Cora stood on her balcony, shivering in the steadily cooling night air, when someone knocked. She jumped, smoothed her hands over her hair, and walked toward the door.

Then stopped halfway across the floor.

Was it Finn? Had Lars told him she wanted to speak to him?

She looked around, hunting for her robe. There were several clothes in her walk-in closet, bought in expectation of her arrival. A few sparkling gowns—at first, she’d had no idea where she was supposed to wear them to, and then Ana had arrived dressed like she was going to a ball and it all fell into place—and some casual wear. Underwear in enough sizes that at least two pairs of everything could have fit anyone within three sizes—up or down—of her. Pajamas. The most practical of those being satin camisoles with matching hot pants. The nightgowns were much too short for any attempt at modest, and most barely opaque.

She tried not to think who had bought them, and just hoped sincerely it had been Ana. The woman definitely had a flair for slutty clothes, judging from what she herself wore around the villa.

The camisole set Cora had chosen was a light cream and seemed the most modest choice. She grabbed her black silk robe from the back of the chair where she’d thrown it earlier, and drew it over her shoulders.

She wasn’t going to put up with Finn accusing her of seducing him this time. All she wanted was to talk. To tell him straight up that what they’d had was fun, but that he was obviously not right for her, and she for him. That they should forget about each other—

But it was Lars who stood in the doorway when she pulled the door open, not Finn.

The sight of him paralyzed her for a few seconds. He had one hand on the door jamb, leaning against the frame with his hip as if there was nowhere else in the world he had to be right then except right here. Then his eyes fell to her breasts, which had escaped the modest veil of her robe and were straining against her camisole. She hurriedly drew the robe closed. “What are you—?”

“I told you he’s not coming,” Lars said, sounding curious. He stepped forward, and she instinctively took a step back. Lars wasn’t as broad shouldered as Finn but he was just as tall, if not taller. “So who’d you dress up for?”

“This?” she tugged at the strap of her camisole where it peeked out from under the satin robe. “I didn’t exactly have a vote, okay? This is all there is in that—” She turned and gestured at the door of the walk-in closet.

A hand slid into her hair. She jerked violently, bending her knees to get free. But those fingers snagged, tugging hard enough to make her cry out in pain, in panic.

Lars drew her against him. She tried landing an elbow in his stomach, but he curved out of the way like a snake. She tried stamping her foot onto his shoe, but he shifted as if he’d read her mind.

He clapped a hand over the front of her throat, and whispered, “Milo said I shouldn’t judge you. Said I should get to know you first.”

His words made her hesitate. “Finn said that?”

“But I don’t think there’s anything else to you, bunny,” Lars hissed as if he hadn’t heard her. “I think you’re as vapid and as self-centered as they come.”

A note of defiance entered her voice. “I’m not—”

But then his lips were on the side of her throat. She shivered, and then squirmed away from him. “What are you doing?” Her voice was an octave higher, breathless.

“I’m getting to know you.” Lars’s hand left a trail of skittering spiders over her flesh as he traced the outline of her collarbone. “With your permission, of course, my queen.” The last was bitter with sarcasm, but still the bass of his voice was doing incomprehensible things to her body.

Her insides gave a hard, slow ache. Her skin had come alive. She could feel every touch of the silk and satin she wore.

“No, I…” His lips touched the edge of her jaw, and her words cut off with a sigh. “You shouldn’t be…”

He released the grip on her hair. Caressed her shoulder instead. Wormed his finger under the neckline of her robe and eased it from one shoulder, then the other.

Her hands were still up, gripping his wrist—when she’d taken hold of him she couldn’t remember—and his pulse thrummed under her fingertips. Calmly ebbing and flowing while her heart raced like a runaway horse. She could feel it slamming against its cage of ribs, making her skin vibrate. Nervousness? Excitement? Fear?

“You do smell good,” Lars murmured, his lips close enough that they tickled her cheek when he spoke. “But that’s not enough. Finn saw something in you. Something…”

His lips touched the corner of her mouth and, as if that touch triggered a hidden switch, her lips parted of their own. Her breath rushed raggedly in and out of her, her eyes fluttering somewhere between open and closed as she began losing motor function. She’d left only the light on the nightstand on—its feeble glow did nothing more than illuminate the outlines of the furniture scattered through the massive room.

Which must have made guiding her to the chaise lounge chair that much easier for Lars. She was still turned away from him, still cradled against his body. When her shins bumped against the chair, he paused.

As if giving her a last chance to escape.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

He turned her head, and brought his lips to hers. So soft, it was barely a touch. His breath so hot, it made her lips writhe whenever he breathed on her. He brushed his lips over hers, teasing her with the thought of what a full kiss would be.

And that thought made her skin break out into goosebumps. She went on tiptoes, trying to deepen their kiss, but Lars pulled back.

He stared down at her, his eyes no longer regarding her like a potential target. Instead, his gaze flickered over her face as if he was trying to memorize every feature.

Like he knew this would be the last time he’d see her.

What the hell was she doing? Realization doused her with icy, invisible water. She blinked furiously, and tried to step back. Which had her folding down into the chaise lounge before she could find her balance. Lars moved with her, a ghostly smile on his face as if he found it slightly amusing that she was so desperate to get it on with him.

Her mind was a tangle, but surely nothing in those bramble weeds were thoughts of this. Of cheating on Finn.

But was it? Were they even—what did you call it—an item? How the hell was she supposed to know?

“Life’s a lot less complicated than you’re making it out to be,” Lars said, no doubt having noticed her deep frown. “You’re overthinking this.”

“This?” she breathed. He was close, close enough that all she could see were his eyes. “What is this?”

“Why does it have to be anything?” he murmured, and caught her bottom lip between his teeth. Barely a bite, but the feel of his teeth against that sensitive spot made her groan. “Why can’t you just enjoy it?”

She wanted to argue, but she was trying to understand why the hell she was getting so wet from this. The man was on top of her now, but not with his full weight. That, or he weighed nothing. But one of his legs were between hers, either intentionally or by pure accident, his knee close enough to her clit that she could feel the heat of him. He arched over her, like a vampire who’d snuck in through her window.

But no, they had to be invited inside first. And she’d done no such thing.

He teased her again with his mouth, but it was more than she could bear. She lifted her face, trying to urge her mouth harder against her. Eventually, almost reluctantly, his lips met hers.

She shuddered, and her hands slipped over the back of his neck. Trying to draw him closer. Failing. He resisted her with his muscles standing in slim cords over his arms. He wore a plain white shirt, sweatpants. His shoes had come off somewhere along the way, which mystified her.

Harder. She made a desperate sound against his mouth, digging her nails into the muscles on his shoulders. He squirmed, but she didn’t care if she was hurting him.

This was wrong. He was wrong. It should be Finn here, not Lars. But she’d wanted to say goodbye to him, and he hadn’t come. She’d been ready to do anything, let him do anything, if only he’d told her that she’d meant something to him.

But it was obvious he didn’t.

So what was the harm? Why should she care?

Lars’s mouth ground against hers, and the sudden force in that kiss turned her heart into that of a terrified rabbit’s. She could taste him now—whiskey, weed. But something sweeter.

Fingers touched her thigh, about an inch from her sex. She whimpered, shifted, drew away. She’d been ready to kiss this man, but more? As much as she ached and throbbed for contact, she had no idea if she could even begin—

He tore his mouth away from her, and grabbed her thigh in a powerful hand. “So I can kiss you, but I can’t fuck you?” Lars murmured in her ear. He lowered himself over her, driving her breath out with his weight. “That where you draw the line?”

She could feel him now. How hard he was. His erection pressed into her pelvis, about two inches to the side of her clit. A clit thrumming in want, now that his hip bone was almost touching it.

“I don’t know, I don’t know if I can—”

He cut her off with a kiss. Another hard one that had their teeth clicking together. He shifted his weight until the tip of his dick was against the seam of her satin hot pants. Just his sweats and that insignificant piece of silky fabric preventing him from rubbing against her.

“Of course you can. Physically, I’m sure you’re perfectly fucking capable.” He arched his back, rubbing the tip of his dick hard over her clit. “But will you? Now that’s the fucking question, isn’t—”

He cut off when her bedroom door crashed open.