“Thank you for the date,” Connor says, his voice all honey and heat.

Date? Why does that thought send so much liquid heat through every inch of me? I feel like I’m some damned horny woman desperate to be fucked by this hunk. He makes me such a mess. I want him in my life despite the fact that he’s not, by any stretch of the imagination, a good guy.

Hadn’t Zac touted himself as a good guy? Maybe there’s no such thing as a good guy. Everyone has some deep, dark secrets. At least I see Connor’s. He’s not hiding or lying like Zac did. All the ugly truths are already out there between us. And I still feel something for him. Something I can’t describe, but it’s good.

“You’re free to go. I only ask,” he says, his tone serious as his incredible blue eyes stay locked on mine. “That you not discuss my personal life. And I, of course, won’t discuss yours.”

We walk past the dock that I’d been hating on earlier. The sounds and smells of the ocean are wonderful, and the sky looks like it’s battling out between rain and sunshine. That battle rages on inside me and I back out of Connor’s grasp.

He seems surprised as I wind my arms around his shoulders and press my lips to his. My whole body melts into him and pleasure begins inching through me. This is what I want. He’s what I what I want.

Strangers flow around us, headlined toward shelter form the impending rain, but I’m right where I want to be.

My tongue seeks his out and I feel him stiffen against my belly. It’s incredible, the response he has to me, and the one I have to him. Our bodies seem to know what to do, even if our brains are telling us this is a bad idea.

His tongue searches my mouth and I give over to him. He can be in charge, I’ll gladly let him do what he wishes. His hands find my ass and I feel the change in his posture as he holds my sagging body upright. My knees seem to have forgotten how to hold me up, and every part of me feels like it’s melting into his grasp.

The kiss ends and I pull his lower lip into my mouth, enjoying the response of his body. He’s hard, ready for me, and there’s nothing I want more than him right now, in this moment.

Thunder crashes overhead and I jolt in shock. Then the rain is pummeling on my head and every bit of my body. I look up into Connor’s eyes, loving the heat I see there. Rain streams down his forehead and gathers on his dark lashes and I study him, wanting to commit this moment to memory.

A flash of lighting startles me and I jolt with a little noise. Icy hot prickles run over my flesh as everything tells me to get in out of the storm. But I can’t. I’m hopelessly trapped by this man. And I love it.

Even as the scent of rain begins to block out the ocean, he continues to dominate my senses. His cologne, the scent of his wet skin, the smell of heat on him… he’s delicious.

“Connor,” I moan, needing more of him. I need everything. I don’t want to go home alone, I want to go with him. I understand and appreciate what he’s trying to do, to prove he’s not holding me hostage, that he trusts me, but what about what I want?

He presses a kiss to my lips and pulls back. There’s sadness in his expression as he turns and walks away.

It feels like my heart is imploding.

With heavy feet and an even heavier heart, I head out on the dock. Wind whips my shorts and shirt despite the wet weighing them down. At the end of the thing, I sit down and dangle my legs over the edge.

Below, I see the sea churning with the storm. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d considered just scooting off the doc. I’m not sure why. It’s not a death wish or anything. It’s more of a test of will. The water is ice cold. Would I have the strength to swim to shore? Would I sink or would I swim?

I’d sink. I’m not strong enough to push back against that much pain, that much fear, that much cold. I’ve never been one to rock the boat. I’d prefer to live in peace than make life uncomfortable. But then again, I’m pretty sure everyone feels the same way. We get comfortable. Even in bad situations; change is hard.

I back off the edge and head toward my room. Once inside, I hear the shower next door running and I walk over to the wall I’d been listening against a lifetime ago and press my ear to it. It feels like a lifetime ago. Was it really only a few hours since all that had happened? It feels like forever.

I move toward my own bathroom and strip away my wet clothes. The shirt peels off and I look at myself in the mirror. My breasts are on the small side, but I like them. They suit me, they’re perky, and I can go without a bra.

My shorts land on the floor with a wet plop and I study the way my hip bones jut a bit, the way my waist tucks in so neatly, the rounded curve of my hips. I’m not perfect by any means, I’m a bit skinny, I don’t have as much muscle tone as I’d like, my hips are oddly wide for my chest size and don’t seem to match the rest of my body.

But I don’t care. Connor seemed to like my shape, too. I remember his hands on me, the way he’d kissed me, the intensity of his eyes as he intimidated me. Nothing has ever been as sexy to me as that fear and lust cocktail.

I dry off with my towel and dress in dry clothes, all the while thinking of Connor.

* * *

Three days. That’s how long I’ve been sitting here, listening to Connor through the wall. But he’s wiser now; he’s leaving the TV on while he talks on the phone. But I still hear him come and go, I hear him shower even, and at night, I hear him tell me good night. Every night.

Every morning, he’s there with a good morning that is like a whisper in my sleeping ear that wakes me in a haze of hope he’s here beside me in bed.

But he never is.

And it kills me.