“I’ve not told anyone that I want to leave Wildwood. I can barely admit it to myself.” She laughed, but it was weak at best. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. No firm plans are in place or anything.”
He remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. But when she didn’t, he said, “Your secret is safe with me.”
She squeezed his arm, and he felt that seemingly innocent touch like she’d gripped hold of his cock and stroked him into oblivion. He was hard and aching, just like that.
“Thank you, Tate,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome, Dove,” he whispered back.
Wren didn’t even protest the nickname.
THIS TIME, SHE didn’t fall asleep in Tate’s car. No, she remained wide-eyed and completely awake, which meant she wasn’t as drunk as she originally thought. He had an unopened bottle of water sitting in the center console, and she’d drunk half of it in the first five minutes of their drive.
She was trying her best to sober up. For what, she wasn’t exactly sure. But anticipation hung in the air between them, like a crackling energy that made her blood hot and her skin tingle. In the hushed confines of his car, it felt as if they were sitting extra close to each other, his thighs spread wide in that way guys sat, his knee reachable. She could reach out and rest her hand on his knee, if she wanted. Slide her hand up the inside of his thigh. Maybe even rub the front of his jeans and see if he had an erection or not . . .
Her cheeks went hot just thinking about it, and she was glad it was dark. Surely he’d ask her why her face was so red. He’d done that sort of thing before.
“You awake?” he asked.
“Yes. Why do you ask?” God, could he see her blush even in the dark? How embarrassing.
“Last time you were so quiet in my car you were snoring and whispering my name in your sleep,” he said.
She went completely still. “I did not.”
“You did too. You said my name, and when I asked you who you were dreaming about, you said me.” His voice was smug, and she sort of wanted to hit him.
Well, not really. The urge to grab his junk was stronger.
“I have never dreamed about you in my life.” Lies.
He chuckled. “It’s okay to admit it. I’ve dreamed about you.”
“You have?” She closed her eyes and thunked her head against the back of the seat. Could she sound any squeakier?
“Oh, yeah. Naked, tangled-up-in-each-other-and-the-sheets type dreams.” He hit the brakes and came to a stop at an intersection, turning to look at her. His eyes were hooded, and they glittered in the dim light as he watched her, waiting for her reaction. She knew he said that just to shock her, and it worked. The longer he stared at her, the harder she found it to breathe. She saw everything in those pretty green eyes. Heat. Hunger.
All of it aimed directly at her.
“Aren’t you afraid I might find that . . . offensive?” She wrinkled her nose, hoping he’d believe her. He shouldn’t. She didn’t think his dreams sounded offensive at all. More like sexy. More like the type of dream she wanted to try to reenact with him, to see if the real thing was just as good.
“Everything I say you usually find offensive. So what’s the point in holding back?” He hit the gas, his SUV lurching forward and making her chest jerk against her seat belt. “Do you remember your dream about me?”
“No.”
He made a tsking noise. “That’s too bad.”
She agreed wholeheartedly.
“If you could live anywhere, where would it be?” He asked the question casually but she could tell he was digging for information. She was fine with it too. She’d already confessed her deepest, darkest secret to Tate, and he promised he’d never tell a soul. She believed him. So why not spill everything?
“San Francisco,” she answered, nibbling on her lower lip the moment the words slipped out. She’d never admitted that to anyone before. Not her friends, not her family, no one.
“Why San Francisco?”
“It’s a beautiful city. When I was a little kid my parents would take us there, and I always dreamed of living there.”
“It’s expensive.”