I do it with no problem, and then he steps into me and my back gets pressed against the counter. “In that case, this is where I bring girls to take a second shot at seducing them.”

I brace my hands against his chest and stare up at him, trying not to faint from the way he’s pressing against me and looking down at me and damn, he smells so good. A smile breaks across my face. “It happens so often that you have a designated place for it?”

His hands linger on my waist. “Actually, I think you’re the first. But I think you deserve to have a spot named after you.”

“Oooooh,” I say, mocking his line. “That was sooo smooooooth, Adam Everest.”

He laughs and pops open my Red Bull, taking a sip of it and handing it back to me. “Still haven’t changed your mind, huh? Could be fun . . .”

“Oh, I’m sure it would be.” My fingers smooth across his shirt, and I’m suddenly not so sure I want to turn him down. He could make me forget. I gaze up at him, realizing that boys like him leave girls broken. He’s not the type of guy a girl has a fling with and gets over. He’s the type of guy who ruins all the rest that come after him. “But no,” I manage to say, knowing it’s the right choice even though I want to slap myself.

“Damn,” he says, backing off. “Break my heart, Peach.” He winks at me and exits the kitchen, and I follow, feeling weak in the knees but not from the alcohol.

We make our way back to the front of the bus, where we climb the stairs onto the second level. The first space is another sitting area with leather seats, but beyond that are closets and then twelve bunks, six on each side. All except three are neat and tidy.

“This is where the guys sleep,” Adam says, gesturing to the bunks before leading me further into the bus and opening a door at the end of the hall. It’s almost entirely occupied by a massive bed with black satin sheets.

“And this is where the magic happens?” I leap onto it and tuck my knees under myself, bouncing up and down from the impact.

“Dangerous, Peach,” Adam says, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re right where I want you.”

I laugh until he takes a step forward, his knees pressing against the edge. I’m suddenly staring up at him. I swallow what’s left of my Red Bull. “How long until the show?”

Adam pulls a phone out of his back pocket and checks the time. “Not long enough.”

I chuckle and roll my eyes. “I don’t want to sleep with you, Adam.”

“Yes, you do,” he says confidently. “But you won’t, for whatever lame reason. Anyway, not wanting to is an entirely different thing.”

Unable to argue, I repeat, “How long?”

“Seven minutes.” I scoot further back onto the bed, and he sits down on the edge, studying me.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

With a cavalier shrug, he says, “I told you, I do what I feel like. Don’t try to figure it out. I don’t.”

“Why didn’t you ditch me for that redhead? I’m sure she would’ve had you up here ten minutes ago.”

He chuckles, and then he reasons, “I wanted to take a chance on you instead.”

I frown and find myself telling him I’m sorry again, but he just smiles at me. It’s a smile that could turn knees to jello and hearts to mush, so when he holds his hand down to me, I don’t hesitate to take it.

“Don’t be,” he says, and then he lifts me to my feet and starts walking from the room. I’m in the doorway when I say, “Adam?”

He turns around.

“I’m not going to sleep with you, I’m not even going to come close, but . . . do you think you could make me forget what’s-his-name for the next seven minutes?”

Adam studies me, and then he fishes his phone out again. “Six minutes,” he corrects before tucking it back into his pocket. “Can you still count backward from ten?”

“Yes.”

“Then start counting.”

I count backward until I’m at five, and he steps in close. At four, his left hand is circling around my waist and pressing against the small of my back. At three, his right hand reaches up and cups my jaw, angling it up. At two, he leans in close, his lips a centimeter from mine. My breath hitches in my throat, and I suddenly can’t speak. He’s pressed flush against me, and I can feel all of him.

His mouth quirks into a smile. “What are you waiting for, Peach?”

“One.”

Chapter Three

WHEN ADAM’S PHONE beeps, he doesn’t stop kissing me. His body is molded against every inch of me, pressing me deep into the black satin comforter. With one of his legs squeezed between mine, his jeans rub against my bare thighs, and it’s like I can feel every single thread. One hand squeezes my skirted hip, and the other holds my neck in place as his lips explore mine. His kiss is agonizingly practiced—forget about what’s-his-name, I can’t even remember my own name.

His phone beeps again, and he groans.

I turn my head to the side, and his lips drop to my neck. Breathless as he licks his way down it, I say, “Shouldn’t you get that?”

His lips travel lower, kissing a trail across my collarbone. I close my eyes and thread my fingers through his soft brown hair. “Adam,” I say, but it’s like he’s refusing to hear me.

“Ignore it, Peach.”