Wow, I think as my back hits the mattress and Jesse Lee leans over me, hands planted firmly on either side of my head, his wide mouth crooked in a half smile. I don’t know when I stopped trying to resist him and gave myself up.

He screws girls for fun, Amber. What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?

Maybe. Probably. Hell yes. But I want him too much. Could be if I sleep with him I’ll get over him. God knows the handful of times I’ve been with a guy in the past had me running for the hills. No reason why it should be any different now.

Although I don’t want to run. Not from him. He’s fun and kind and fascinating and oh God, so gorgeous.

Holy crap, Amber.

I should hold out, I should keep away from him—only I can’t. Not when he’s so close I can smell his cinnamon scent blending with the musk of his arousal, when I feel his erection pressed on my thigh like a hot iron rod and those remarkable jade-blue eyes lock briefly with mine before drifting lower, checking out every exposed inch of me—from my mouth, to my neck and my aching breasts, the tips painfully hard as I throb deep inside. Needing him to touch me.

Hard muscles flex in his arms as he lowers himself on one elbow, freeing his other hand to stroke down my arm and brush over my ribs. It tickles, and then he strokes his hand under my breast, cupping it, and I forget how to breathe. It fits perfectly in his large palm, and I watch as if from a distance his thumb circle my nipple, drawing it into a hard, tight peak. Pleasure streaks through me, a lightning bolt of heat straight to my core, and I arch on the bed.

“Jesus, Embers, you’re hot,” he breathes, his finger torturing my nipple, sending bolt after bolt of need through me. “Look what you’ve been hiding under those pretty flouncy tops. You shouldn’t hide. You’re so damn sexy.”

His words make me shiver, and when he switches to my other breast, I think I’m going to self-combust with arousal. I shift on the bed, needing something, anything to relieve the ache between my legs.

“I want…” You. I want to see him naked, run my hands over his inked chest and arms, see his hard-rock erection that’s digging into my thigh as he shifts. See him writhe in pleasure, see him lose control and admit… admit it’s because of me.

Yeah, as if I’m something special to him. I’m probably just another notch on his bedpost.

Too much thinking, and his hand has stilled, covering my breast, a warm weight.

“You with me, Embers?” he rasps, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by black. It’s a hungry look, and no matter how I try to bring myself back down to earth, I’m sucked into another eddy of desire.

“And you?” I quiver under his touch, as his rough palm lightly scrapes on my aching nipple and then moves down to my stomach.

“I’m right here.” He bends his head closer, as his fingers tiptoe past my bellybutton to the hem of my pants and dip underneath, right into my panties. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Then he covers my mouth with his, swallowing my startled moan as his fingers part my folds and dip inside me, bold and demanding, searching. Filling me up, stretching and edging me on until I gather up my knees to lift my hips, take his fingers deeper.

And all the while, he’s kissing me, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth, mimicking the movement of his fingers, and it feels so good. So incredibly good that I’m hovering on that fine edge between too much and right there, the pressure cresting until I cry out in his mouth, my hips rocking, and fireworks go off behind my eyes.

Oh God, never felt anything like it. My few encounters never prepared me for this. His fingers keep pumping and the spasms in my core are so intense they hurt at first, then the pleasure skyrockets and I cry out again, helpless under his touch.

He breaks the kiss, panting softly, gazing at me with a bemused and slightly wide-eyed expression on his face.

Did I just come twice from his fingers inside me? Jesus and crap on a cracker. My body is still shaking, trying to come to terms with what happened. Could it be because I want him so much, because of the pressure building inside me day after day?

Rationalizing isn’t helping, especially when he slowly withdraws his fingers, brings them up, and smells them. It’s my turn to stare at him, at the dark ripple of need in his gaze. His hard-on is pressing against me, urgent and hot, and that sexy, lazy grin curls up one corner of his mouth.

“Did’ya like that, kitten?” he rumbles. “I wonder what else you might like…”

“Kitten?” My voice comes out kinda squeaky, and I wince. Very sexy.

“You make these soft mewling noises.” He wipes a finger over his lower lip, licks it. “Sweet.”

Oh God, he didn’t just… He did.

Jesus, I’m getting hot and aroused all over again, and I have no clue what to say. I’ve never been with a guy who seems to know exactly what he’s doing to me, how much I enjoy it, and yeah… and who seems to enjoy it, too.

“Tell me,” he says, although the wicked gleam in his eyes informs me he doesn’t need such enlightenment. “Tell me what you’d like.”

Problem is, I don’t know. What he did was awesome, mind-blowing, but my experience is restricted to frantic fumbling in the dark, struggling with condoms, and quick, unpleasurable penetrations. I always thought that’s how it was supposed to be. That my own hand is the only way to come off.

So I say the only thing that has been on my mind since he started kissing and touching me.

“Take your T-shirt off.”

He pulls back, his grin frozen, his gaze hardening. “Why?”

“I want to look at you.” I run my hand over his hard pec, over the thin cotton, and feel the contour of his nipple piercing. It makes my throat a tiny bit drier. Christ, the Sonoran Desert has to be tropical by comparison. “Touch you.”

Something shifts in his gaze, and his eyes soften. Makes me wonder what he thought I was after, but conscious thought ceases when he lifts himself up just enough to rip off his T-shirt and let it drop to the floor.

Holy shit, Batman. Looking at this boy’s chest never gets old. I reverently brush my fingertips over those pierced nipples, tugging lightly on a silver hoop, and he hisses, powerful abs tightening and contracting in his washboard stomach.

The winged demon inked on his right pec draws me, not as perfect as the rest of his colorful tats. It’s kinda fuzzy in spots, as if the ink ran under the skin.

I press the tips of my fingers into it, feeling languid, my body relaxed and warm, pleasantly buzzed and tightening inside again at the thought of him touching me… thrusting into me.

God.

“What does this ink mean to you?” I ask.

“Why do you think it means something?”

“You don’t strike me as the sort to ink random things on you.”

“Don’t I?”

“Besides,” I ignore his reply, “it’s the only thing inked on your chest. It has to mean something.”

“Or maybe I ran out of space on my arm.”

He’s teasing me. I can see the corners of his eyes crinkling even as he’s keeping a straight face. “Or maybe not. Because this one’s technique is different. It looks… older. And I’ve seen you rub it sometimes, as if it hurts. Like a scar, but I don’t see any scar tissue.”

Didn’t Kayla say something about a tattoo that got infected?

“You think too much,” he says abruptly and pushes himself up on one hand, muscles flexing and bulging in his corded arm. His face is in shadow.

“Who is Helen?”

He stills so suddenly and so utterly, it’s like he’s turned into stone. Only his lips move when he whispers, “What?”

“Helen. She gave you the leather bracelet you can’t do without, so she’s important to you. Who is she?”

He flinches, although he tries to hide it. It makes me all the more curious to know.

Okay, I’m socially inept, and even I realize I’ve gone too far and broken the moment. In fact, broken is too small a word for it—I’ve shattered it to billion tiny pieces with no hope of resurrecting it—but it’s too late to take back my words and my questions, and let’s face it: I’m interested in all that makes Jesse who he is.

He sits up and leans over to grab his T-shirt from the floor, his broad back rippling. A long, thin scar marks his lower back, white and old. His every side, his every facet is a puzzle I want to solve.

Though he doesn’t seem so thrilled about the prospect at the moment. It puts a lump of fear in my throat. Not fear of him, but fear of losing him.

As if I ever had him.

“The hell.” He bunches up the T-shirt in his hands and his jaw clenches. “Is this your second question, seriously? If I knew this was what you’d be asking me…”

Shit. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, JJ.”

“You didn’t fucking hurt me. Nothing can hurt me.” He’s spitting mad at me, I realize, his eyes flashing and his teeth gritting, his movements jerky as he pulls on the T-shirt, covering himself, and leaving me aware I’m still topless, sprawled on his bed, where he left me.

My face flaming, I cast around for my top and find it lying on the floor, a few feet away. “Is that so? You’re, what, superhuman? Nothing touches you?” I cover my breasts with my hands instead as I sit up.

“No.” He sneers, and it cuts through me like a knife. “More like subhuman. Didn’t you pay any attention back when I replied to your first question?”

“First question?” My brain’s still fuzzy from the best orgasm I’ve ever had, so sue me for not getting it immediately. “What do you mean?”

“I was a hooker, Embers. I sold my body for money on the streets. I had my regular customers, women who wanted to have some fun, and I also picked up any woman who seemed interested when times got rough. And they did get rough, more than once. My old ways—that’s what I meant. I’ve been whoring myself for a long, long time, and Helen…”

I watch, breathless as he battles some strong emotion. It wells up in his gaze, but it never spills out.

I’d prod him, prompt him to say more, but I’m afraid that if I speak, he’ll remember I’m there and stop. I don’t think he’s seeing me right now. Don’t think he’s seeing anything, and although I’m still reeling a bit from what he said—I’d guessed it, but guessing and knowing are two different things when truth’s staring at you in the face—I’m worried about him.

A common state for me when I’m around him. Worried, or curious, or aroused… Always intrigued.

“Helen was there,” he says, tugging on the leather band circling his strong wrist, that faraway look still on his face. “Helen McRoy. When I was thirteen or so. She was fucking there with me, on the streets, and we had each other’s back. She was older than me, said she was nineteen. Think she was lying, she was fucking younger than that. But she knew the ropes and taught me about protection. Condoms and stuff, and what to be leery of.”

I shiver as the words sink in and the grim picture of his childhood emerges. If he was thirteen when he met Helen, when did he start living on the street? In how much danger was he? And if she was the one who told him about condoms…?

“Wait. You want me to believe that there are people who’d have sex with a kid? And that before meeting this Helen, you used no protection?”

“God, you’re naïve. Believe what you want.” The sneer is back, sharp and ugly. There’s a shimmer to his eyes that turns them into chips of hard, clear glass. “And don’t worry. I’ve been tested many times since. I’m clean as a whistle, so you won’t catch anything from kissing me, I promise.”

Holy crap. “Jesse…”

“I’m done with the stupid Q&A games,” he snaps. No pet names, no teasing gleam in his eyes as he gets to his feet and retrieves my top. He throws it on the bed, and I recoil as if he’s slapped me. “Go back to your pretty world and leave me in mine.”

“I didn’t mean…” My words catch on a strangled sob, and jeez, am I about to make an even bigger fool of myself with a boy who couldn’t care less about me and who thinks asking him about his past is an attack on his pride? “Fine.”

I grab my blouse and pull it on so fast I don’t even check whether or not I’m wearing it backward, hop off the bed and hunt for my purse. Through eyes blinded by tears which I refuse to let fall I find it by the foot of the bed and grab it.

Not another word passes my lips as I let myself out of his room, the last thing I hear before I run out of the apartment the slam of his door, so loud it makes my ears ring.

Running down the steps, with the voice of one of Jesse’s roommates chasing after me, asking me what happened, I put as much distance between us as possible.

I knew from the start this boy would make me cry—hey, I’m shy, not stupid—but I never thought it was going to be so soon, or that it would hurt so much.

* * *

“Here you go,” Kayla says, turning my laptop to face me. “Doesn’t it look awesome?”

She’s showing me my brand new website, Amber’s Gems, open on the page of the bracelets, featuring a few of the photos I took of my jewelry.

I nod, my mind elsewhere. I’ve seen the website, obsessed over every detail of it, in fact, since Tyler Grayson set it up for me, insisting he wanted no money from me. I tried telling him I’m not family—not one of the Inked Brotherhood and Co. or the Damage Boyz, but he smiled a secret smile and told me I’d soon be.

I wonder what he sees that I don’t. I mean, I thought the psychic was Kayla, certainly not the tall, dark and brooding brother of Asher.

My few friends from Chicago saw the link to the website I posted all over the social media and went nuts. They promised to order stuff, and seeing their excitement is nice.

And that’s all very well, but it’s not what’s been on my mind.

Jesse. Still processing what happened in his room, from his heated gaze on me, then his hands and mouth, his sure touch and the blinding pleasure—then my questions and his angry words. His angry, truthful words.

“Go back to your pretty world and leave me in mine.”

Those words twist in my heart like knives. I may be naïve, but I know hurt when I see it. He was angry, but underneath there was pain. A lot of pain, and now I know why. I can hardly begin to comprehend the trauma he’s been through, the helplessness, the lack of security and affection.

I wish I knew how to help him. My questions only serve to hurt him more, it seems, and his pain returns, hurting me, too.

Not good. Not good at all. Then why am I ready to chuck my jewelry box to the floor, walk out my door and go find him?

“…and here you should totally put a pic of you wearing some of your jewelry,” Ev is saying, tapping on the laptop screen with her finger. “Amber, have you heard a word I’ve said? I swear, you’re bobbing your head like that Chinese good luck cat that waves her paw at people.”

“Chinese good luck cat that waves her paw at people?” Kayla blinks.

“You know. They have them in Asian restaurants.” Ev waves a hand, her gaze glued on me, questioning. “Where did you go, Amber? Talk to us, girl.”

“I bet she’s boy-dreaming,” Kayla says, and oh God, heat works its way up my neck, a wave of fire under my skin. “Ha, she is! Would you look at that blush.”

No way to hide. Crap.

“Don’t tell me it’s Jesse again,” Ev murmurs, leaning toward me, her face a picture of concern. My blush deepens, scorching my skin, and tears burn my eyes. “Amber…”

“I know.” I put down my jewelry box, suddenly afraid I’ll drop it as a big shudder goes through me. “You warned me.”

“Shit, what did he do to you?” Ev scoots over the carpet and curls an arm around my shoulders, the flowery scent of her shampoo wrapping around me like a veil. “Bastard. He treats girls like his playthings, and I’m—”

“He didn’t.” I suck in a deep breath. “Didn’t do anything. We disagreed on something, that’s all.”

“Yeah, right.” Ev looks shocked, and Kayla unconvinced.

I should have expected that.

“Disagreed on him sleeping with you and dumping you the next day, sort of thing?” Kayla drawls.

I wince inwardly. “We haven’t slept together.”

“Technicalities.” She waves a hand back and forth. “Going down on each other, doing it on the kitchen counter, on the carpet, in the car… It counts.”

“We didn’t.” I turn and find Ev giving me an incredulous look. “What? It’s the truth.”

“Am I to believe you and Jesse have been meeting—because I know you have, his roommate Gage told me—and haven’t had hot bunny sex?”

I shrug. “Believe what you like. It’s the truth.”

“No sex, no kissing, no blowjobs, nada?”

I bite my lip and shift away from Ev, needing some space. “We kissed. Twice. And he did… touch me. But that was all. I never touched him.”

Not that way, anyway. And I wanted to, so much.

I’m vaguely aware of Kayla and Ev exchanging glances and lifting their brows.

“That’s … very unlike Jesse Lee,” Ev finally says, and I can’t even begin to guess what she’s thinking.

What does it matter? In any case, whatever it was we had—friendship? Was it that?—is over.

“I know what we need,” Kayla says brightly and jumps to her feet. “Girls’ night!”

“Didn’t know we needed something,” I grumble. The last thing I need is anything involving a social activity. “I’m fine.”

“Wait and see.” She runs out of my room to hers and returns with a pink kit. She plops back on my carpet and opens it, taking out a bunch of nail polish in all possible hues, even some I never imagined on my nails. “First, nail painting.”

“But why?” I whine as Ev claps her hands and starts sorting through the colors. “Why do we need this?”

Truth is, I’d rather curl up on the sofa with chocolate ice cream and watch reruns of Teen Wolf episodes.

“War paint,” Kayla declares, selecting a blue polish with tiny silver bits, like starbursts. “We’re taking on the world.”

“All I want is to forget about the world.” Despite myself, though, I lean forward and snag a red-purple polish. “Not take it on.”

“And then,” Kayla goes on as if I haven’t spoken, “we’ll dress up and go out.”

“No way.” I shake my bottle at her. “I hate going out, and you know it. It’s the last thing I’d do.” I glance at Ev for support. “Tell her.”

I sound like a three-year-old, and I honestly don’t care. I don’t deal well with stress, and I’ve had enough shit these past few days to last me a year.

“We could go to the movies,” Ev says, and even as I open my mouth to say no, I reconsider. “Nothing tear-inducing, I promise. We’ll find a comedy.”

“And for that we need to paint our nails?” I give my polish a suspicious look.

“Trust me, girl.” Kayla shakes hers before she starts painting her toenails. “It’s important. I saw it in the tea leaves this morning.”

Well then, if it was in the tea leaves… Looks like it was inevitable.

* * *

After a couple of hours wasted on applying nail polish and dressing each other in crazy clothes—Kayla’s, of course—and eating ice-cream straight from the carton, we stumble out of the apartment and make the twenty minute walk to the nearest movie theater. The comedy Ev chose isn’t bad, either, and after laughing for an hour like a loon, I feel much better.

Well enough to forget about Jesse for a while, forget how I’d rather be spending time with him instead of watching a stupid movie about a millionaire who is in fact a secret agent in his spare time.

Can’t help thinking of Jesse as a kid, forced to whore himself in order to live, and feel sick. Who cares about secret agents and millionaires when there are children on the streets with nobody to care for them?

It makes my heart ache for them. For him.

“Coming, Amber?” Kayla is tugging on my arm as we walk out of the movie theater.

“Where?”

She rolls her eyes with a small huff. “We’re going to Halo. Where all the guys will be.”

Ev says nothing, but I can see how much she wants to go. Micah will be there, for sure.

“You go.” I give them my brightest, sincerest smile. “I had a great evening, honestly. I’ll just head home. I’m tired.”

Ev hesitates, but Kayla is already dragging her away.

“She’ll be okay, Ev.” She tugs on Ev’s arm. “I have a good feeling about this. Come on.”

“Good feeling about her going home alone?” Ev still turns to look at me. “Are you sure, Amber?”

“I’ll be perfectly okay.” I blow them a raspberry and start walking away from them to end the awkward moment. “Go have fun and tell me about it tomorrow.”

I walk briskly toward the apartment, my hands in the pockets of my short jeans skirt, my purse bouncing against my side. My toe nails wink at me from my leather sandals, purple-red, and I shake my head and grin. Kayla and her girls’ night…

Definitely not what I expected. I had fun. I can have fun without changing who I am… like Jesse said. No need to suddenly turn into an extrovert, much less a party animal, to be happy.

Am I happy? Not sure. Also not sure why the question makes me think of Jesse—again. He’s in my every thought.

And then he’s right there, right in front of me, sitting on the steps of a random building.

Am I seeing things? I stop in my tracks, my breath caught in my chest. It has to be around midnight. Is it really him?

I take a few steps closer, until I’m standing at the entrance of the building. He’s curled up on the dirty steps, arms folded over his chest. He’s wearing his baseball cap backward, and his head is tipped to the side, resting on the wall.

It is him. His dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he rests, his chest rising and falling evenly.

He’s asleep. On the steps of a building. It’s like a weird déjà vu—not from my memories, but from his.

“Jesse.” I lean over and shake him. “JJ!”

He starts awake, sitting up, and I see a darkening bruise on his jaw. What happened here?

“Are you all right?” I ask, and he blinks, looking confused. “Come on.” I grab his hand and pull. “Let’s go home.”