Bonding over a guy in a white jumpsuit is not what I expected on the drive home with Maggie.

But come on, we’re talking Elvis here—the King of Rock and Roll. Who wore suits.

My thing. Her thing.

After getting in the car under Mitch’s watchful eye, talking about the past or the mind-blowing sex we’d just had didn’t seem top of my list. Nothing good was going to come out of that conversation; I could tell by the way she tensed when I suggested we talk. I will leave that open for her to address on her own terms. So instead I’d turned the radio on, and as soon as I did, Maggie immediately changed the station.

Just as I went to turn it back—I mean the Talking Heads were playing—“Jailhouse Rock” filled the inside of my Porsche.

And because it was Elvis, I didn’t change it. She started to sing along to the lyrics and so did I, and when I glanced over at her, and she said, “What?” the conversation gates opened to all things Elvis.

Who would have thought we’d both be dog lovers and Elvis fans?

Shit, I sound like a fucking girl.

“Have you ever gone to Graceland, Keen?” Maggie asks, putting her window down.

The evening is cool, but nothing like February in New York, so instead of putting her window up, I follow suit and put mine down too. “No, I haven’t, but I think it would be cool. Who knows? Maybe someday when I find the time, I’ll go.”

The breeze blows the wisps of her hair that have fallen down from her quick pin-up. “I haven’t been there either, but I heard there is one whole room dedicated to just his suits. Can’t you just imagine seeing the suit he wore in Jailhouse Rock or the jumpsuit from the seventies with the wide legs?…”

Like the sex appeal Maggie carries, she also has an enthusiasm about her that makes it hard not to get sucked into the whirlwind, even for a no-nonsense kind of guy like me. And yes, although I’d never have believed it, I somehow find myself discussing Elvis’s clothing choices.

Shit, now I really feel like a thirteen-year-old girl.

When I pull the Porsche onto the street that Cam and Makayla, and Maggie and Brooklyn, live on, I park under the shadows of a palm tree in front of the large house where some mystery writer lives.

This is the part I’ve been dreading—the good-night talk.

“Why are you parking all the way over here?” Maggie asks.

Switching the ignition off, I turn to face her. “I think we should talk, and I didn’t want Makayla or Brooklyn wondering what we were doing, or coming out to check on us.”

Maggie’s body tenses immediately and I can tell her wall is back up. “Right, we should probably have the ‘that shouldn’t happen ever again’ talk. There, now it’s done.” Her voice gets low and trails off, but her eyes don’t cut away.

Instinctively, I reach over and take her chin in my hand. “Maggie—” I can’t get the words to come out. For the first time ever, I’m not certain about what to do. My entire life has been about action. Make a decision, execute the plan, and don’t stop until it’s complete. Everything has been so cut and dry. Even with women. And now I’m stumbling on my words, uncertain of what to say. How to express my feelings.

The car door opens and she hops out so fast, I can’t even grab her.

Wrenching open my door and hitting a dead run, I’m able to take hold of her arm before she passes the hood of the Porsche. “Maggie, that isn’t what I was going to say.”

She shoots me a warning look. “Keen, leave it be, will you?”

Dropping my hold on her, what comes out of my mouth is not what I expect. “No, you got it all wrong.”

Eyes blazing, she glares at me.

Crossing my arms, I lean back against my car and wait for whatever it is she has to say.

Mind you, patience has never been my thing.

She takes a step toward me. “Sorry, was that the wrong talk? Should it be, ‘I don’t want to do this to you again, but—’”

I shake my head no, and she stops. I know those words hurt more than any other. What she doesn’t get is they hurt me too.

“Okay, did you want to go with the ‘That was a mistake, we crossed the line, and we can’t do it again’ talk instead?” She makes a check mark with her finger. “Because that one is done too.”

My eyes greedily take her in. She really is a lot to handle, and for some reason, I find that to be such an incredible turn-on. “No, not that one either,” I say with a smirk.

Apparently Maggie’s sense of humor has gone by the wayside, because she narrows her eyes at me and then points her finger. “Keen Masters, you really are an asshole.”

Just as she pivots on the heels of her fuck-me pumps, I grab her arm again and yank her between my legs. “You can call me that a million times. I don’t care, but if you’d let a guy talk, you would know I was going to say, ‘I want to put my cock in that hot little pussy of yours again.’”

A pink shade seems to coat her face.

“Are you blushing?” I ask.

She tries to shove out of my hold.

I yank her even closer. We are eye-to-eye and I take her face in my hands. “Are you?”

Her lips part, and I swear I can feel her heart beating out of her chest. “No, I don’t blush. It’s just warm out here.”

Laughter spills out of me and I take her mouth for another one of those drugging kisses of hers. Licking around her lips, I murmur, “You’re cute when you blush.”

She bites down on my lip so hard, I rear my head back and bring my fingers to my mouth, and once I look at them, I give her a smile. “I’ll give you that one.”

She raises a brow. “Give me?”

“Yeah, I’ll give you that one, and even refrain from calling you cute ever again, although most women would take that as a compliment.”

Those hands of hers that I want on me go to her hips. “I’m not most women.”

“I know that.” I pat my leg. “Now come back here.”

She shakes her head.

“Please,” I add.

Slowly she steps between my legs. “That was much better.”

“I’m not always an asshole.”

She laughs. “No, just most of the time.”

My hand goes to my heart. “You wound me.”

Licking at the blood on my lip, she whispers, “Not likely, but I am sorry. I didn’t mean to bite that hard.”

I groan. “Do that again.”

“Do what? Bite your lip?”

My fingers creep over her hips to run them under the silk of her top.

She moans, and let me tell you, no woman moans like Maggie does. It’s enough to make a guy come on the spot.

“No, the ‘I’m sorry’ part.”

“Watch it,” she says, hovering her mouth over mine as if it’s a threat.

Fuck, I’m so hard right now and I really don’t want to lose her lips, so I drop it.

Hey, I know when to back down.

My fingers slide around to her back and then down to her ass. In turn, her hands go around my neck, and then we kiss, or a better term for it might be mouth-fuck.

When we stop kissing, we stare at each other.

“So do you forgive me for fucking up what we were just starting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” I tell her.

She stares at me, as if she’s contemplating telling me to fuck off.

That’s when I decide to hell with it all, I’m just going for it. “Fuck, Maggie, I had you, but I want you right fucking now. I want to taste you. I want to lick your sweet pussy until you scream my name. And then I want to watch your face as I make you come. Repeatedly.”

Her fingernails tear into the flesh at the base of my scalp. “That’s quite a list.”

“That’s not all.”

She tugs on my hair. “Tell me more.”

Okay, so it wasn’t “fuck off”; that is good.

“I’m going to lick, bite, and suck your nipples until you feel everything ache. Your pussy will be throbbing. I’m going to make you scream with pleasure. You’ll be begging for more.”

She’s not panting, but I can tell she wants to. “Anything else?”

I raise a brow. “Leave your front door unlocked and your shoes on, and you’ll find out.”

She nips at my lip. “Done and done, but right now I want to hear what else.”

Yeah, I’m a sucker and give in. “I’m going to suck your nipples into hard peaks, and you’re going to scream at how good it feels.”

Now she’s practically panting. “What else?”

I grin. “Oh, there’s so much more. You’re going to suck me off.”

“Am I?”

I nod. “And then I’m going to come all over those gorgeous tits of yours.”

Her nails are digging so hard into my skin, I’m pretty certain I’ll be bleeding from the back of my neck too. “It sounds like you’re trying to mark me,” she says.

Just like that, I feel my body tense.

Is that what I’m trying to do?

Because fuck, if it is, I’d better back the hell away…

And fast.