“What?”

“You were doing some deep thinking just now.”

My cheeks just went up in flames.

“Your answer while intriguing was somewhat vague,” I sass, hoping my face isn’t as red as I know it is. “I was just trying to understand.”

“Well . . .” he looks at me.

“Well, what?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh no,” I argue. “You’re answer was vague. It didn’t really answer anything.”

“Can’t keep your end of a bargain,” he teases.

I scowl. “Yes, I can. You just didn’t answer the question.”

“You’re really not going to tell me?” he confirms.

“Do you really want to know?” I laugh.

His gaze flickers and I can feel the heat. “I definitely want to know.”

Damn.

We’re flirting.

Like . . . really flirting.

“I give as good as I get, Mr. Stevens. You give me a real answer, I’ll give you one.”

He turns in his seat, facing me. “Okay, how about we play pool and loser has to answer the question?”

“You know I’ll kick your ass,” I boast. “Just save us both the time and tell me now.”

Connor throws his head back and laughs. It’s . . . beautiful. When his dark eyes meet mine again, they’re filled with happiness, and my heart feels full at the sight of him.

“Okay, Miss Smack-talker. Maybe I’ll make a comeback tonight, huh?”

“Doubtful,” I tease as I slide off the stool.

“We’ll see,” he murmurs as he follows me to the back where the pool tables are.

It’s ten minutes later. Connor is grinning ear to ear. I’m not kidding; he’s grinning so hard my face hurts just looking at him. I haven’t moved at all in two minutes. I’m still standing here like an idiot, holding my pool stick. Connor not only kicked my ass at pool, he annihilated me. I didn’t even get to shoot. Well, I broke, but I didn’t sink one ball.

“Demi?” Lexi calls as she approaches, but I don’t respond. I still can’t speak. “You just got your ass kicked,” she points out. She watched the entire ass-kicking take place—all two minutes of it.

“Just give her a minute, Lex,” Connor advises. “She’s still processing.” The lilt in his voice can’t be missed. He’s loving every minute of this.

Before I can respond, Dusty approaches and pats Connor on the back. “Still hustling I see.”

Connor shoots his gaze to me, still grinning, “She was a worthy adversary.”

I can’t help it. I start giggling, more out of disbelief than humor. He really did hustle me. I can’t believe it. “You let me win last time?”

“Let is not the word I would use,” he says, as he chalks his pool stick.

“Oh really? What word would you use?” I retort.

“Damn,” Dusty grumbles and Connor and I both follow his line of sight. Lexi is standing on the bar, dancing. My brows rise a bit, but not in shock. Lexi dances on bars all the time, but how quickly she got to the bar surprises me. Wasn’t she just standing right here? “Excuse me,” Dusty mumbles as he leaves Connor and me to our dispute and heads toward the bar.

“So . . .” Connor preens, fighting a smile.

“So . . .” I reply.

“I think we made a deal, didn’t we?”

My heart starts thundering in my chest. Why does the idea of telling Connor what I want in bed excite me and terrify me all at once? And how in the hell did we even get on this topic? Oh, I asked . . . that’s right.

I swallow and push some of my hair behind my ear. The heat on my face could probably fry an egg right now. I haven’t moved from the place I’ve been standing. I’m still planted on the spot holding my pool stick like an idiot.

“Okay, well . . .” I begin, nervously.

When he rounds the pool table to get closer, I stumble back. I’m about to share my sexual desires with him while he’s standing close. When he reaches me, he pulls me close and turns us so that my back is to the pool table. I immediately sit on the edge, hoping I look as casual as he does, but something tells me I look like a puppy being scolded. He smiles softly at me and leans down, placing both hands on the edge of the pool table on either side me. When the side of his face touches mine, his cheek to mine, my breath hitches.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispers quietly, his voice gravely. “Because a woman shouldn’t tell a man what her fantasies are unless she wants that man to fulfill them.” He turns his head ever so slightly, so his mouth is against my ear, and I close my eyes, breathing him in, letting his scent travel through me, and relishing his closeness. Why can’t I fight this attraction to him? Whenever he gets close to me, my body starts firing on all cylinders. He draws a reaction out of me, and I can’t seem to fight it; it’s out of my control.

“I’ll tell you, though,” he continues. “I want a lady—a woman that blushes when asked to describe her fantasies. What I want is a woman that sees past the rough exterior and sees me . . . the man I am. I want a woman that trusts me to give her everything she needs; in her life and in bed.”

Then, he backs away slowly, softly dragging his face against mine as he moves, leaving me aching and stunned. He looks off and signals to our server for another round of drinks as if he didn’t just paralyze me with his words. There’s no doubt I’m buzzed, and maybe that’s contributing to all of these . . . feelings I’m feeling. But as I replay his words, one thing occurs to me. He said I shouldn’t tell a man my fantasies unless I want said man to fulfill them. But he told me his fantasies . . . or at least what he wants. Does that mean . . . Connor wants me to make his wants a reality? Or am I reading too much into this? Probably looking too much into this.

Shit.

He finally moves his gaze back to mine and has the sexiest smirk on his face. My body is wracked with nervous excitement, my mind a whirl with his words, but his dark stare captures me. It’s as if he knows what I’m feeling—what I’m thinking—and has the strength and patience to wait it out—to wait for me to tell him.

“I want to feel worshiped,” I blurt out. I’ve surprised him. His mouth falls into a flat line as he steps toward me, his eyes saying, Go on. I look to the floor, unsure of how to explain myself or what words to use without sounding like an idiot. His finger finds my chin, and he lifts my head, so I’m forced to meet his gaze again.

“You deserve to be worshiped,” he tells me, his tone certain.

I lick my lips and breathe in. I’m telling Connor Stevens my desires. In his mind, I’m telling him that he’s a part of those desires. Is that what I want? It is. I want him.

“I want to feel so loved and wanted that my body moves to a man unconsciously like we’re magnets—positive and negative. Like being in his presence draws me to him. I want to feel wanted and sexy. I want to feel like the man I’m with couldn’t even think of another woman because I give him everything he needs; because I am everything he needs.” When his hand cups my cheek as I look up at him, I can feel his body tensing. My admission is revving him up and feeling that; knowing that I’m affecting him this way, only makes me heady with courage. “I want it fast and rough and soft and slow. I want him to know me so well that he knows when to push my limits, how to read my body language even when my words are saying something else. I want to be so consumed with want and need that the world just doesn’t exist when I’m in your arms.”

His brows rise, and my cheeks flame with heat. I said your arms, not his arms. I blink rapidly, unsure of what to do. He’s so damn quiet, and it’s only intensifying my freak out. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I stand. But he doesn’t back away so when I do, we’re an inch apart.

“Sorry,” I shake my head. “I think I got a little carried away there.”

His hand threads in my hair and he presses his mouth to my forehead. “That was beautiful,” he murmurs, then meets my stare again. “Thank you for telling me.”