Damn it, but she was confusing the hell out of him.

They’d said hello, he took her hand, and before he knew it, she was kissing him. Then, out of nowhere, she tells him that she’s not going to have sex, get married, and make babies with him.

What the hell?!

What exactly did she think was happening between them? Had he somehow led her to believe that they were making some commitment to each other by meeting for dinner tonight? Not to mention, damn it, but she had kissed him, not the other way around.

Aside from his overwhelming confusion about how and why she’d jumped from a passionate kiss to telling him she wasn’t having sex with him—and Christ! he certainly wasn’t looking to get married and have babies at twenty-one years old!—part of him felt offended. No matter how out of control he might have felt, Erik Rexford was, first and foremost, a gentleman. Though some of his peers were aggressive assholes with willing and unwilling women, Erik was not. He certainly wasn’t going to throw her down on the sidewalk in front of the Pamlico House and have his way with her, if that’s what she was implying.

Her expression was awfully dark, though her lips, which had tasted sweeter than any he’d ever known, were slick and bee-stung from his attentions. And fuck, but she was beyond beautiful, standing there uncertainly in the brand-new moonlight. His attraction to her, from the very first second he’d seen her, was fierce, and he wanted to unravel this hiccup between them before it turned into anything significant.

“Can we, um . . . can we back up a little? Maybe sit down for a second and talk this out?” he asked, gesturing to an empty group of Adirondack chairs on a green lawn that overlooked the Sound.

She nodded curtly, preceding him with that no-nonsense march she’d used to take the coolers up to the kitchen yesterday. But this time she wasn’t wearing clunky black boots. She was wearing little white-heeled shoes that made her ass sway back and forth like something out of a fucking daydream.

His cock, which was still as hard as a rock, twitched behind his khaki shorts, and he cleared his throat, desperately trying to think of hockey—taking a puck to the nuts. It worked a little, and he’d lost some of the hardness by the time they reached the chairs.

“Let’s just . . . sit,” he said, still confused about what had just happened.

Her posture was rigid as she sat on the edge of the brightly painted chair that the inn had placed on the lawn for guests seeking a quiet moment and a beautiful view. Erik sat down beside her, staring at her profile, blown away—even in this incredibly awkward moment—by how pretty she was. Her strawberry-blonde hair curled around her shoulders and looked so fucking soft and inviting, he had to force himself not to reach out and touch it. Why hadn’t he run his fingers through her hair when he was kissing her? When he’d had the chance? He flinched, silently praying that he’d have another opportunity, because, fuck, if that was somehow their first and last kiss, he’d just as soon die.

He needed to touch her again, the absoluteness of the instinct almost blinding.

Don’t do it, he thought, staring at her stony face. Now isn’t the time.

He cleared his throat. “I got the feeling you wanted to kiss me, Freckles.”

She turned to him, her eyes wide and honest. “I did.”

“Sure about that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“Yes,” she said, her tone free of guile or uncertainty.

“Good,” he said. “Because I wanted to kiss you too.”

“But that’s all I wanted,” she quickly added, looking at him squarely.

The overwhelming spike of disappointment he felt at the prospect of never getting further with her than a kiss was tempered by the comforting notion that kissing her was pretty fucking spectacular.

“Was it a good kiss?” she asked, her voice much softer and more uncertain than it had been a second ago.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding at her. “Top ten, for sure.”

Her lips twitched and her eyebrows furrowed. “Nine better, huh?”

“No, actually,” he said, his surprised laugh tapering off as he stared at her. “I revise my answer: none better. Top one.”

Her smile was sudden and blinding. “Really? It was?”

“Yeah, really. Best kiss I’ve ever had,” he admitted with a soft chuckle, delighted by her smile, delighted that he was the one who’d made her look so happy. “How about for you?”

“Best for me too.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her smile hanging on, though the color in her cheeks deepened. “Only for me, actually. I never kissed anyone before you.”

Wait. Fuck! What?

“Wait. That was . . .” His voice trailed off as he processed what she was saying. “That was your first kiss?”

She looked up at him and nodded, her sea-green eyes unapologetic, no excuses issuing from her lips.

He’d been taken aback yesterday, when she said she didn’t have a cell phone, but this admission was the first real insight Erik Rexford had into exactly how sheltered she was. By eighteen, Erik had lost track of the number of women he’d kissed in his life, but Laire, at eighteen, had saved her first kiss . . . for him.

“I was your first,” he murmured.

“Uh-huh.”

“Why me?” he asked softly, surprised by the words.

“I don’t know. I just . . . I wanted it to be you.” She laughed, shaking her head as she looked away from him. “Maybe because you’re so different.”

This confession, made with zero pretense or attempt at flirtation, made him so happy, he couldn’t actually remember when he’d last felt so honored by anything. His life was full of affectation and insincerity: a birthday party attended by important people he didn’t know, ceremonies recognizing his father for whatever legislation appealed to the special interests of certain groups, invitations to galas and soirees where everyone tried to outtalk the person beside them with grand ideas and impress the person on the other side with vacation plans and name-dropping.

It was all bullshit.

But this was real. Real.

For no good reason at all, this girl he barely knew had given him something priceless.

And shit, what had he done? He’d pulled her flush against his cock like he’d die if they didn’t fuck. He cringed. No wonder she had freaked out.

“I didn’t know, Freckles. Sorry I got so . . . excited.”

She flicked a glance at him, and two spots of bright pink appeared in her cheeks, but she didn’t say anything.

He sighed, letting his breath out long and low as he ran a hand through his hair. “Did it, uh . . . did it meet your, uh, expectations? The kiss?”

“Yes,” she said, but she was still staring down at her hands, which were folded primly in her lap. “Except . . .”

He tensed. “Except . . .?”

“I thought it would just be mouths. And, well, tongues, maybe. Like in the movies. I didn’t know about the hands. Or your, um, chest pushing against my, um . . . you know. Or, um, your . . .” She glanced at his groin, and her cheeks blazed red as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know what happens between men and women, in bed. I just . . . I didn’t know it all happened so fast once you started kissing.”

“Not every kiss is like that one,” he said, hoping to Christ it wouldn’t be the last they ever shared. “That one was . . . really good.”

“You know so much more than I do.” She groaned, looking up at him. “You must think I’m really stupid.”

“No!” he said, his voice low and serious. “No. I don’t think you’re stupid.” He finally risked touching her again, reaching for her hand and holding it gently between his. “Not at all.”

But you’re the most inexperienced girl I’ve ever met, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

She took a deep breath but didn’t pull her hand away, and he was profoundly grateful to be allowed to hold her hand, which quickly and firmly settled his feelings about her inexperience: he didn’t care. She was like no one he’d ever met before. In a world where he felt like he’d seen it all, she felt fresh and new, and a fierce surge of protectiveness swelled within him for all that she hadn’t seen and didn’t know.

She chuckled softly. “I thought you needed to kiss for a real long time before you wanted to have sex.”

“Laire,” he said, waiting until she looked up at him, “can I be brutally honest with you?”

Her eyes widened nervously, but she nodded.

“Sometimes you don’t even need to kiss before wanting someone.” He grinned, threading his fingers through hers. “The truth is . . . I wanted you the second I laid eyes on you.”

Her sharp gasp made his balls tighten. “You did?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“But . . . I didn’t even . . . I wasn’t trying to—”

“You didn’t have to do anything.” His grin grew into a wide smile, and he tilted his head to the side, utterly captivated by her innocence. With his free hand, he reached for a lock of her hair and pushed it behind her ear, cupping her cheek when she leaned into him. “You think I’m different? You’re different, darlin’. You’re beautiful and honest and interestin’, and you want to know the truth? The way you made me chase you down for a date was . . . I don’t know. I liked it. I’m attracted to you. Really attracted to you.”

“Yes.” Her face grew instantly grim again and leaned away from his touch. “I know.”

“Hold on now. That’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t mean . . .” Damn, but this was awkward. Didn’t she have a mother to explain these things to her? That kissing someone made you feel certain things, but that those things didn’t always lead to sex. Not immediately, anyway. He cleared his throat. “Laire, I can’t help it that I’m attracted to you. But that doesn’t mean I expect to have sex with you or that I’ll ever pressure you for more than you want to give. And to be clear, I’m not lookin’ for a wife or family. That’s not on my agenda right now. Hell, I’m in college. I’m years away from anythin’ like that.”

Her eyes nailed his as her lips parted in wonder. “Years?”

“Uh-huh.”

She grinned at him, all gloominess flying away from her face as quickly as it had landed there. “Years.”

“At least,” he said. “I need to go to college, then law school, find a job, work for a few years to establish myself. Then I’ll think about settlin’ down. I mean, someday, yes, I’d like to have a wife and family. But certainly not now.”

“But you’re twenty-one,” she said matter-of-factly, like everyone she knew thought about settling down at twenty-one, which was, well, weird.

“Where I come from, most people don’t get married right out of college. I doubt I’ll get married until my late twenties. Maybe even my thirties.”

“Wow. Ten years,” she murmured with wonder, leaning away from his hand to look up into his eyes. Her eyes sparkled with excitement when she added, “Because you have dreams for your life, and you want to make them come true first, before you settle down, right?”

Dreams? I don’t know about that. Erik had never really had his own dreams; his future had, more or less, been decided for him.

“Plans, more like. There are lots of plans for me.”

“That’s how I feel too!” she said, looking happy and relieved. Then she winced, her eyes flicking to his groin and back. “But I felt your . . .”

“Sure you did. If we kissed again, you’d feel it again. It means I’m turned-on. It means—”

“You want sex.”

“Yeah. No. I mean . . .,” he said, squirming a little and wondering how in the hell they’d ended up here. “We just met, you know? That? Sex? It comes later.”

“But you said you already want it.”

Damn, this was like being back in one of his prelaw classes at Duke. She wasn’t going to let a single loophole go unexamined.

“Okay. That’s true. But first, I want to get to know you. And we definitely wouldn’t do it unless you wanted to.”

“But if we did, what about our futures? What about your plans and my dreams?”

“What about them?”

Her shoulders slumped. “If we had sex, we’d have to get married.”

What. The. Fuck?

How his eyeballs didn’t pop out of his head and land on the grass between them was a fucking miracle.

Okay. Okay. Breathe, Erik. Breathe.

Her values were coming into clearer focus—and from what he could gather, they were old-fashioned and incredibly conservative, almost like a throwback to the 1950s. He’d never known anyone remotely like her, like this fisherman’s daughter from a world that was somehow frozen in time.

He tried to remember what he knew about the more remote islands on the Outer Banks, but he’d spent his summers in posh Buxton, mostly oblivious to the year-round islanders. His knowledge of their ways was painfully thin. He knew from her accent that she’d been raised in a pretty isolated place. She wouldn’t let him come to her island to visit her, for fear he’d “make trouble.” She didn’t have a cell phone, and frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t have the internet either, which meant that his world—the modern world, as he knew it—wasn’t exactly her comfort zone.

Her world was alien to him . . . which meant that his was alien to her too.

His mind flitted back to the catering manager last night, telling him to “let her go.” He was starting to understand why she’d said that, and why she’d warned Erik that he didn’t have “any business with an island girl.”

But one look at Laire told him he did.

It didn’t matter if one hundred people warned him away from her because this particular island girl held him rapt. Since meeting her, he couldn’t think of anything but her—finding a way to see her again, getting to know her. And now? After a kiss that tilted the axis of his world after a million that hadn’t? He wanted more. He needed more.

Erik was a student of law, not building, but he was ready to roll up his sleeves and start bridge-building between their worlds if that’s what it took to get to know her. And to do that, he’d need to treat her words and ideas with respect, even though they felt foreign and antiquated to him.

If we had sex, we’d have to get married.

“Um. No, Laire. To be honest with you, I don’t . . . I mean, I wouldn’t marry a woman just because I slept with her,” he said. “One has nothin’ to do with the other. In the world I come from, people can just . . . enjoy each other if they want to . . . without, you know, makin’ a lifetime commitment.” He scanned her face, hoping that his words wouldn’t scare her away. “Put it this way: I would sleep with someone I loved and wanted to marry. But I would also sleep with someone I didn’t love and might not want to marry . . . as long as she wanted it too.”

“You’ve done that?” she asked, her forehead creased, her voice a whisper. “Slept with someone?”

He hated it that he had to nod yes, but there was no point in lying to her. He was in the middle of the weirdest conversation he’d ever had with anyone, but in for a penny, in for a pound. He was determined to see it through.

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing with a new wave of color. “Nice girls don’t do that where I come from. If you let a boy touch your body, you eventually settle down together. That’s the way it is. Everyone knows what you’re doing, but they don’t care as long as you got plans to make it right.”

Make it right. Which, apparently, meant marriage. Whoa.

He exhaled a shaky breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Okay, I got it. Nice girls don’t have sex before they’re married, or, um, engaged.”

“They shouldn’t,” she said. “And if they do, they deserve the reputation they get.”

“They deserve it?”

She nodded her head gravely. “Yes. They knew the consequences and made their choices anyway.”

“And what exactly are the consequences?”

She looked away from him, out at the Sound, mulling this over for a moment before turning her eyes back to his. “A girl like that might be more comfortable moving away from Corey, I guess.”

“Wow.” He nodded, a chill passing through him at the unapologetic absoluteness of her suggestion. “I see.”

“But you don’t agree.” She tilted her head to the side, scanning his face with curiosity. “You think a girl can give herself to someone and not marry him and still be . . . good?”

“Yeah. I think . . . I mean, I think . . .”

Damn it, what did he think?

In the real world, in his world, he didn’t consider sex that big a deal. He wasn’t some herpes-spreading manwhore, but Erik had lost his virginity when he was sixteen, like most of his friends. And he’d been with several girls since, most notably his college girlfriend of two years, Alexa, with whom he’d broken up in March.

But—here and now—he and Laire weren’t in his world. Here, sitting on Adirondack chairs, looking out at the Pamlico Sound in Buxton, neither on her island nor at his mansion, it somehow felt like they both had a foot in each world. Did he think a girl who slept with a man before marriage was “bad”? No. He didn’t. Nor, however, did he want to disrespect her values by touting his own as more right.

He sighed, tightening his fingers through hers, looking at her lovely face and wondering what it was about her that had so quickly and firmly ensnared him. This conversation was awkward—much more so than he’d usually tolerate—and yet it somehow felt worth it. In fact, it felt unthinkable to abandon it and walk away from her. He could feel his feelings for her taking root in his heart—protectiveness and tenderness developing within him in tandem, made only more potent by his almost-blinding lust for her.

Concentrating on his feelings instead of his attraction to her helped him to choose his words carefully. “I think that we come from different places and see the world differently.”

“Or maybe you’re just a man,” she said, her tone on the cusp of defensive. “Men’s urges make them want more than a girl should give.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. There was some truth to what she was saying, but he’d spent half an hour trying to understand where she was coming from and help her understand him. He’d be damned if he let her boil it down to some bullshit refrain about gender inequality. Her words weren’t fair, and he wasn’t going to let her get away with them.

“I’m a person,” he said, raising his chin. “And I believe that if two people care about each other and want to be with each other, it’s nobody else’s business what they do when they’re alone together. It’s private. It’s up to them to make up their own rules.”

Her eyes widened again, and she searched his face with such heartbreaking solemnity, it made his guts clench with something indefinable and unfathomable. Had he understood the scope and force of what started between them in that moment, of what was now alive and growing deep within him, he might have run from her.

But he didn’t know and he didn’t run. And like stepping from life to eternity, or over a bridge to a place of no return, he faced her, waiting for her to respond, waiting to know if there was a future for them, or merely a farewell.

“I like that, Erik,” she said, her lips tilted upward with wonder, her eyes soft and welcoming.

The way she looked at him. Fuck.

He felt his breathing hitch with the power of it, with the power it had to make everything feel—no, be—okay. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as the darkness shielded them from the rest of the world in a little bubble of their own making.

“We can make our own rules,” she whispered against his lips. “I like that so much.”

He felt his heart open like a story, like a song, like the wings of a gull or the clouds that rain or the soft sweet place between her legs that he may—or may not, in all likelihood—ever know. Like doors and windows and spirit and the heavens and tightly locked doors that are portals to somewhere a man might want to spend his forever.

His heart opened wide, and he leaned forward to brush her lips with his, a profound sense of someday catching his breath with the same wonder he’d read in her eyes.

“Me too, Laire. I like it so much too.”

***

Seated across from Erik at a shiny wooden table by the windows, Laire looked at the menu with approval. The Pamlico House didn’t buy their seafood from her father and uncle, but they had a good selection of local catch, and with a quick peek at the back of the menu, she recognized the purveyor as someone over on Ocracoke about whom her father had spoken with respect.

She felt a sharp squeeze in the pit of her stomach as she thought about her father. She was betraying his trust by sitting at this fancy candlelit table with Erik Rexford, but to save her life, she couldn’t imagine leaving.

At one point during their talk, Erik had said that he was “turned-on” by her, and in a very real way, Laire felt that something deep inside her had been turned on tonight when she kissed him. Like a light switch, or an on button, she felt alive in a way she’d never felt before—connected to him in a way she couldn’t have imagined before tonight. It made her feel scared and breathless in one moment, but excited and invincible the next, like she was starting an unknown adventure with the perfect person—and she never, ever wanted that feeling to end.

“Anythin’ good?” he asked, glancing at her over the top of his menu.

“Lots,” she said. “Want a recommendation?”

He looked surprised but nodded. “Sure.”

“It’s late June. End of spring, early summer,” she explained. “Blue crab is in season both spring and summer, so you can’t go wrong whether it’s caught in wire pots or trawlnets. But see the bluefish here?” He nodded. “Spring catch. Same with the sea trout. You’d be better off with mackerel because it’s a—”

“Summer catch?”

She nodded. “Young but fresh.”

He placed his menu flat on the table. “What’s the best winter catch?”

“Gill net fishing’s good on the ocean side in the winter,” she said. “Bluefish, croakers, sea trout, striped bass. Any of those.”

“I don’t fish much, but when I do, it’s off a dock with a fishin’ pole and some worms.”

“Aw,” she said, tilting her head to the side and giving him a saccharine smile. “That’s cuuuute.”

He chuckled softly. “Why do I suddenly feel like a five-year-old?”

“Cause that’s how a five-year-old fishes?” she suggested with a giggle. “Naw. I’m kidding. Hook and line gear is fine. You can catch seven or eight at a time when they’re moving.”

“Seven or eight? How’s that?” he asked.

“Commercial fishing. One line, eight hooks,” she said. “Catch ’em fast, you can have a good day.”

“You know a lot about this,” he said.

She nodded. “Everyone on Corey knows about fish. It’s a lifestyle.”

“So why don’t you order for us?”

She shook her head. As much as she knew all there was to know about the fish on the meu, the side dishes were all foreign-sounding to her. Braising reduction? Edamame? Raisin smear? Were these items actually food?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat up as she kept her eyes glued to the strange-sounding words.

“Why not?”

She leaned forward, looking up at him. “I don’t know what half of these things are.”

“Like what?”

“Braising reduction?”

“A sauce.”

“Edamame?”

“Japanese peapods.”

“Raisin smear?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Got me there. I have no idea. Maybe smushed-up raisins?”

She laughed along with him, then nodded. “Let’s do this: I’ll order the fish; you order the rest. Deal?”

He nodded at her. “Deal. We make our own rules, Freckles.”

His words went straight to her heart with a wild shot of something that felt so wonderful, her whole body flushed in response, and suddenly she was remembering their kiss—the way he’d pressed his private place against hers, the way his tongue had felt sliding against hers.

“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about, I wish I was thinkin’ about it too,” he said softly, his eyes dark and serious when she looked up at him.

“I’m thinking about you,” she admitted breathlessly.

He shifted in his seat. “And what exactly are you thinkin’, darlin’?”

“How much I want to kiss you again,” she whispered.

“Me too,” he said, his voice low and intense, sending shivers of yearning down her spine.

She darted a glance around the restaurant quickly. Well-dressed couples chatted softly with each other, their faces bathed in candlelight. The ladies wore pearl necklaces and upscale collared shirts by Ralph Lauren and Izod, and the men spoke softly, laughed without much sound. This was not the Corey Fish Pot, where Remy regularly hauled Kyrstin up against his chest and kissed her lustily at the bar. This was a nice and proper place, and she needed to stop looking at Erik Rexford like she wanted to eat him with a fork and spoon.

Maybe splashing some cold water on her cheeks would help.

Folding her napkin carefully, she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Laire,” he said, and her eyes slid to his, captivated by the hungry look in them. “Are you askin’ me to follow you?”

“To the ladies’ room?” she asked, feeling her eyes widen in surprise. “N-no!”

“Oh,” he said, leaning back in his chair and picking up his glass of red wine. “Sorry. I guess I . . .” He shook his head and took a sip of wine.

“Do people do that?” she whispered, leaning toward him. “Meet in the ladies’ room to kiss?”

He grinned at her as he placed his glass back on the table. “Yes, ma’am. Sometimes they do.”

“Naughty,” she said, smiling back at him as she stood up. “Can you wait until after dinner to kiss me again?”

“If I have to,” he said, though his eyes made a leisurely sweep down her body, making her feel hot and eager and impatient.

She sighed with longing, ruefully wondering if nice restaurants ever packed dinners to go. “I’ll be right back.”

In the restroom, she washed her hands with the coldest possible water and reminded herself to behave. As she exited, she bumped into Ms. Sebastian, who was headed for the kitchen.

“Laire!”

“Ms. Sebastian!”

The older woman reached for Laire, hugging her like a long-lost friend, and though Laire was surprised by the gesture, it felt so good to be hugged, she leaned into the embrace for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m glad to see you again so soon.”

“I came to say I want the job,” said Laire.

“Really? Your father said yes?”

Laire took a deep breath. “Sort of. He thinks I’m working at a place on Ocracoke for now.”

Ms. Sebastian’s face lost some of its warmth. “You lied to him?”

“My sister did,” she said. “She needs him to think I’m taking her job so she could take a promotion to bartender.”

“You sure it’s wise to deceive him like that?”

Laire shook her head. “No, ma’am. But I love my sister, and she has her reasons. I’ll come clean soon.”

“Promise me?”

Laire nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Kyrstin’s getting married the week after next. Then she can do what she wants, and I’ll tell him the truth.”

Ms. Sebastian’s face relaxed, and she nodded. “That sounds okay with me. Can you come on back to my office and fill out some paperwork?”

“Oh,” said Laire, glancing back at the dining room. “Can I fill out the papers tomorrow night when I come to work? I’m . . .”

“You’re . . .,” prompted Ms. Sebastian.

“I’m sort of on a date tonight.”

Ms. Sebastian’s eyes cooled, and she looked over Laire’s shoulder, her eyes landing effortlessly on Erik, who sat alone at a far table by the windows. When she looked at Laire again, her expression was set somewhere between disapproving and worried. “That’s Erik Rexford.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re on a date with the governor’s son.”

We make our own rules. Laire lifted her chin. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I guess you know what you’re doin’, huh?”

“I guess so,” she said, wishing she felt more conviction behind her words.

“Then it’s none of my business.” Ms. Sebastian nodded crisply. “Do you have black pants and a white T-shirt?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Fine. Wear them tomorrow. See you at four.”

“Four, ma’am?”

Ms. Sebastian nodded. “For table setup before the dinner crowd. Is that a problem, Laire?”

“No, ma’am. And when will I be finished?”

“Kitchen closes at nine. Last tables bused by ten.”

Four to ten. Sixty dollars a night. It was a small fortune.

She grinned at her new boss. “Thank you, ma’am. I won’t let you down.”

With one last grim glance at Erik, Ms. Sebastian turned toward the kitchen. “See you tomorrow.”

I got the job!

She watched Ms. Sebastian go, then headed back for her date with Erik with a spring in her step, hoping to sweet Jesus that their date would end with another toe-curling kiss and a lot less talking.