The minute we stepped into my apartment and the door closed, Preston had me up against the wall. He cupped the back of my head with his hand as his mouth crushed mine. My lips parted and his tongue found mine, teasing, circling. He dragged his lips over my jaw and down my neck, where he planted wet, open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone and over the swell of my breasts. He seemed hell bent on working out the week’s frustration on me.

“Bedroom,” he murmured against my skin as he walked me through the living room to the bedroom, where we tumbled onto my unmade bed, our lips still touching. He covered my body with his, and my arms circled his back, my hands finding their way under his shirt.

He moved his thigh between mine, and I felt his hardness pressing against my hip. His hand crept under my shirt, pushing it up. His mouth closed hot and wet over my nipple, his teeth capturing it through the thin lace of my bra.

I tugged at his belt buckle, but we were too close for me to get it undone. He rolled away, jerked it open, and tugged off his pants. His eyes held me in place, scorching me as he undid each button. The shirt hit the floor next. He hooked his fingers into my leggings, and slid them off in one smooth motion, taking my panties with them. A condom wrapper crinkled and tore. Seconds later, he was sinking into me.

Foreplay consisted of the heat we’d exchanged at Blondie’s, and the two minutes it had taken us to get from my front door into my bedroom. And considering the size of my apartment, two minutes was a generous estimate.

It was fast and frenzied, and over just about the time I was getting started.

Preston rolled off me, climbed out of bed and crossed the hall to the bathroom. Then he lay back down, looped an arm around me, and tucked me into his side.

“Rough week?” I asked, unused to the uncharacteristic swiftness.

His sigh grazed my forehead. “You have no idea.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” He pressed his lips to my hair and held them there. “I just want to lie here and enjoy you.”

Maybe it hadn’t been the most amazing night of lovemaking we’d ever had, but it was nice cuddling up against him.

He nodded toward Izzy’s single bed tucked under the eaves. “It still freaks me out to no end to see your daughter’s bed there. All those stuffed animals watching us.”

I couldn’t help laughing. Izzy and I shared a bedroom, but it was more her room than mine. Her artwork covered the walls, and most of her books and toys were tucked onto a shelf in the corner. And of course there were the voyeuristic stuffed animals gawking at us whenever Preston and I had sex.

“I can’t afford anything bigger, rich boy. You know that. I couldn’t even afford this place if my mother didn’t own the building. We don’t all have massive townhouses and Manhattan apartments with more bedrooms than people.”

“I’m going to bring you to my penthouse one of these days. We’ll spend the whole weekend in New York. Go to the theater. Eat at my favorite restaurant.”

I’d heard this before. A few times, actually. But so far it hadn’t happened. The idea both excited and scared me. I was a low-budget girl. I wasn’t too sure I’d fit in with the life Preston lived. I drove a twelve-year-old Ford Escort wagon with a wonky trunk latch, four mismatched tires, and only three hubcaps.

“You promise?” I said, but only because I assumed he expected a response.

He turned off the light on the nightstand and pulled the covers up over my shoulder, then dropped a sweet kiss on my forehead. “I promise. Now go to sleep.”

* * *

I woke to an empty bed and a note on my pillow. Preston, as usual, was gone. I could count on one finger how many times he’d stayed the whole night. I didn’t know if he had a dog he’d never mentioned, or an early morning racquetball session, or if he was going to church since it was Sunday.

He’d signed the note with a neat, bold “P.”

I rolled onto my side, wrapping my arms around the pillow beside me, breathing in the lingering scent of Preston’s cologne.

We’d never discussed what was going on between us. I was okay with casual dating, and the sex was great. It was the perfect situation, really. I was a single mother working multiple jobs. Maybe a part-time romance was all I could manage right now.

Taking care of myself and Izzy was number one. I’d experienced first-hand what my mother went through when she lost the love of her life, and I didn’t ever want to be in a position where I couldn’t function or would let my daughter down.

My friends were off finishing college or starting careers, having fun. And I’d been working my ass off.

I didn’t regret it, but losing myself in the arms of someone I cared for and who cared about me?

Of course I wanted that. Someday. Why wouldn’t I?