The ride home back to Jackson’s place—no, their place—wasn’t quite awkward, but neither was it the easy silence of two people completely comfortable with each other.

True to the weather app’s prediction, it was stormy, and the raindrops on the cab window gave midtown Manhattan a blurry, dreamlike feel.

Absently she traced the Chanel logo of her bag, as she so often did when she carried this particular clutch. Feeling eyes on her, Mollie glanced over at Jackson, finding him watching the idle motion of her fingers with a tense, unreadable expression.

Mollie turned away, focusing her attention on the raindrops racing across the window. She didn’t try to hide the small sigh that crept out. She was tired. Tired of whatever was happening—or not happening—between her and Jackson.

One thing was becoming painfully clear: they couldn’t keep doing this. They could stay friends, certainly, but they needed distance. Living together had been a mistake on every level. Not only because she’d gone into it knowing full well she was a pawn in some warped contest between her sister and Jackson, but because she’d done it a little bit for herself as well. Her brain might be over her crush on Jackson, but her heart . . .

Her heart was still hung up big-time on this guy she could never have.

Tomorrow she would search for an apartment. Maybe she’d look closer to the university, find a semi-normal roommate. It wouldn’t be a Park Avenue penthouse, but maybe she and Jackson could get back to normal.

Whatever normal was.

Mollie didn’t know what her role was in his life anymore. Once upon a time she’d been his confidante. The one he’d come to when Madison was having a tantrum. The person he’d called after a bad practice when Maddie had been out with the girls again.

But things were shifting. There was an undercurrent between them that felt darker and far more dangerous than whatever she’d felt for him before.

Whatever Madison wanted for Jackson, her sister would just have to figure that shit out on her own.

Once back on the Upper East Side, Jackson paid the cabdriver and they rode the elevator up to the penthouse in silence. Not angry silence. Not even truly awkward silence. Just the quiet of two people who knew there were things to be said, but didn’t know what things.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said as he flicked on the light in the foyer. “I had a good time.”

He nodded and dropped his keys on the console table. “It was my pleasure.”

It was Mollie’s turn to nod, giving a horribly dorky wave as she started to head toward her bedroom.

Then she stopped, pivoted on her high heel, and turned back to face him. He hadn’t moved.

“Okay, this is dumb, Jackson.”

“What’s dumb?”

She walked toward him, stopping several feet away. “What is happening to us? We used to be friends. Heck, there were times when you felt like my best friend, even though we were in different time zones. Now we’re all tense and walking on eggshells, and you’re weird.”

“I’m weird? You’re the one who’s kissing me one night and going out with another guy days later.”

“You said that kiss was a mistake. I’m not going to put my life on hold while you go hot and cold on me.”

“Cut me some slack, here, Mollie! I don’t exactly know the protocol. A year ago you were my wife’s sister, and now you’re . . .”

“I’m what?”

“Fucking hot!” he shouted.

“Well, make up your mind what you want to do about it!” she shouted back. He glared, but Mollie refused to back down. “You don’t get to pin me against the kitchen counter and kiss me and then wave me off on a date with another guy. I’m not going to apologize for wearing my favorite dress for Lincoln—”

“Bullshit,” he said quietly.

“What?”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that red dress is for Lincoln. And those itty-bitty pajamas . . .”

“I told you, that’s what I always sleep in! Quit acting like it was some sort of seduction plan. I was in the kitchen looking for a glass of water, not sneaking into your bedroom in edible panties!”

His eyes flashed, desire mingling with anger, and as he stepped closer, Mollie realized they were both breathing hard.

“What about that first night?” he asked, his voice low. “You wore this sexy red dress then, too. Who was that for, Mollie?”

She licked her lips nervously. “I told you, I was planning to go out with friends after. We were going to a club.”

“Is that so?” His voice dropped down a pitch, and he moved even closer.

Mollie told herself to step back, to put more space between them—only to find that she didn’t want to.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His breath was warm on her face. “I think you’re lying. I think you wore that dress because you wanted me to notice you. I think you were tired of being Madison’s kid sister. You wanted me to see you.”

His words so perfectly voiced the exact yearning she’d had that night that Mollie squeezed her eyes shut. “Jackson—”

“I saw you, Mollie. I’ve been seeing you.” His voice was hoarse. Urgent.

He was so damn close.

All she had to do was tilt her head up, shift her weight forward, and there’d be no space between them. She could put her lips on his, and she’d be kissing—

Her sister’s ex.

Mollie stepped back.

“Damn it, Mollie, now who’s playing games?” He reached out a hand toward her, but Mollie dodged it, backing away farther, just slightly unsteady on her high heels.

“Don’t, Jackson,” she said, her voice not nearly as firm as she would have liked. “I’m going to go to my bedroom. You’re going to yours. Tomorrow I start looking for a new apartment.”

“Come on, you can’t—”

Again she didn’t let him finish. “No, I can. I need to. This proximity was a mistake, and we both know it. It makes us think we want things that we—” She broke off. Took a breath. “Jackson, you once told me you loved my sister more than anything. My sister. I can’t just forget that.”

He swore and raised a fisted hand to his forehead, tapping gently as though wanting to physically remove whatever was going through his mind at that moment.

She swallowed. “You’d regret . . . whatever was about to happen just then,” she said. “You’d wake up and hate yourself.” And I’d be brokenhearted.

He let his hand drop, both arms dangling at his sides as he stared at her miserably.

Mollie knew then that she was right. Whatever it was he thought he wanted tonight wasn’t what he wanted in the long term. There was no future for her and Jackson Burke, and anything resembling a fling would be disastrous for both of them.

She started to tell him good night, then realized that there’d be no such thing as a good night for either of them. Mollie knew full well that she’d be staring at the ceiling into the early morning hours.

Mollie turned slowly and headed toward her room, torn between wanting to cry and wanting to scream.

She’d done the right thing. It was all too weird. And Jackson and Madison might be divorced, but Mollie’s gut was telling her that Jackson hadn’t let go of his previous life yet. He was still clinging to the old Jackson. And the old Jackson meant Madison.

Mollie’s stomach twisted at the thought. She shut her bedroom door and in a daze lowered herself slowly to the bed. Forced herself to run through what a reunion between her sister and Jackson would feel like. Forced herself to remember what it had been like to watch the casual way Jackson had always pushed Maddie’s bangs back from her perfect face. The little ways Madison would touch Jackson, even as she carried on a conversation with someone else. They were so used to each other. They belonged together.

There was a knock at Mollie’s door, slow but loud. Deliberate. Daring her to ignore it.

She wanted to ignore it.

She wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and wake up in someone else’s body, in someone else’s life. She didn’t want to be smitten with a man she couldn’t have.

And yet . . . he was her friend. Despite the murky sexual haze, she cared about him. And she couldn’t ignore the knock of a friend.

Mollie got up and went to open the door.

Jackson stood there, suit jacket gone, tie loosened around his neck, as he braced both hands on the door frame, staring angrily down at her.

“You’ve got it wrong.” His voice was harsh.

“Jackson—”

He cut her off. “No, it’s my turn to talk. You’ve given your speech. And I get it, Mollie, I do. Madison is your sister, and she made you PB&J as a kid when your parents checked out, and that’s fine. But open your eyes. You don’t owe her anything anymore. You are your own woman, and you are a woman, Mollie. You’re not a kid. You’re not a girl. And if I’ve been a complete asshole lately, it’s because I’m having a hell of a time coming to grips with the fact that I want you. And fuck, Mollie, I want you. I want you so bad, I’m dying.”

Mollie had never made the first move on a man in her life. She was old-fashioned like that. But she made the first move now.

She took a step forward, placed a hand at the back of his head, and pulled his mouth to hers.