After they put the groceries away, there was nothing to do with their hands, and as Nat walked into the living room, she was intensely aware of that fact. That their hands could be doing… other things. Pleasurable things.

God, last night. She could feel him everywhere still. She ached pleasantly between her legs, her nipples had been hard all day, like they were just waiting for his lips again.

They had finally crossed that invisible line of theirs… and it had been so good and so hot and the memory of it was so fresh and she wanted so much more of it that she couldn’t face the inevitable oh shit that she knew was going to hit soon.

She sat down on the couch and then thought maybe she should’ve taken a chair, because now she had forced him to choose to sit next to her or take his own chair and oh my God, she needed to stop being so ridiculous about this. It was sex. It was amazing, incredible sex, but it was just sex.

But it wasn’t just sex.

It had been so far from any kind of sex she had ever had, like, ever. Simply because it was him. Her head was still spinning from it, because she’d spent the morning realizing that sex with someone who didn’t just know you but who saw you, who understood you, it was completely different.

To him, she wasn’t a prize to be won. The most eligible woman in Portland? He could care less.

What mattered was her love of this place he was so dedicated to, how hard she worked at what she loved—with who she loved. He didn’t need to see past the boss she was on the outside to get to the woman on the inside. He understood that she was both of those things at the same time, that there were layers and parts of her she shared with the world and others she only chose to give to a certain few.

If I let myself, I would love you in an instant.

But she couldn’t let herself.

Rhett sat down next to her, and as he tilted his body toward her, their knees brushed. It sent thrills through her like she was a middle-school girl with a crush. Would it always be like this? Now that she knew what it could be like with him?

“So, last night…” he began.

“Yesterday was quite the day,” she said, and then she mentally winced, staring down at her hands. At the ring shining on her finger. She had thought the weight of it would bother her—she normally never wore rings—but she had barely noticed it. “I don’t know what to say,” she confessed.

“I don’t want you to regret it,” he said.

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “I…” She let out a long breath, looking up at him, and the second their eyes met, all those memories, his hands, her lips, the scrape of his beard against her inner thighs during round two, flooded her. She licked her lips, desperately wanting to just surge forward, to kiss him, to throw it all away and communicate with her body instead of with words. It would feel so good. She could push him down on the couch and climb on top of him and the idea of straddling him, of grinding down on the thick jut of his cock while he was beneath her, sent a flash of heat through her.

“We can’t,” she whispered, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his lips. She half expected him to say, we could, but instead he sighed.

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t have in the first place,” she said, and was it her imagination, or was he closer? Was he moving? Was she? Were they just magnetically, helplessly drawn together?

“I know,” he said, and his hand brushed against hers. The touch was so simple, but it was like a brand on her skin.

“I…I…” It was like a rope snapping inside her as all her resolve crumbled.

And then he was there, his hands closing over her arms, tumbling her into his lap, and she gasped as she felt the swell of his cock beneath her.

“I know,” he said.

This time, he went down on her for what seemed like hours. He’d bring her to the brink, the prickle of his beard against her thighs maddening, his tongue circling around her clit but never on it as soon as she got close so it was never quite enough, but it felt so good, sweat trickling down her body, and his hands cupping her ass, angling her pussy even deeper as his oh-so-talented tongue stroked her.

When he finally thrust into her, she was mad for it, her body so sensitized, so on edge, that the slide of his cock into her wet heat had her sobbing his name, arching into his body, her nails digging into his shoulders as he pressed words like sweet and mine and God, Nat into her skin.

Her orgasm was like a long, continuous wave of sensation, pulsing through her, lighting her entire body up as he worked his cock into her pussy, into the rippling grip of her, bringing her even higher with each thrust, until she fell again… and again… and God, again, before he groaned, his mouth pressed against her neck as his cock twitched and he came.

It’s never going to be like this again, she thought, as he rolled off of her, pulling her close, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead as if she was precious.

She couldn’t bring herself to speak. She wasn’t sure she had any words. Her body…God, her body was just spent. He said nothing either, the weight of what they had just done—again, after saying they wouldn’t… God, what was wrong with her?—falling over them.

She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against the hard plane of his chest, and like a coward, she let the beat of his heart lull her to sleep.

When she woke, she was still on the couch where they’d fallen asleep together, but she was covered with a thick plaid blanket and Rhett wasn’t there. She blinked, realizing it was dark outside—and that her phone was buzzing.

She grabbed it, seeing that he’d stuck a Post-it on it: went to check on the bears.

Peeling the note off her phone, she saw on the screen that she had a ton of missed calls and a dozen text messages from Felicity, all with a flurry of exclamation points and 911s.

Just as she was about to go through them, her phone lit up again with a call from her assistant.

“Felicity, hi, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nat! Thank God.” Her assistant lowered her voice. “André Henri is here.”

The photographer who was supposed to shoot the new Purely Pleasure ad campaign? “His appointment with me isn’t for another three weeks,” she said.

“I know, and I reminded him of that, but he said that he had a meeting in Seattle and he wasn’t coming back to this, and I quote, “den of pine trees and dirt” again if he could help it. He wants to meet with you. Like. Now. He’s been waiting in your office for the past four hours and he’s getting cranky.”

Nat closed her eyes, cursing him mentally. Ridiculous to show up weeks early! But he was world renowned, and an ad campaign designed by him would be a huge get. Vogue had already said they’d be willing to do full-page ads in the November issue if it was a André Henri campaign.

“Okay,” she said. “Go into my office and give him your phone,” she said.

She heard footsteps, the sound of a door opening and then Felicity’s voice saying, “Mr. Henri? I have Ms. Banks on the phone for you.”

“Hello?” asked a clipped male voice.

“André, hello,” Nat said. “I’m so sorry about our little mix-up. I’m so looking forward to meeting with you to discuss your vision for this campaign.”

“Are you?” he asked, making her press her lips together in frustration. “Seems to be a really enthusiastic person would be here for my arrival.”

The arrival you announced to no one, you jerk? She thought.

“Unfortunately, circumstances beyond my control took me out of the city today, but I can meet you first thing tomorrow.”

He sighed, a giant, put-upon sigh that made her roll her eyes. “I suppose,” he said. “Would you happen to know where I can get a decent French meal in this backwater forest they call a city?”

“I will have Felicity make you reservations at La Fleur,” Nat said. “I know the chef personally. I’ll make sure you’re treated to the very best.”

“Thank you,” he said, as if it took quite a lot out of him to say it. “I shall see you tomorrow, then.”

“I look forward to it! A demain,” Nat said.

There was a shuffling sound and the click of a door as Felicity left the office, and then she came back on the line.

“Oh my gosh, thank you,” she said. “He’s been sitting in your office glowering forever, and nothing I did made him happy.”

“Artists can be incredibly temperamental,” Nat said, getting up and realizing she was very naked still. She wrapped the blanket tightly around her as she got up, searching for her clothes. Where had Rhett tossed them? “Listen, call La Fleur and ask to talk to Megan, the hostess. Tell her you need one of their best single tables and special treatment for a guest tonight. Tell her it’s a favor for me and I will owe her majorly. Then find out where Mr. Henri’s hotel is, send a bottle of champagne and assorted French pastries from the Anton Bakery in the Pearl District. This guy is a major ego, and clearly I’m gonna have to cater to him in order to have a smooth ad campaign.”

“Let’s hope he’s worth all the effort,” Felicity said.

Tell me about it, Nat thought. “Just make sure he’s spoiled tonight. I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Nat,” Felicity said. “Sorry for all the calls.”

“You did exactly the right thing,” she assured her. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Finally, she located her jeans and her sweater, but her silky camisole was nowhere to be found. If she wanted to get to the city before midnight, she needed to leave now. And she had a feeling she’d need a full night’s rest before dealing with the temperamental artist in the morning.

She sighed, grabbing her keys, and put them in her purse. There was a condom wrapper on the couch, and she snatched that up, too, shoving it in her jeans pocket.

Don’t think about it. Think about work instead.

But as she went outside to her car and started it, heading out onto the country road, heading away from River Run, she couldn’t stop herself from dialing his cell.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he said. “I should be back soon.”

“I’m actually on my way back to the city,” she said.

There was a long silence, a silence that made her lick her lips in nervousness and her heart thud under her skin in that bad, dreadful way that spoke of fear.

“You running away from me, Nat?” he finally asked.

No. Maybe. I don’t know. Yes? A little? How can I not, when you make me feel this way?

“No,” she said. “There’s a little emergency at work. This whole ad campaign thing. I need to meet with the photographer first thing tomorrow morning and he’s kind of a pain in the ass, so I figured a good night’s sleep might be wise.”

And there’s no way I’m going to get any sleep with you, and we both know it. Because now our friendship line is crossed and I know what you feel like inside me, I know how dark gold your eyes get when you come, that little divot between your eyebrows as you groan my name. Every time, you say my name. Do you know what that does to me? Do you know what you’ve done to me?

To her horror, in the silence that stretched between them, her eyes began to prick with tears, the stress of the last week finally getting to her. “I should go,” she said, praying that her voice didn’t sound thick with impending sobs. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Promise?” he asked, and she could tell he meant it as a wry kind of joke, but it came out earnest, a question he wasn’t quite sure of and God, why did he do this to her? Why was he like this? After all this was over, she was going to miss him until she died a… remember his touch until her last breath.

“I promise,” she said, and hung up before he could hear her start to cry.