I’m leaving. Leaving Madison. Leaving everything behind, like my sister did.

Grabbing random clothes from my closet, I pile them into the open suitcase sitting on my bed. Underwear, socks, shoes, sweaters.

How do you move away from the only life you’ve ever known? Is there a trick? Is there a manual?

I sink on the mattress, next to my suitcase, and bury my face in my hands. My jaw throbs where Sean hit me, and my foot is sore. I reach down and stroke the Band-Aid Dylan put over the small wound. I can still taste him on my lips, smell his dark spicy scent.

Dylan. Why last night, of all nights? Why, after all these years? Why did he kiss me and say such contradictory and confusing things? He doesn’t love me. And yet he acted like he cares about me. Protecting me. Driving me home. Patching me up. Kissing me.

Kissing me for the first time in years.

I lift my fingers to my mouth. It still tingles from the touch of his lips, and the memory of it—sweet, then hard, his tongue stroking mine, his lip ring scraping on my mouth, his hands on my body—makes my breath hitch and starts a throb low in my belly.

I shouldn’t have noticed that he’s more handsome than ever before. Like a promise fulfilled, the boy he was grew tall and strong, his shoulders miles wide, and his jaw so square you can cut wood with it. Those eyes… such a vibrant blue.

Then I remember how he stumbled and fell on the sofa, his face going white. Tired, he said. And all my worry for him, the concern that’s been eating at me for months and years, sharpens, cutting deep.

How can I be both worried for him and angry at him? How can I be so damn sad that I’ll be leaving him behind, when I’ve never really had him? When I finally made up my mind to put him far behind me and not look back?

I glance at my cell, lying on the floor among piles of clothes. I want to call my sister, talk to her, know if she was also tossed into our parents’ deals at some point, like a bonus. If that’s why she left.

But I can’t face that, not now. I do need to talk to someone, though, someone who understands me.

So I get up, pick up the phone and call Audrey.

Absently, I chew on a painted nail as the line rings and rings. Is it too early? I glance at the alarm clock. Ten AM. On a Sunday. Maybe she’s still asleep?

Or rolling in the sheets with Asher.

The sudden image popping into my mind sends heat up my neck. Ugh. Not that Ash isn’t a handsome guy, and Audrey is cute, but ew. They’re like a brother and sister to me.

Hurriedly, I disconnect and stare down at my cell. My teeth grit together. I bow my head.

Can I do this? Leave everyone behind? My city. My friends.

Dylan.

Crap. My fingers clench on the plastic casing until my knuckles turn white. Why is it so hard to get up and finish packing, throw my suitcase in the car and go?

The cell rings, and it’s Audrey. Swallowing hard, I bring it to my ear.

“Tess?” She sounds out of breath, and I wonder if I was right about the rolling-in-the-sheets part. “Hi.”

“Hi, Aud.” The knot in my throat is growing, making speaking difficult. The pain of my parents’ betrayal, Sean’s reminder of what he’s done to me and what he’ll do again, given a chance, Dylan’s admittance he doesn’t love me... It all hurts too much to bear. “Sorry, I hit the wrong number. I didn’t want—”

“What’s wrong?” The breathy note in her voice is gone, and now she’s all business. “Did something happen at the gala?”

I hate lying to Audrey. She’s my best friend, and we’re really close, even though she was away for a time and only returned a year ago. But I find that the words don’t want to come out. I tug on the hem of my nightgown and wiggle my toes on the carpet. Outside the sky is gray, and rain pelts my windows. Inside it’s warm, and I still shiver.

“Tess? Talk to me. Shall I come over?”

“No. I’m fine.” The words now burst out of me in a rush. “Really, I am. I just… wanted to say hi.”

“Well, hi,” she says, and I hear a faint smile in her voice. “You do sound off. Are you coming down with something?”

“Maybe.” Hearing her, I feel better, and I don’t want to hang up just yet. “How are you and Ash?”

“Fine.” I hear a bass male voice in the background, and Audrey laughs. “Yeah, he’s fine. More than fine. Ash, cut it out!”

More heat washes up my neck, seeping into my cheeks, when my imagination helpfully supplies images of the things Asher must be doing to my friend right now. “I should go. We can talk another time.”

“Wait, Tess. What’s on your mind? Want to meet in the afternoon for coffee? I could convince the guys to come.”

“Nah, not today. I’m meeting with someone from my history class to study.” Hey, innocent white lies don’t count, right? I stare at my open suitcase. “Aud… We’ve been friends a long time.”

“Yeah, we sure have. What’s up, girl?”

“You mean the world to me. Your happiness…” I have to stop and swallow hard. “I’m so glad you and Ash found each other. And everyone else, too. Tyler and Erin, Zane and Dakota. I hope you know how much you all mean to me.”

“Tess?” Audrey’s voice goes all high-pitched. “What the hell’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

Shit. Way to go, almost gave myself away. “Nothing.” I think furiously, trying to cover up my blunder. “It’s PMS. You know, just a hormonal thing.”

“I know what PMS is,” Audrey says, more quietly now. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? We can drink hot chocolate and watch stupid TV shows.”

I smile, although tears are pressing behind my brow, burning. “I’m sure. I’m going out now anyway. I won’t be back until later.”

Much, much later.

“Okay then,” Audrey whispers, sounding unconvinced. “Call me when you’re back? I want to tell you something.”

“What, Aud?”

“Not, now. I…” She pauses, sighs. “Later. Ah, there’s something else, almost forgot. Dylan called this morning, asking who Sean Anholt is. Tessa, did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?” I take a step back, as if Sean can touch me through the mention of his name. My mind whirs uselessly. Why would Dylan call Audrey and ask?

“Girl, you told me Sean was nasty to you when you were together. You never told me what happened exactly, but he’s not here, is he? You said he moved to England?”

“He did.”

“Then why was Dylan asking me about him?”

Shit. “I, uh, ran into Dylan at the gala, and we got to talking.” Among other things.Oh God… “What else did he say?”

“He asked if you were still together with Sean. I told him no. Was I right?”

“Yeah, of course. We’re not together. Never were.” Damn you, Sean. “What else?”

“He asked if Sean used to hurt you. I said…”

My lungs feel crushed. “What did you say?”

“Tess, I said yes. He did, didn’t he? He hurt you. That summer you told me about.”

A sob rises in my throat, and I swallow convulsively. I never told her what really happened, just bits and pieces, but I think she knows.

“Dylan sounded angry,” Audrey whispers. “What happened?”

“I got to go now.” My voice wobbles. I can’t talk anymore. “Talk to you later, Aud.”

“Tessa, wait.”

But I disconnect, my hand shaking. I glance at the half-empty suitcase, and my eyes burn.

I can’t. I can’t leave. I don’t want to go. I spent my teenage years here in Madison with Aunt Elsie, and although now she’s moved back to Illinois, my friends are more of a family to me than my parents ever were. My parents live in Chicago, but this is my town, my home.

What about asking for a restraining order for Sean? What about facing my parents and telling them to go to hell? What can they do to me that’s worse than me leaving the only home I’ve ever known?

Tears drip off my chin. I wipe them off angrily. Maybe it’s not just them I’m trying to run away from. It’s myself. My past. My need for Dylan, who doesn’t give a damn about me. My need to be good for a family who is never satisfied with me.

Why can’t I be who I am, think what I want and do what I consider right?

Dad’s reprimanding voice echoes in my head. Mom’s sad eyes stare at me from memory, guilting me into accepting their rules, their ideas. Their demands.

I wish they’d accept me as I am. But I’ve waited all my life, deluded myself. They’ll never accept me. They’d much rather pass me on to a man who hurt me for a business deal. For money. That’s what they want for me—a man who’ll control me and direct my life without input from me.

No. I’m not running away. I scrub my hands over my face. Last night was… eye-opening. The bursting of a bubble I tried desperately to keep afloat.

Now I need to figure out my path from here. What to do from now on.

A sound breaks through my glum thoughts. The doorbell.

Frowning, I get to my feet. Who can it be? I thought I convinced Audrey I wouldn’t be in today. As I cross the living room, it strikes me that it could be Sean. Or Dad. Not sure which would be worse.

I hesitate. Slow down. Fear tightens my stomach. No way am I opening that door. I backpedal, intent on returning to my room and locking the door.

“Tess! Are you okay?” A man’s voice, but not Sean’s, or my dad’s. He bangs on the door so hard its hinges creak. “Tessa, open this door.”

“Dylan?” I whisper, shocked into stillness.

He’s still banging on my door. Like in a dream, I start moving forward again. I check through the peephole, and sure enough it’s him, looking ruggedly handsome in his rain jacket, his short hair drenched, his expression tight.

I unlock and open the door. “What’s going on?”

He pushes past me, running a hand through his wet hair, lifting it into small spikes. A blast of cold comes with him, and I hurriedly slam the door closed.

“I had to see you’re okay,” he says, pacing the floor, dripping water all over my carpet. “After what Audrey told me, I had to…”

He stops in front of me, and his brows draw together. It strikes me how dark his brows are for such a blond guy. They make his sky-blue eyes that more intense.

Belatedly I realize those baby blues are fixed on my hands. His face twists. “What the fuck?” he hisses and grabs my wrists.

I can’t help it. I flinch and jerk away, trying to get free. His grip tightens on my wrists, and a whimper of pain escapes me.

“Fuck. Sorry.” He releases me immediately, his jaw grinding. “He did this to you, didn’t he? Last night.”

I look down at my bare, bruised arms and wince, not from pain this time, but because he’s seeing them.

Uncomfortable under his angry, knowing gaze, I take a step back.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter and rub my arms up and down, over the rings of purple, the dark imprints of fingers in my flesh.

“Nothing.” His eyes narrow. His neck is flushed red. A vein ticks on his forehead. “What the hell, Tess?”

“What do you want from me?” I whisper.

“You’ve been crying.” His voice drops, matching mine. “Shit, Tessa. What happened to you?”

Before I know it, his arms are around me, gentle and strong, and like last night, I feel safe and warm.

“Who did this?” he insists to know, his mouth on my hair, on my forehead, leaving burning kisses.

“Sean. And Dad,” I find myself confessing into his solid chest. With my eyes closed, it’s dark and warm, and nothing can touch me. I can pretend Dylan really does care. That he wouldn’t rush to my rescue if he didn’t.

I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly, until I see stars.

“Your dad hurts you?” he asks tersely, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“No. Told you, it’s nothing. My fault.”

His big hands smooth over my back, tracing my spine. “I bet it’s not your fault, Tess. What happened?”

“The usual family politics,” I say, horrified when my voice hitches.

“What sort of politics?”

I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to open up to Dylan, who shredded my heart and never looked back. Problem is, I want to believe his concern is real. I want it too much. I want to believe he cares about me like I do about him, and we all know where that train of thought has gotten me so far.

This illusion of concern and safety will fade soon, and I’ll be left alone once more. Which is perhaps why I lift my arms, putting them around him in turn, holding him to me, now that he’s here.

The powerful muscles in his lower back shift, bunching and releasing under my hands, as he walks me backward. I don’t know what he intends to do, and I gasp when he lowers me on the sofa and leans over me.

He still hasn’t shaved, and his golden stubble catches the light. I raise my hand, longing to run my fingertips over its roughness, over his cheekbones and jaw line.

He’s breathing hard. His lips part, the silver ring catching the light.

“Tess…” he rasps. I stare right into those electric blue eyes, and my heart stutters.

Crap, this shouldn’t be happening. How can I keep my defenses up when he’s so close, when I’m struck by the full force of his maleness? When I’ve waited for so long to have him look at me so hungrily, when I’m right where I’ve dreamed to be?

Just this once, I tell myself as his mouth crushes on mine, the metal ring pressing into my lips. I dig my nails into the back of his neck, dragging him closer, as close as I can get him. I ache to feel him on me, inside me.

He’s as affected as I am, I realize, when he presses his lean, strong body to mine, letting me feel how aroused he is. His hard length pokes my thigh, hot and thick.

I throb so badly between my legs I think I’ll go mad if I don’t do something about it. I need him. I need Dylan to touch me, to enter me, to make me come.

He breaks the kiss, drawing back to look into my eyes again. “Christ, Tessa… Want you.” He groans against my lips, his hips rolling. “Need to be inside you.”

“Yes,” I murmur, “Yes.”

He attacks my lips again, licking and lightly biting, his tongue stroking mine. I pant into his mouth, my nipples hardening and my core throbbing madly, just from his kiss. His hand pushes my short nightgown up, sliding it over my hips, and his hand moves up to cup one breast. His thumb flicks over my nipple, and I let out a cry, lost in his mouth.

He keeps kissing me as he works my breast, squeezing and lightly pinching, making the pressure between my legs mount higher and higher, until I’m almost sobbing with need.

And then he slips his hand down, under the flimsy fabric of my panties, and strokes me where I ache the most.

My back bows off the sofa as I come in a series of mind-blowing pulses. The world vanishes for a while as I fall back to earth from the outer reaches of space, among stars and comets.

Holy shit.

“Hey there,” Dylan whispers, his lips tracing my cheekbone—warm lips and the cold sting of the ring—then the shell of my ear, making me shudder all over again. “Fuck, you’re hot as hell when you come.”

Don’t know what to say. In fact, I think I’ve forgotten how to speak, and I just lie in his arms, unable to move.

He draws back a little, frowning at me, but then his expression clears and he grins—a sexy, panty-melting grin that makes my body clench again. His hips roll forward, and the evidence of his rock-hard arousal jabs me, thick and powerful.

And I want more. I want him, inside me, thrusting deep.

Holy crap, I shouldn’t. We shouldn’t. This is wrong on so many levels it’s not even funny. I’m supposed to have moved on, leaving the past behind.

But when his mouth brushes over mine again, the doubt and the fear fade, my body straining up to touch his again.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his gaze travelling down to my cleavage, then lower, to my bare legs. He shifts uncomfortably, his cock swelling bigger against my thigh.

I reach between us, needing to feel him. I cup his erection through the cloth, and he gasps, his eyes widening. His hand covers mine as I unzip his pants and reach inside. His cock is tenting his white briefs, and when I pull the fabric down, Dylan makes a soft growling sound in the back of his throat.

“You’re killing me,” he mumbles, then he’s kissing me again, pushing me to lie down on the sofa, rolling over me. He lifts my nightgown up and up, and I help him pull it off me. “God, you’re beautiful. So much more beautiful than I remember.”

His voice holds a note of awe, and heat washes through me—he’s really looking at me, seeing me, and his gaze is scorching. Making me believe that maybe I am beautiful, right here, right now.

I tug on his sweater. “Off,” I say, because he’s still dressed, and the need to see and touch him is overwhelming.

He complies. He reaches behind his head and pulls off his sweater and T-shirt in one move. The garments land somewhere on the floor. I don’t notice where, my mouth going slack at the sight of his muscled chest.

God, the boy is ripped. He has grown more muscular over the years, his chest a landscape of sculpted pecs rolling down to a spectacular, rippling six-pack. Tattoos swirl over his smooth, tanned skin—dragons and spirals. Another dragon encircles one arm. His biceps bulge as he leans over me again.

I run a hand reverently over the dark tat, but he doesn’t give me more time to admire and explore. Instead, he bends his blond head and takes the tip of my breast in his hot mouth.

A moan escapes me as sensations erupt along my nerve endings. Heat pools between my legs, a mad throbbing that demands release.

I arch my back and grab his head, burying my fingers in his short, silky hair. “God,” I hiss. Can’t recall the last time someone kissed me and touched me like this. Can’t recall this kind of pleasure, ever. “Yes.”

He switches to my other breast, sucking and licking and tugging, and I shift restlessly, the pressure inside me mounting again.

“Dylan, please…” I can’t take much more of this, or I’ll go crazy. The need to come is near unbearable, bordering on pain. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers and pulls something out of his pocket—a condom, I realize vaguely as I hear the crinkle of plastic. He reaches between us to roll it on.

I lick my lips, my mouth going dry. His cock stands large and flushed between us, and it’s so hot I’m about to self-combust.

A memory of Sean flashes through my lust-addled brain, and I shove it away. Not letting him spoil this brief moment of goodness. No way.

So I reach for Dylan and pull him down to me. Pressing my mouth to his, I clutch at his broad shoulders. His eyes grow hooded, his thick lashes hiding the blue. The blunt head of his erection nudges my entrance, and I hook a leg over his hip, drawing him in. Letting him in.

Just this once. Please, at least this once, before reality returns.

His mouth goes slack against mine as he enters me, the slow, burning slide of his hard flesh inside me. It hurts in a good way as he stretches me wide, pushing deeper, always deeper.

Then he draws back a little and thrusts back inside, startling a cry out of me.

“Okay?” he whispers, and I nod frantically, the words having deserted me. “You’d tell me if I hurt you? If you want me to stop?”

Again I nod, and lift my other leg, trapping him against me, inside me.

God, yes. As he starts moving in earnest, my eyes all but roll up in my head with the pleasure of being so full with him, so completely taken and overwhelmed by him. He slides out, then back into me, his breath catching, his face twisting.

His movements grow frantic, his flesh slapping against mine, and I hover on the razor-sharp edge where pressure crests, making everything in my body go taut and tight. My mouth opens in a silent scream.

Oh, Jesus… Violent shudders rip through me, and my hips snap up, meeting him thrust for thrust as I come, the pressure breaking and sweeping me away in a flood of pleasure.

Dylan’s watching me, his gaze dark and unfocused as I writhe, his breathing ragged. He snaps his hips again, and I do cry out then, unable to stop myself as I tremble, pinned underneath him.

“Tess…” He buries his face in my neck and groans as his own orgasm hits. I feel him swelling bigger inside me, I feel the spasms as he pulses again and again. I feel everything.

I’m holding him inside me, in my arms, I feel his hot breath on my neck, feel the muscles shift in his chest as he tries to lift himself up.

I feel him, warm and solid. Right here. With me. Where I’ve imagined him to be every day.

And my heart is about to break all over again.

“Shit,” I say with feeling as my mind begins to clear. The reality of what has just happened slices through me like a blade. “Shit, Dylan.”

“What?” He raises his head, and the sight of his faint smile will be my undoing if I let it. “Damn, I’m crushing you.”

He carefully pulls out of me, removing the condom, and it has begun—the disconnect, the end, the completion of this crazy moment where I let myself forget and imagine everything was perfect.

I jerk back and curl on the sofa, pulling my knees to my chest, covering my breasts. My nipples still throb from his attentions, as does my core. Heat climbs up my neck, and it’s welcome because ice is spreading through my limbs, making me shiver.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan mutters, slumping on the sofa next to me, still gloriously naked, his pants pooled on the floor, his sweater a heap by the metal-and-glass coffee table. His blond hair is mussed, his lips red from our kissing, his body damn perfect, laid out like that, made to derail my thoughts.

“Nothing.” I shudder, a full-body shake.

“You’re cold. Let’s move.” Before I realize what’s happening, he’s standing, bending over and lifting me in his arms. “Bed, now.”

Bed?

I cling to him, just like I did last night, more aware than ever of his strength, his imposing physique. Holding me easily, as if I weigh no more than the flimsy nightgown I’m wearing, he strides across the room and kicks the door to my bedroom open.

And stops in his tracks.

“What the fuck?” He turns in a circle, with me still clutched in his arms. “You’re leaving?”

Crap, crap, crap. I forgot the suitcase.

“Maybe,” I say and wiggle. “Put me down.”

He lets me slide down, but as soon as my bare feet hit the floor, he hauls me to him, crushing me to the front of his tall body.

“Are you leaving, Tess?” he asks quietly, seriously. He’s looking down at me with those intense blue eyes, and his mouth presses into a tight, painful line.

My hands settle on his slim hips. We’re standing there naked, skin to skin. Truth to truth.

“Would you notice if I was gone?” I whisper, and I close my eyes, waiting.

“Jesus, girl.” His arms tighten around me, so that my face is pressed to his shoulder, and he nuzzles my hair. “Of course I’d notice. Christ. Why would you go?”

His words unclench something in my chest, and I know I’m about to fall apart again.

“Not sure yet,” I whisper.

“What? Not sure why you’re leaving?”

I shake with laughter that will probably soon turn to sobbing. “Not sure of anything.”

He’s silent for a few heartbeats, just holding me. Then he says, “Don’t go, Tess. I don’t want you to go.”

“You don’t?”

“No, hell no! Why would I…? Oh, fuck.” He releases me and takes a step back. His face looks pale. “Fuck, no.”

“Dylan…” I stare at him, confused, then stumble after him as he strides back into the living room. “Dylan, what’s going on?”

He says nothing as he pulls his clothes back on. He tugs on his boots and heads to the door. He opens it and pauses, a hand on the frame.

“I have no right to ask you to stay,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Long after the door has slammed behind him, I find myself standing in my living room, arms folded over my breasts, wondering why he asked me to stay.