His eyes bored into hers as he turned to face her more fully. “You didn’t seem to think so last week.”

“Last week, I was under the misassumption that there was something other than friendship between us.”

Sam’s eyes never left hers. “Isn’t there?”

She knew what he was doing. He was putting the ball in her court, making her take the first big steps. Uh-uh, Compton. I’m done being the hunter. You want me, you come get me.

Riley turned her head to look out the window, letting her silence say it all. I’m not playing.

They rode the rest of the way in not-quite-companionable silence, both aware that a decision awaited them but neither quite ready to take that step.

Riley paid the cabdriver and they walked up the cracked sidewalk to the door of her apartment building.

Still they said nothing, and the longer they remained silent, the more the air seemed to simmer around them. Riley knew full well that she should leave him here at the front door, where they were still in plain view of the smattering of people on the sidewalk. But when she wordlessly unlocked the main door, he silently followed.

And then they were outside her apartment door and it was definitely time to say goodbye before one or both of them did something they’d likely regret in the morning.

Or rather … Sam would regret it, and Riley would then hate that she’d become little more than an “oops” in his black book.

“You are officially relieved of brotherly duty,” she said quietly, trying for a cheeky smile. “This is about the point where Liam would leave me, probably to find some leggy blonde in a Village bar.”

Tell me you’re not going to go find some leggy blonde.

Sam said nothing, his face an unreadable mask.

“Well … night,” she said, hating him for making her feel awkward. Hating herself for so desperately wanting a man who didn’t want her enough to act on it.

He nodded once, continuing to stare at her with hot eyes, and she turned away before she could beg him, just once, to forget about her last name. To forget about whatever idiotic nonsense kept him from reaching for her.

Then he was reaching for her, turning her toward him even as he walked her back against the door, pinning her there with his body.

His eyes locked on hers for a heartbeat before his mouth moved over hers, a little roughly as his lips pushed hers apart. Riley’s purse dropped noisily to the ground, and she started to put her hands around his neck, only to have him grab her wrists, pinning them above her head as he continued his relentless assault on her mouth.

It was the kiss of a man who was done depriving himself—a man who’d take what he wanted, consequences be damned. Riley let him take what he wanted.

“Keys,” he said against her ear before his lips moved down her neck.

Keys? She could barely remember her name, but when he released her hands, they were definitely not holding the keys she’d had minutes earlier.

She bent over to pick them up, relieved when her hands didn’t shake as she fit the key into the lock.

This was it. Sex. Making love. Hell, it didn’t matter what she called it. She was finally going to figure out what all the fuss was about.

And then her hands did shake. Oh God. What if she was bad at it?

Sam was on her again the second the door closed behind them, his mouth sliding up her neck, his hands moving over her hips, but despite the fact that he felt good—really good—she couldn’t concentrate.

Why was it so hard to breathe?

Come on, McKenna. Get your freaking head in the game.

She could do this.

She hadn’t just read all the best tips and tricks—she’d written them. There was no woman as well versed in sex in all of New York than Riley McKenna.

But she was book-smart about sex. Not street-smart.

Riley had always figured she’d fake her way through the first time—relying on others’ experiences rather than her own.

But this was Sam. He’d held her when she cried over the death of her grandma, bailed her out of trouble more times than she could count, and listened to her in the sort of intent way that made her feel important.

Faking in any way with him felt wrong.

His hands went to the hem of her shirt, sliding behind to palm her warm back. She arched against him instinctively, but when his fingers found the back clasp of her bra, she stilled.

Her hands clawed at his shoulders. “Wait.”

Sam froze.

He pulled back to look at her, and she braced herself for exasperation, but there was only patient concern as his eyes searched hers. And then, as if sensing she needed some extra nudge to reassure her to trust him, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me.”

She knew then—knew that he was the right one. Knew that he was the one and only reason she’d never wanted anyone else to touch her.

“Riley?”

“I’m kind of new at this.”

His brow furrowed and he shook his head slightly to show he didn’t understand.

She tried again, gesturing between their two bodies. “This.”

“Making out against the door?” he asked, clearly still struggling to follow.

She took a deep breath. “More like … new at what comes out after the making out.”

After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t kissed guys over the past years, it had just never been interesting enough to get to the next stage.

Sam took a half step back, and Riley moved around him to go to the fridge. She almost grabbed an open bottle of pinot grigio for courage but reached for the water pitcher instead.

“I don’t think I’m following,” Sam said, his eyes never leaving her as she poured a glass of water that she didn’t drink.

You only wish you weren’t following.

She put her palms flat on the table and gave it to him straight, no bullshit. “I haven’t had sex since I was twenty.”

No reaction. Not even a blink.

“And I think I was pretty bad at it,” she said, because if she was going to drop bombs, she might as well be efficient and drop them all at once.

“You’re twenty-eight,” he said after a painfully long silence.

“Correct.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t had sex in eight years?”

She let her silence answer for her.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, wordlessly taking the glass of water she’d poured for herself and drinking it himself in three gulps as he watched her.

“Okay. Why?” he asked finally.

Riley had been prepared for him to accuse her of lying and to insist that there was no way she could be a sex columnist without sex.

Instead there was complete trust, albeit slight confusion, on his face.

She shrugged her shoulders a little. “No good reason, actually. No traumatic event that had me fearing intimacy. No crippling emotional issues.” Save for the fact that I might be halfway in love with you, and no other man compares.

But Riley was no dummy. There were some things you simply didn’t say to a gun-shy commitment-phobe like Sam.

“I just never felt … it,” she finished, feeling almost unbearably lame.

“But you have done it once, right? I mean, you’re not—”

“Not a virgin, no,” she rushed to reassure him. “No weird rituals or ripping of hymen to be expected.”

Sam winced. “Christ.”

“So does this … change things?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded like that of a sophisticated woman whose revelation was no more consequential than I take cream in my coffee.

“Who was it?” Sam asked, apparently not finished with the talking portion of the evening.

“Dan.”

Sam groaned. “The dork from college?”

“He wasn’t a dork,” she said, her embarrassment starting to slide into exasperation. “And we were dating for, like, nine months, so quit giving me that you-hussy look.”

“No wonder you decided you didn’t like it,” Sam muttered. “I doubt that guy knew his dick from his Xbox controller.”

Riley opened her mouth to argue but then closed it. Dan had played a lot of videogames.

But this wasn’t exactly the way she had envisioned the conversation. Not like there was any best-case scenario, but she certainly hadn’t imagined it would devolve into a discussion of a boy she rarely thought about.

“Never mind,” she muttered, irritated with herself for driving away all the sexiness of the moment. Irritated with him for letting her.

“Uh-uh,” he said, moving slowly toward her. “No never mind.” He gave her time to back away, and his eyes seemed to glow in satisfaction when she stayed.

Sam stopped just inches from her before he gently wrapped his fingers around her long ponytail, tipping her head back so she had no choice but to meet his questioning gaze head-on.

“This article for Stiletto—the personal one—that’s why you want to end your dry spell?”

She shook her head. “It was only the catalyst. Not the reason.”

“What’s the reason?”

She looked away, wondering how much to reveal. She decided to play it safe.

“I want—I want to experience it.”

“Experience …?”

“Sam!”

“Riley. Say it.”

“Sex! I want to have sex, because, well … because. Unless I’ve been lying for the past several years in my articles, it’s supposed to feel good. Great. Whatever.”

“Oh, it’s not whatever,” he said, his voice going low as his fingers tightened in her hair. “Not with me.”

“Yeah?” she asked, moving closer until her breast brushed against his chest. “Because all I’ve seen is a guy who chickened out the first time and freaked out the second time.”

“I’m not freaked out. But that was quite the bomb you just dropped on me. Here I was trying to figure out if I had any moves that you hadn’t already seen and analyzed, and now I find out you haven’t seen any. I don’t know which is more pressure.”

“So you’re still in?” she asked.

His hand slid from her hair to her face, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone, and she melted against him. “You going to write about this?”

She hesitated. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

She did need the story, but she needed Sam more.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, brushing his lips softly against hers. “It’ll depend.”

“On?”

“On whether I want to keep what’s about to happen between us all to myself.”

Chapter Fifteen

She’d kind of been hoping for something hot and heavy against the kitchen counter.

Something fast and furious where she wouldn’t be allowed to think.

But Sam refused to hurry. Even when her hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingers scraping over the contours of his abs, he never quickened the slow, seductive pace of his kisses.

He cupped her face, occasionally tilting her head one way or the other to allow his tongue better access to the sensitive parts of her mouth.

Riley had spent so many hours daydreaming about kissing Sam, she’d thought that if she ever had the chance, she’d never stop.

But kissing was no longer enough. She wanted more. Needed more.

And this is where her career came in handy.

Remembering a move that had gotten particularly rave reviews from commenters, Riley let her hands slide down to his butt as she lifted to her toes and put her lips to his ear.

“I want you inside me.”

The fingers that had been so gently cupping her cheeks tensed before he let out a terse “Christ.”

Then he was hauling her across the tiny apartment in the direction of the bedroom, and Riley allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

Maybe she could get by on book smarts after all.

Sam peeled his layered T-shirts over his head and dropped them to the floor.

Nope. Never mind.

The way her mind went fuzzy and her br**sts went tingly was most definitely something best experienced in person.

“I’m scared to death,” she blurted out.

Instead of condescending to her or mocking her, he merely gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before tugging her hand and pulling her toward him. “I know. How about a safe word? Dentist?”

“Why dentist?”

“Because I hate the dentist. It’ll cool my ardor instantly.”

“I don’t think I want to cool your ardor,” she said as he lifted the hem of her shirt and ran a finger along the waistband of her jeans below her belly button.

“No?” he asked, bending to lick the spot he’d just exposed.

Her back arched.

“You like?” he asked, nudging the shirt upward.

“You know I do,” she whispered as his tongue tracked upward over her ribs, her shirt moving ever higher.

“You’re new to this; I want to get it right.”

“You are.”

And then Riley forgot all about dentists and the fact that it was finally happening and turned herself over to the skilled confidence of Sam’s hands. His hands and mouth played endlessly over her stomach, his teeth skimming the base of her bra but refusing to lift her shirt any higher until she was gasping his name.

Finally he let her sit up just long enough to pull her shirt up and off, and then he placed a palm between her breasts, pushing her back down against the pillows, his eyes taking in her lacy blue bra.

“Not exactly softball practical,” he said, flicking a finger over the small green bow on one of the straps.

“You don’t seem to mind,” she whispered, her voice husky, watching him watching her.

His eyes went to hers. “I’m the only one to see these?”

“Well … Dan,” she said.

His gaze darkened before it returned to the spot where his fingers traced over the thin lace. “It’s time to start pretending that never happened.”

“But if it hadn’t, I’d be a literal virgin,” Riley said, wiggling a little when his fingers moved over the center of her breast, stimulating her nipple through the fabric.

“Good. I want you to be mine. Just mine.”

His lips met hers, and the kiss was the perfect mix of sweetness and possession. Their hands resumed roaming, their lips separating once while he removed his jeans. Again to remove hers. But each time their mouths found each other again, until they were both naked, panting, and ready.

There was no room to think. Only feel.