“Tess.” She’s shaken and pale, barefoot, for chrissakes—in the cold, in her short dress, barely covered by her coat. “Come on, let’s go inside. You’re freezing.”

“No.” She shakes her head. Long strands of hair have come loose from their twist, and they frame her pinched face. Her eyes shine in the low lights of the outdoor terrace. Has she been crying? Dammit.

My chest feels tight. The need to enfold her back in my arms is overwhelming. I haven’t held her in years, not since I broke up with her at school. She fits perfectly in my arms, her curves soft, molding to my body. My arms feel empty without her. I want…

Fuck, no. Don’t go there.

I rub a hand over my face. “Did he hurt you?” I ask.

She takes so long to speak, I know the answer is yes, and it makes my hands curl into fists.

“I’m okay,” she lies, her voice strained. Her red lipstick is smeared over her chin, like blood. What did that asshole do to her? “I just want to go home.”

“Is someone here who can take you?”

“I have my car. I’ll be fine.”

Hell no. Not with that lunatic of a boyfriend of hers roaming the place. “He hurt you,” I say, and this time it’s not a question. “I can’t let you go out there alone.”

“I’m sorry, what?” She turns back to face me, and her expression roots me to the spot. She’s angry—coldly angry. “Guess what: I don’t need your permission to do anything. Thank you for helping me. But you were here by chance. You don’t have the right to tell me what I can or can’t do, because you’re no longer a part of my life.”

Fuck. I’ve been shutting her out for years, and here I am, shocked because she’s finally returning the favor.

And I can’t stop staring at her. I can’t stop looking.

Damn, she’s so sexy, standing there in her red dress that’s barely visible under her gray coat, her long legs bare, her face flushed, her eyes glittering. She’s gorgeous. Breathtaking. Her anger is transforming her, peeling off the layers of quiet acceptance she’s been hiding under for so long. Revealing her true self.

My Tessa. The girl I wanted to spend my life with. The girl I couldn’t live without.

I rub a hand over my face. Shit. No, not this. Especially not now.

She turns and limps toward the doors, her body tense. Why is she limping? Did she hurt her feet?

“Tessa, wait.” I hurry after her. “That fucker is still out there. I’m going with you.”

She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything when I open the door and wait for her to enter the building. I reach for her, and she lets me pull her close and support her as we walk down the hall.

“Did you hurt your foot? Did you sprain an ankle?”

“Must’ve stepped on something.”

“Hang on in there.” My jaw is clenched so tight it aches. Her short answers make my hackles rise. Whatever happened was bad. It really spooked her. And I shouldn’t worry about Tessa when I have my brothers and dad to look after, when I need to make ends meet, and it doesn’t look like I’m gonna make it—but nothing can stop me from taking care of Tessa now. Not when she’s leaning on me, soft and scared, angry and yet trusting. Trusting me to help her through this mess.

“Is it true that guy’s not your boyfriend?”

“He’s not,” she whispers, and her voice hitches. “He never was. We sort of hung out together for a while once. That was years ago.”

Unfamiliar heat washes through me. All the muscles in my body stiffen. The thought of her being with another man…

Hell no. This can’t be happening. I don’t have the right to be jealous.

I’m taking her home. A reasonable voice in my mind insists I should help her to her car and stay. I’m getting paid for this gig and desperately need the money.

But I can’t let go of her. My arm is locked around her slim back, my mind is locked… locked on her.

I draw a shuddering breath, force myself to keep moving. Miguel, the other guard on this side of the building, glances up as we approach and frowns.

“I need to take her home,” I say by way of greeting, praying he won’t ask questions. “She had a small accident. Could you cover for me? I won’t be long.”

He nods again, shakes his head. “Got you covered, hombre. You okay, miss? Should I call the police?”

“I’m okay.” Tessa dredges up a faint smile. I can see right through it. She’s terrified and trying to hide it, and I want to go back, grab that motherfucker of an ex of hers and slam him into a wall. Repeatedly.

I clutch her to me, needing to protect and soothe her. It’s like all these years I managed to bury my feelings for her deep, and now… Now they’re rushing together, streams feeding into a river, drowning me, confusing me.

Fucking hell.

I thank Miguel and usher Tessa out. Startled gazes follow us—a grim security guard and a beautiful, barefoot woman, stumbling out onto the street where glamorous guests are still arriving in their shiny limos.

The breeze is icy, and I tuck Tessa closer to me, trying to shield her from the cold and the curious stares.

“There’s the head valet. Give me the ticket for your car,” I say, and she pulls it out of her purse and hands it to me wordlessly.

Together we move in the man’s direction, and I wave the ticket. He comes to retrieve it, thanks me and calls for the car to be brought over. I hug her to me, wanting to get her into the warmth of her car as fast as possible. As soon as the valet drives the white Cherokee jeep in front us, I tug her toward it, but she limps and grimaces, and I remember her feet are hurt.

Dammit.

Without giving it a second thought, I bend and lift her in my arms. She gasps and puts her arms around my neck automatically, her eyes wide. She’s light and warm, and my breath catches somewhere in my lungs.

“Put me down, Dylan,” she whispers, but there’s no heat to it so I ignore it. I stride around the car, to the passenger side, where I let her slide down slowly, carefully. With a pang I realize I don’t want to let her go, and I clutch her to me a moment longer than necessary.

Then she slips out of my arms. She climbs inside, then fishes out a tip for the valet and holds her hand out until he takes it and goes.

Her door slams shut.

I blink. I feel as if I’ve stepped into an alternate reality, where I see Tessa, but I’m invisible to her.

It should bring me relief. It should make me glad. It’s what I wanted when I broke up with her five years ago, right after my mother left.

But it doesn’t. I don’t feel relieved or glad. I don’t feel happy.

Because the thought of her not loving me threatens to shatter me. Goddammit, how selfish is that? That I want her to love me even when I’ve done my best to pretend I don’t? Well, now it’s too late anyway. In fact, it’s been too fucking late since the start.

Too late to get her back.

The city lights streak by, and I force my eyes on the road, doing my best not to stare at Tessa’s sweet profile.

What’s wrong with me? All this time she was hanging around I ignored her, and now she’s giving me the silent treatment, and I can’t look away.

Maybe I’m a masochist. Maybe I like my pain.

I drive in terse silence, the reality of the situation slowly seeping through the fog in my mind. Fuck, this is stupid. What the hell am I doing? I’m dead tired, I left work on a whim, and I now have to get back to the gala hoping nobody noticed. I need this job. I need the money.

Shit. The pending rent, medical expenses and various other debts rise to haunt me. I step on the gas, as if I can outrun my problems.

“The first on the left,” Tessa whispers, and I take the turn, my hands white-knuckled on the leather-bound wheel.

Her street is wide and long. Trees border the sidewalks. The buildings are tall and very white, their glass and chrome facades lit up, all festive and shit.

Just like my street. Ha, right… So not.

I recognize her building, as I’ve picked her up from here a couple of times with the guys. We usually park at the front to wait for her to come down.

“Underground parking lot?” I ask, and she nods.

“Round the back.”

The bar lifts, and we roll down, into darkness. Yellow lights come on as we descend and drive between parked rows of shiny new, expensive cars. It’s like a car show. I manage to keep my jaw from hanging slack as we continue to Tessa’s assigned slot, marked with the number of her apartment. Seven hundred twelve. Seventh floor.

I park and kill the engine. The lights inside the car switch on, startling me. The old Ford of Dad’s I inherited didn’t have such features. Hell, it didn’t start two times out of three during winter, and the overhaul the engine needed wasn’t worth the money spent. Then I was forced to sell it, and it didn’t matter anymore. That was years ago.

“Well, thanks for driving me home,” Tessa mutters.

“You’re welcome.” I stare out into nothing. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be okay.” Her voice is low and kinda hoarse.

I turn to look at her. In the faint light, her face looks paler than ever. Then she shifts, and as the sleeve of her woolen gray coat lifts, I see a ring of red bruising around her wrists.

A dark pressure is mounting inside my chest.

“What’s this?” I reach for her hand, clasp it loosely in mine, lift it to have a better look. “He fucking did this to you?”

“Let go, Dylan,” she says, her voice growing faint.

I hold on a moment longer. Truth is, I don’t wanna let go. “What else did he do?”

She tugs her hand, and I release it. Her eyes glint under her furrowed brows. “What’s it to you?”

“What do you mean? I just want—”

“Told you, Dylan. This isn’t about what you want. Enough of that.”

Nonplussed, I lean back, as much as the seat allows me. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning, I don’t know what the hell is happening today.”

“I still don’t get it, Tess. Shouldn’t I care if you’re hurt?”

She lets out an incredulous laugh. “Care? You? Is this a joke?”

Okay, maybe I deserve this. Still it stings. “Why is it so hard to believe?”

“Why?” She unbuckles her belt and gathers her purse, her hands shaking. “Can’t frigging take this anymore. What is it with men? Dad sold me off, to Sean, for God’s sakes, and you…” She jabs a finger at me. I stare at it. “You care for me? Now? After all this time when you wouldn’t even look at me? Very funny.”

And with that parting line, she opens her door and climbs out.

Still a bit dazed, I do the same. “I’m coming up with you.”

“The hell you are.”

“Does that asshole know where you live?”

I see the last drops of color leech out of her face, and I know the answer to my question. Dammit.

“I’ll be fine,” she mutters.

“I’ll see you to your door, and then I’ll be on my way, Tess.” I slam the door shut, my jaw clenching. “I’m not here to hurt you like he did.”

“Sure you are,” she whispers, so low I’m not sure I heard her right.

Fuck this. I’m so tired my eyes burn, and my brain is stuck on getting her home safe. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before I go back to work.”

And how? I wonder if there’s a bus line nearby. I’ll have to ask her. Later.

Wordlessly, she leads the way into the building. Through a heavy metal door, we enter a lobby coated in glass and mirrors. Tessa hits the button to call the elevator, and I look at our twin reflections.

The princess and the pauper. Or some shit like that. Even though I’m dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, you can see the dark lines of a tattoo climbing up my neck and another peeking out from under my sleeve, part of one of the dragons decorating my body. I have a silver ring in my lip, and although I’ve shaved and my hair is cropped short now, you can’t mistake the wariness in my gaze and the way my shoulders hunch forward. Ready for battle.

Whereas Tessa, she… She’s breathtaking, even barefoot, with her golden hair coming loose, even with her lipstick smeared. She’s tall and slender, her curves hard to miss even through her coat. Figure like an hourglass, and now that I’m finally taking a good look at her, that I’m allowing myself to see what I fought to forget, my mouth runs dry, and my pants feel a size too small.

I focus on the elevator doors. They ding and open. Tessa steps inside, and I follow, too aware of her by my side. She doesn’t look at me. Her breathing stutters, but her eyes are dry.

This is killing me. I never thought Tessa ever needed my help with anything. Always first in her class, with money to spare, a stable family, good friends, kissing a new boy every week… I thought I had her figured out. Thought she’d be just like my mom.

Thought if I’d stayed with her, she’d have walked out on me one day to be with another guy, not glancing back.

She’s never seemed so vulnerable before. In her anger, I see pain. I see wounds. And now I wonder if I caused them.

It’s a nasty thought, and it bothers me much more than I thought it might.

We step out of the elevator into a corridor with more mirrors and glass. Our footfalls are muffled on the thick carpet. My reflection mocks me from every direction, so I keep my gaze resolutely forward.

I’ve never been up here. Never been to Tessa’s apartment, and I admit I’m curious. Curious to see how the rich live. How she’s been living while I’ve been scraping at the bottom of the feeding pond.

One more reason why we’d never last together. Why she’d leave at the first chance she got.

Tessa unlocks her door and enters her apartment, while I hover on the doorstep, my jaw hanging slack. Again.

Huge windows show twinkling lights down below and the big full moon in the night sky. Its pale glow faintly illuminates posters hanging on the walls, images of figurines and statues and pottery. More figurines line a set of bookshelves, along with reed weaves and masks and all sorts of exotic stuff.

As she limps over to a leather couch, the lights switch on, triggered by some hidden sensor. Once there, she sinks down, putting her face in her hands.

That snaps me out of my wonder, and I do step in, even uninvited. I shut the door behind me and stride into her living room, rounding the sofa and kneeling in front of her.

“Tess…” I wait for a response that doesn’t come. “I’m just gonna check your feet, okay?”

She makes a muffled sound behind her hands, and my chest tightens. I lift one small, pretty foot, mesmerized by its perfect shape, the high arch, the dainty toes. Okay, what the hell—I didn’t know I had a foot fetish.

Get your shit together, Dylan.

I check the sole, looking for injury. When I find none, I place it gently back down and lift the other one.

Tessa hisses when I pass my hand underneath, so I take a closer look. A dark spot catches my eye. A small wound, and something lodged inside, like a thorn or a bit of stone. Were there thorns in the grass?

“Stay still,” I say as I try to pry the foreign body out of her foot. She whimpers when I manage. I frown at the splinter—or is it a thorn after all? “You stepped on something sharp.” I hold it out for her to see, and she bites her lip. “You got a first aid kit?”

“In the bathroom,” she says, again in that faint voice, and all I wanna do is gather her back in my arms and hold her.

Instead, I make myself get up and go look for her bathroom. I find it after the third try—after having opened doors into a luxurious bedroom with a double bed, another bedroom with a single bed and a laundry room. Mirrors seem to be the theme in the entire building, and I almost walk into a glass partition that separates the shower from the rest of the room.

Jesus H. Christ.

I finally locate the first aid kit in a cupboard by the door and retreat to the living room, feeling out of my depth and a slightly bit terrified.

This is serious money. As if I hadn’t guessed all these years. I mean, she was at the gala as a guest, whereas I work security for spare change.

The gala. Where I should be right now, in fact.

Fuck.

I return to the sofa to find Tessa has put her hands down. Her lashes hide her eyes as I take my place again at her feet and open the first aid kit. I know she’s watching me while I clean the small wound with a disinfectant spray and take out a Band-Aid.

My hands go through the motions without conscious thought on my part. I’m so used to treating injuries on my little brothers by now, I focus instead on the feel of her soft skin under my hands, her scent of cinnamon and chocolate.

Why didn’t I remember she smells so sweet? Funny how you can convince your mind to forget or not notice certain things… I realize I haven’t been so close to her, haven’t touched her bare skin since I broke up with her. I’m caught between protectiveness and arousal so intense I have to shift to accommodate my hardening dick.

Can’t remember the last time I had some release, the last time I was with a chick. Probably before Dad left, more than a year ago—although I had a few encounters with my right hand since then.

Doesn’t help that she’s so damn pretty, so sexy, sitting there in her short dress, and I’m sitting at her feet, looking up her shapely legs.

Dammit. I slide my hand up to her ankle. Why haven’t I been with anyone for so long? It’s not a lack of willing chicks. I just can’t seem to get interested in them. I tried over the years. Hard to be with someone when every time you look at them you see a set of wide blue eyes and a bow-shaped mouth. Tessa’s mouth, her eyes, her face.

Shit, no. I pull back my hand as if her skin burns. I need to get out of here before I lose control. I’ve kept the reins on myself tight for so long I think they might snap if I touch her again. Letting her foot down, I slam the lid of the first aid kit closed, lift it onto the coffee table and scramble to my feet.

Too fast. Too damn fast. Shit.

The room darkens around me, and I curse as I feel my knees begin to buckle. Not enough sleep or food, the adrenaline draining fast from my system.

Through the rushing in my ears, I think I hear Tessa call my name, but all my focus is on directing my fall to the sofa, so that I don’t crash to the floor. Hands guide me, and I sag on the soft leather, as everything dims for a long moment.

Hell.

The darkness wavers and recedes. I blink as sight returns—and she’s leaning over me, her delicate face filling my vision.

“Dylan?” Her face is so close to mine I can see a tiny scar through her eyebrow—an old, faded line—and the shades of blue in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

I want to tell her I’m okay, but my throat is so dry it clicks and blocks my voice. As I try again, she pulls away, and it’s all I can do not to reach for her.

“I’ll bring you some water.” She pads away quietly, and I hear the sound of water running. Then she’s back, carrying a tall glass. She sits by my side and puts it in my hands.

Her eyes are concerned, and I want to press a hand to my chest, to make sure my heart doesn’t break out of my chest. It’s thumping hard against my breastbone, and I have to hold the glass in both shaking hands, or it’ll splash all over. I take a sip, and realize I’m parched, so I swallow it all down.

Feeling better, I lower the glass, and she takes it from my hands, putting it on the table. Every movement she makes catches my eye. I can’t look away.

“What happened?” She’s searching my face, her brows knitting together.

“I’m all right. Just tired.” She’s so damn close, our legs are touching, and my body is reacting so fast my breath catches. “Tess…”

I lift my hand and brush my knuckles over her smooth cheek. Her skin is like warm satin, so unbelievably soft. A redness on her jaw catches my eye. A bruise?

Before I know it, I cup her face in both my hands and lean in. I cover her mouth with mine, tasting her at last, and a groan rises in my throat.

Oh God, how have I lived without this for so long? I part her lips with my tongue and thrust it into her mouth. She tastes sweet and fresh, like cool water, and my thirst is still raging—a different kind of thirst that goes deep.

Desire hits me like a sledgehammer. I lick her mouth, and a moan vibrates through her. I feel it all the way to my bones. I feel it in my balls and in my aching cock.

Hell, I want her so bad I can’t breathe. I twist and press her back against the cushions, kissing her like she’s oxygen, and I’m suffocating without her. She arches her back, and I drop my hands to her coat, unbuttoning it and pushing the heavy material off her shoulders.

Underneath, she’s wearing a shimmery red dress with a plunging neckline that reveals the mounds of her breasts and a hint of red lace.

Fuck. My dick goes diamond hard in two seconds flat, enthusiastically pressing against my fly, sensing action ahead.

She tastes of sugared almonds and I can’t stop kissing her. My hands move to her neck, drift down to cup her breasts, and dimly I wonder if I’m about to come like that, just from my tongue in her mouth and my hands on her tits—when she pushes on my chest and tears her mouth away.

Pulling her hand back, she slaps me. “Get out.”

Whoa. The light sting on my cheek helps me focus my gaze. She looks furious, and like she’s desperately trying to hold back tears.

What have I done? “Tess…”

“Get out! Out of my apartment.” Her voice shakes, and her eyes are too bright. “I’m done with this. Is this all a damn game to you?”

“It’s not a game,” I say, but she doesn’t let me go on, pushing on me again. Not sure what I would’ve said anyway, because I don’t know what this is.

“You don’t love me, do you?” Her eyes harden. “You never have.”

I open my mouth to deny this, to tell her the truth, but what the hell am I doing? I shake my head.

“And I don’t love you, either,” she says, her voice broken. “So just go.”

Of course she doesn’t love me. I know this. It shouldn’t feel like a kick to the gut. That’s what I want. For her not to love me. For me not to love her.

For time to stop.

“Be careful out there,” I mutter, get up and turn to go. Somehow that’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.