counter. "So, is that in the future for you? Kids, husband, white picket fence?"

My gut clenches. "I, uh, I mean..." How do I broach this subject without bringing all my drama into it? "It's something I thought I wanted, but I don't anymore."

"Not at all?"

I stare at the clock on the wall in front of us, not willing to let him see my eyes. "No. When I think of puffy white wedding gowns and flower girls, it makes me break out in hives."

He bumps me with his shoulder. "Maybe you haven't met the right guy."

"I thought I had. But I was wrong."

His fingers graze my hand, pulling my attention from the clock to his dark gaze. "Who hurt you?"

I shake my head and move to leave. "It's no big deal."

"It is. Whoever that douchebag was, I'm not him. I know how to take care of a woman's heart."

"Doubtful," I say, hopping down and grabbing my plate. I place it in the sink and toss him a long look. "It's been my experience that guys like you only care about one thing."

"And what's that?"

"Your music."

He's undeterred, getting to his feet and following me. "Did you hear a single word I said earlier? All this..." —he gestures around us— "it's nice. It's a perk. But if I had to give it all up to be happy, to make you happy, I would."

God, I want to believe him. I take a deep breath. I need to change the tone between us right now. "Okay, tell you what, let's stop with the serious talk and do something fun."

A grin spreads across his lips. "Like what?"

"I passed a home theater on the way down the hall. Want to watch a movie?"

Five minutes later we're settled in, the opening credits of The Princess Bride are playing, and I'm trying not to watch him watch the movie.

"I can't believe you've never seen this," I say, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over my legs.

"I'm sure there are movies I've seen that you never have."

"Maybe, but this is a classic."

"It's a chick flick."

I scoff. "This is not a chick flick. This is... it's... that's like saying Star Wars is a kid's movie."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. But the kid in the movie just asked if it was a kissing book, and the couple kissed within the first few minutes of the movie. It looks like a chick flick to me."

"Well, you're in for a surprise. I bet by the time it's over, you'll want to watch it again."

He cocks an eyebrow, watching the romance unfold between Buttercup and Westley. "Doubtful."

"Afraid of a little wager? We're in Vegas, you know. It's kind of what we're known for here."

"Fine. I win, you let me teach you how to play guitar."

I don't tell him I already know how to do that. The thought of him showing me something he loves so much makes my belly flip. "And if I win?"

"You can choose what we do tomorrow."

"Did I not have a choice already?"

He grins. "You did, but I won't argue if you win."

Nodding, I settle in and snuggle under my blanket. Easton puts one arm over the back of the loveseat and pulls part of the soft throw over his legs too. His hand plays with my hair, making heat rush over my body but he never tries anything else.

We sit together, thighs touching, both working to pay attention to the movie rather than each other. He teases me for mouthing the words to my favorite lines. I swoon over the hero. When the end comes, he turns to me and cups my face in one big palm.

"Did you like it?" I ask.

"I did."

He leans a little closer and I can't tear my gaze away from his full, inviting lips. "So... I win?"

"It looks like you do."

"And we can do anything I want?"

His eyes burn into mine. "Anything."

My breaths come fast and short as I try to rein in the desire running rampant through me. Maybe I should cash in my winnings now. I know what I want. Him. I close the distance between us, taking his mouth and reveling in the feel of him. His tongue dances with mine as he cups the back of my head and leans over me until I have no choice but to lie back. He fits his hips between my legs as I run my fingers under the fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of his body.

"Ireland," he whispers. "I want you so bad. Fuck, you're all I think about."

I want him too. Since the first time I saw him at the bar. But now I want more than one time with him. The problem is, I know this is temporary. He's leaving, I'm staying.

I kiss his neck, my teeth grazing the lobe of his ear and pulling a groan from him. Then I whisper, "Me too."

Running my hands down his chest and abs, I reach his belt buckle and work the leather until the clasp is opened. His hands are everywhere, in my hair, on my breasts, gripping my hips as he rolls his against my thighs. I open his fly and slide my fingers inside his pants, my fingertips brushing the head of his erection.

He hisses and his hips buck. "Jesus, baby, I want your hands on me."

"That's what I'm trying to do." Then I grip his steel length and stroke. Oh, he's long and thick and I want every inch of him.

His deep groans spur me on as he continues to kiss me and now all I can think about is making him come. I want to know what he sounds like when he moans my name as he climaxes.

"Fuck, you feel so good." His voice is rough with need as his hand slides down my belly and under the waistband of my leggings. Yes, yes, yes. That's where I want him. The moment his fingers brush my clit I squirm under him and cry out. "There it is," he rumbles against my ear. "That's the noise I've been wanting to hear."

He sinks a finger deep inside me and I meet him with a rough stroke along his cock. We're writhing together, tasting each other's lips, sharing pleasure. I could do this all night. His thumb brushes my clit and he adds a second finger inside me. I answer by rolling my thumb over his crown and spreading the bead of moisture across his tip.

"I want you to come, baby," he says on a groan.

"I'm close." I have to force the words because I'm closer than I thought. The sparks are there, all culminating into an explosion. I'm hovering on the edge of release when he groans my name and circles my clit once more.

He pulses in my hand, hot jets of his pleasure hitting my belly and the guttural sound that rises from his chest makes my own climax roll through me. I cry his name, coming on his fingers as my toes curl from the pleasure.

Foreheads pressed together, we stay there, breathing heavily, staring at each other. I feel like a teenager making out with my boyfriend. I haven't done this kind of heavy petting in years.

"We should watch that movie every night," he says, and I can't help but laugh.

"Yeah, we should."