Page 68 of The Belle and the Biker

"Hey!" I say indignantly. "How about, 'no, Savannah, you're perfect the way you are'?"

"You are perfect the way you are. Perfect for me.

Even when you drive me crazy."

I'm perfect for him? My heart pounds against my rib cage. I take a bite of my steak, and my tastebuds sing with happiness. "This is really good." I look at the table. "And this…this is incredible."

"So I set it right? Maybe I should have googled it. Is there a guide somewhere?"

I shake my head. "You know what? You did this for me, and that makes it perfect." I blink hard. The fake sunflower must be bothering my allergies and making my eyes water. "I want this kind of table setting forever."

Dinner is delicious, but to be honest, I rush through it so fast I barely can taste it because I've got my appetite back. And I'm dying for dessert.

CHAPTER21

Savannah

The trailer shuddersas he slams me against the wall, pinning my wrists above my head as he devours my mouth. His erection digs into my stomach, proving how happy he is to see me. Not that there was ever any doubt.

"Crash," I gasp when his lips graze my ear, and the tiny puff of air he breathes against my lobe ignites a series of sparks in my core.

He releases one wrist to grab my breast and squeezes. "Why do women even bother with shirts?"

I shoot him a dirty look. How many women is he interested in seeing shirtless, exactly? "I don't really know, Crash. Why do women bother with shirts?"

He proves he isn't stupid. "Only woman I'm interested in is you." Then he grins. "This jealous streak of yours is fun."

I stiffen. "Jealous? I beg your pardon."

"You can beg me all you want, princess."

When his voice dips low and goes all gravelly, the good Southern sense I was born with just vanishes in a puff of mist. My knees turn softer than pudding. And when he lowers his head to take my nipple in his mouth, I moan and shove my free hand into his boxers, grasping his hard length.

"Fuck," he cusses.

He puts an arm under my knees and picks me up. He makes me feel light as a feather, gathered in his arms.

He slams the bedroom door open with his heel, and I wince, hoping it didn't break. Striding to the bed, Crash dumps me on it, staring at me with glittering eyes.

"You know," I hear myself say, "we didn't get to have dessert. And I do have a sweet tooth."

"I have fixings for sundaes."

I smile at him. "Why don't you bring them here, then?"

He must hear the wickedness in my voice because he leaves and is back in not even a minute, juggling a can of whip cream, jars of chocolate and caramel sauce, and maraschino cherries.

He stands there in the doorway, just staring, with a little smile playing on his lips. Warmth and need shine from his eyes. Nobody has ever looked at me like that before. Percy certainly didn't. He'd run his hand over my starved, concave stomach and say, "Those Pilates classes are really doing you some good. You're almost there!"

Ugh. Percy doesn't deserve to live rent-free in my head like this. I mentally hurl him into a pit of wolverines and refocus on the gorgeous specimen of manhood standing in front of me.

I rise onto my knees and toss my hair over my shoulder. "Lie down."

"You giving orders now, baby?" he smiles.

"Don't pretend you don't like it. Baby. Now strip."

He tilts his head, eyeing me for a moment, then shrugs, giving me a wolfish grin, and obeys. As he lies down on the bed, putting his hands under his head—and I don't think he's disturbed by my command at all—I dither between whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Caramel may be too sticky, and whipped cream would give more coverage…whipped cream it is.

---