“You have a Bugatti. A two-toned Bugatti. It looks like a demon race car from hell.”

“You say it as if I don’t know.” I laugh. “My dad got it for me when he promoted me to vice president two years ago. This isn’t exactly me.”

“Huh.” He fastens his seat belt. “Nice gift, though.”

Noah eyes me as I attempt to back out of my parking space. I probably look like a teen taking her first driver’s ed course. I suck at driving. It’s pathetic. I’ve barely ever had to drive.

The odometer reads less than three hundred miles, and I think those miles are from when Corbin test-drove it around town one wild Saturday night. Another night he ended up in jail.

“You want me to drive?”

I put the brake on and switch to park. “That’d be great. You know how?”

“It’s like driving a Toyota.” He smirks and hops out of the passenger side, wasting no time.

Once we’ve swapped seats, his hands stretch across the leather wheel before gripping it. “Always wanted to drive one of these.” He reaches for the stick. “You buckled?” He shoots me a teasing smile.

“Don’t go speeding in this bad boy. My brother Cade might have a lot of judges up his sleeves to get you out of a ticket, but I can’t save us if we wrap around a pole.”

He laughs a little, but I’m not kidding.

“Trust me, I can handle her.”

“Her? You’ve decided it’s a her?”

He shifts into reverse. “Oh, hell yeah.”

My head jerks back against the seat as he tears around a corner, winding through the parking garage, then he slows down a little and steals a glimpse of me. I’m bracing against my thighs, hanging on for dear life.

The car slows even more. “Just testing her out. Seeing what she can do. I’ll be good.”

I relax when he pulls out into traffic. “We have a bit of a drive. Is that okay?”

“We can drive all day.” He smiles and shifts gears, changing lanes with ease as though he was made to drive this car.

“Okay. Well, we’re going to the Hamptons.”

He peers over at me. “What’s in the Hamptons?”

I relax, memories floating to my mind…times from my childhood when I wasn’t abroad at school. “My home.”

“You have another place?”

“Yeah, but I rarely go there. But I’d like you to see it.”

He fiddles with the music while driving and puts on the XM radio. “What would you like to listen to?”

I reach for the controls to help, and his fingers caress my hand as he pulls back. It’s like a tiny zap, the cliché electric buzz passing between us—the moment when you know somewhere deep inside yourself that you feel something unexplainable.

This is the first time I’ve experienced the moment.

And I notice his shoulders arching back against the seat. He swallows while focusing on the road, his hand resting on the stick. He’s uncomfortable, isn’t he? Not with the car, but because I think he feels something too, and he doesn’t want to, or he’s afraid to.

He doesn’t want me to be a rebound. Jesus, he said those words to me the other night, but it feels like forever ago.

My phone rings and I dig inside my purse. “I could have sworn I turned that thing off.” I roll my eyes at Patrick’s number. The man’s persistent, I’ll give him that much.

“Not going to answer?”

“No.” This time I do power off my phone and toss it into my bag on the floor by my feet, then I turn on the EDM station. I’m not sure if he likes electronic dance music, and I wonder if I should switch to country. I have the feeling Noah’s not the kind of guy who would want someone doing something for his benefit, though.

But I reach again for the controls and switch it to something I know we both like. Bluesy jazz music filters through the speakers, through my blood, and warms my body almost instantly.

“Can’t go wrong with this,” he says after a few moments and taps his hand against the wheel in time with the bass.

“Figured it could be our common ground. I’m not a country fan, and I don’t take you for a techno kind of guy.”

“I don’t discriminate against good music.”

“Good to know.” I smile.

“You ever think about playing again? Or…do you still jam out? Maybe at night and in your underwear?”

My cheeks warm at his words, and I notice his hand tightening around the wheel.

“I only play naked,” I lie. The only thing that’s gone near my instruments is dust.

Noah glances at me, and his blue eyes deepen as his pupils expand. I want to shut my eyes and remember the feel of his hands on my body last night, the touch of his tongue in my mouth.

He stayed with me when I was afraid.

And he’s here with me now.

“How long were you in the military?” I have a sudden desire, a burning need to know more about him.

“Twelve years. I was supposed to be in for four.”

“Why only four?”

He drags in a slow breath—and I want to be that breath. I want to be so close to his mouth. I’m losing my mind because I’m jealous of air.

“I didn’t have the money to go to school, and the military can assist with that.”

“Oh.” I’m being nosy, but I press for more. “And what’d you want to go to school for?”

“Architecture.” He clears his throat. “My father was a carpenter. I was sort of his apprentice when I was a kid, absorbing everything he could teach me. I was his shadow.”

I can picture him as a kid, working with his hands, wanting to be like his father. I was always in my father’s shadow, hidden by it—and its vortex. Never alongside him.

“What made you stay in the service longer?”

He shifts gears as we head toward the Long Island Expressway, and we pick up speed. “I got addicted to it. Became a SEAL, and once I was in that deep, there was no turning back.”

“Until now?”

He swipes a hand down his jaw. I’m curious if he’ll keep up with whatever dose of truth serum he seems to have in him when he’s around me. Or maybe he’s always like this—strictly honest to the core.

“Your ex?” I prompt, hating myself for pushing but unable to stop myself.

“I was torn over whether or not to re-enlist when she dropped the bombshell on me that we were getting a divorce and she was moving to New York.” His words are weighted down by gravity, but not quite as heavy as I’d expect.

Is he truly over her, or does he still have feelings for her?

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t worry about this. “I’m sorry.”

He briefly catches my eyes, and his brows pull together. “I’m not. Not anymore. I don’t think we were ever right for each other. We’d been together since high school, so…” He looks away. “But having my daughter in the middle of all this—that’s what’s rough. I thought we were being civil, but I guess not.”

I can’t imagine, so I don’t say anything. What can I possibly say? This man, who served our country for twelve years in one of the most lethal jobs on the planet, has a tender heart like none other I’ve witnessed.

“Was your sister already here in New York?” Since he’s not speaking and I’m completely clueless as to what to say about his daughter, I decide to do what’s natural—change the subject.

“Yeah, luckily for me, and she was starting up her design business.”

“She’s got a real eye. So do you. Did you ever finish school?”

“No.”

“Do you still want to?” I look back at him.

“Maybe. But I’m happy with what I’m doing right now. And my job brought me to you.”

I blink a few times as if I didn’t hear him right, but he doesn’t look my way. I wonder if he doesn’t even realize he said it, so I let it go. His words fall down the annoying cracks between the gear shift and the seat where things go to die, never to be found again.

Minutes pass.

“So you have brothers. You said something about your brother and a judge. How many do you have?”

I straighten in my seat, my shoulders tensing at the mere thought of Cade. His words from our call last night echo in my head. “A younger brother, Corbin. And an older brother, Cade. Cade’s engaged, but Corbin will probably never settle down. Well, not until my father forces his hand like I think he’s trying to do with me.”

“With you?”

Shit, I didn’t mean to… “He kind of looks at marriage like a business deal. What would be the most profitable for our family and what would help propel us further socially.”

“And how do you feel about that?” he asks.

“It’s like my music. It’s a waste for me to try to think about anything that makes me happy. I don’t control my fate. He does.”

And we both stay quiet again.

The silence wraps us up in some sort of bubble where I can barely hear the falsetto of the singer on the radio. Then Noah’s hand moves from the stick shift to my bare thigh, and my breath catches at his touch.

“Nobody controls you but you.” His voice is so firm, so resolute; it’s almost as if I can believe him, embrace his words as the gospel truth.

“I guess you caught me in a lie, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

I look at him, but his eyes are on the road. “When you asked me that night we met at the bar if I had everything I wanted in life…well, I don’t.”

Not even close.

* * *

“For someone afraid of the water, why do you have a home on the ocean?”

I lean against the side of my car and look beyond the house at the beach. My own private beach. “It was my grandmother’s place. She left it to me when she passed away eight years ago.”

I take in a lungful of salty air and close my eyes. Memories from the stories she’d tell me by the campfire dance to my mind. Cade never wanted to come here. He wasn’t close to her; their personalities clashed.

Hell, none of my family really liked her, which is why they basically kept her out at this house and away from the city in her later years. But Corbin and I adored her. She was truth bottled up into one tiny woman. An amazing spirit and nothing like my father.

“This is the reason I brought you here.” I push off the car and approach him. He’s looking at the Cape home, observing the structure, probably noting the work it needs. “My apartment was a test run.” I spread my palms open. “This is the real job. I want it fixed up.”

“To sell?” He turns and faces me.

“God, no.”

“But the water…” He comes in front of me, his face tight with concern.

“Just because I don’t plan on going swimming doesn’t mean I can’t lie on the beach and get a tan.” I chuckle. “I have a fear, but it’s not that bad. I won’t start shaking or something.” I slap his chest. God, it’s so hard, like pure steel carved beneath his T-shirt.

“Are you serious about the job?” He looks back at the home, the color of blue cotton candy. It probably needs an exterior face lift as well.

“Of course. It’ll probably take a lot of time and work, though. Is that okay?”

More time with him. I try to convince myself this was always the plan, to hire someone for my apartment then have them work here, but honestly, until Noah, I didn’t know when I’d come back here again.

“Bella should come.”

I clasp my hands, and we walk side by side down the path toward the front door. I hang back inside the kitchen and allow Noah to get the lay of the house.

“I have someone take care of the place for me, which is why it doesn’t look like a haunted mansion,” I call as he comes down the main staircase at the center of the house.

“It’s big. Depending on what you want, it could definitely take months.” He scratches his jaw, the dark stubble there. “Six bedrooms, seven bathrooms—the main living room and kitchen alone are a lot of work.”

“But you’re up for it?” I pop onto a bar stool at the kitchen island, which doubles as a breakfast bar.

“You shitting me? Bella is going to flip.”

“Should we talk money?”

He waves. “You can work that out with Bella. I’m just the hard labor. Although we might need to take on an actual crew for this project.” His eyes light up as his gaze sweeps across the room.

“It needs updating like my apartment. I’d like a French country look. Maybe even some Southern charm. And that wall needs to be taken out to join the living room and kitchen together for a more open concept.”

He nods. “It has great bones, though.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Should I call her?” Then he shakes his head and sets his phone on the counter. “Maybe later.”

I shrug. “Sure. You want a snack? Water? I think there might be some stuff here.” We popped through a drive-through on our way here for a bagel and coffee, but that probably wasn’t enough for him.

“I’m good, but maybe we could get some fresh air? It’s a perfect day.”

Low seventies in May with a slight breeze from the ocean—a walk would be nice.

“Sure.”

We go out the sliding glass doors and head beyond the deck. We have the ocean to ourselves. Noah slips off his shoes and walks barefoot in the sand, and I follow suit.

“How close is too close?”

“Hmm?” I’m staring at the ocean, watching the waves rise and crash, and a slow sense of panic builds within me. I flinch and step back, my throat growing thick, but then Noah touches my elbow. “I—”

His fingers glide down my forearm and thread with my own, and suddenly the pounding in my chest dulls to a regular beat, and the fear dries up beneath the sun rays.

“I almost drowned when I was eight. Got sucked out in a rip current—on this very beach.” My eyes close as I drag up images from when I was a kid. “I thought I was going to die.” I shake my head. “I remember doing what I’m not supposed to do—swim against the current. It’s a losing battle.”

“What happened?” He squeezes my hand, which has me opening my eyes, and I find him looking at me. He’s standing before me, still holding my hand—holding my heart at the moment.

“Cade was on a jet ski. Just as I was about to give up, to quit the fight and slip under, he saw me.” I owe both my brothers my life now. “I haven’t gone near water ever since. Not even rivers or lakes. Pools. I can handle pools.” I force a slight, probably crooked smile. “And here you are, a man who lived on the water—still do.”

“What if you start small?”

“What do you mean?”

He tips his head toward the water. “We step in. Just one small step. That’s it.”

I look at the water as it rolls over the sand and glides back out. “One step.” I hold up my free index finger, and he nods.

“One step.”

“You must think I’m such a wuss to develop a crazy fear of water because of what happened.”

“I would never think that about you.”

And I believe him.

I glance at the water. The waves don’t look tough today. Like a slow trickle of movement softly flowing in over the sand.

My jaw clenches, but I allow him to walk me out further. Facing my fears.

I close my eyes and wait for the moment when the water will touch me. It’s quick and cold, splashing me. But I don’t step back.

Shit. I’m such a damn coward. Noah was facing terrorists in the Middle East, and I get hot and sweaty and nervous at the touch of the ocean on my feet. What the hell is wrong with me?

I suck in a deep breath, pull my hand free of Noah’s, and walk deeper into the water.

“What are you doing?” he calls.

I can do this. It’s just water. My fear is absurd, and if I can overcome this, then maybe there’s hope for other parts of my life. Maybe I can move on after what happened in Greece.

I continue to move with my eyes closed. Soft waves crash against me—little bits of pressure on my legs. Chills rush through me, but the warm sun touches my head, and I push forward even though it’s getting colder now that the water is to my knees.

“Grace.”

His hand goes to my arm, but I pull away. I don’t want to be stopped. I need to do this, to know that I can. A larger wave splashes me, but I hop up with it to keep myself from getting totally doused. The waves—they’re what scare me the most. The power of them. The damn current...

When the water is up to my hips, the bitter cold sinking into my bones, I stop and open my eyes.

“You took a lot more than one step,” he says as he comes in front of me, and I realize his jeans are soaked. The bottom of his shirt floats at the top of the water, and I look down at my own black tee as another wave hits me.

I’m so damn cold, my teeth start to chatter.

“I think that was good enough for one day.” He grins, and I see pride in his eyes.

Or maybe that’s how I’m feeling about myself. Proud.

He holds my elbow as if he’s afraid he might lose me to the ocean, and he guides me back to the sand. “You’re shaking.”

And my teeth just keep jamming up and down in time with the rapid beating of my heart.

“Let’s get you warm.”

We dash inside the house, and Noah starts for the fireplace. With a flip of the switch, the flames roar to life.

I’m anxious and so alive right now.

I did that. I went into the water. Me.

Maybe it’s the high—or the cold—but I peel off my shorts without thinking, needing to get the heavy wetness off me. Then my top too.

Noah must be freezing as well. I think Corbin has clothes here he can wear.

But the man’s not even shaking. Not even a flinch from the wet or the cold. The strength and power beneath his clothes, the compassion inside him…he’s so sexy right now. Suddenly I forget about the cold, and I think I’m shivering for another reason.

“That should help. Plus, you might want to change—” He’s facing me now, and his brows slant inward. His eyes start at my chest and go down, taking me in, and I want him to.

I’m in a bra and underwear—sheer, at that, so I’m basically nude—and his eyes on me feel incredible. But his hands and mouth would be better.

I watch his Adam’s apple move when our eyes finally meet again. “Grace.”

“I was cold,” I say, almost in a daze, as I look at his strong, corded forearms. God, he’s such a man. A real man. Not those fake men in suits who care only about money and status.

He glances at a blue throw blanket on the couch by the fire and starts to go for it.

“I don’t need that.”

He pauses mid-step and stands erect, squaring his shoulders. His hands turn to tight knots at his sides, pressing against his outer thighs as if he’s wrestling with a decision to make.

And I want to make it for him. I want to cross that red line that has been carved, practically in blood—by the blood of my family—and I want to be with a man I know can make me feel so much more. I reach around behind my back and start for the clasp, still holding onto his gaze.

“Grace.” It’s a warning, I know.

“Sex,” I say in a rush. “It can just be sex.” I remove the straps and drop my wet bra to the floor. My nipples are hard not only from the cold but from the heat of his stare.

I’ve never done something like this before. Maybe Rachel’s right; maybe I do need a little naughty in my life. Even though this doesn’t feel wrong to me.

For the first time, something in my life feels right.

Noah cups a hand over his mouth, and I greedily take in the sight of his body. His partially wet shirt sticks to the muscles of his stomach, and his cock is hard, straining against his jeans.

I slip my fingers down my abs and to the top of my panties.

“I can’t offer more than that,” he says in a throaty voice.

“Me neither,” I whisper, afraid if I speak too loud, my voice will shake. “So we use each other for sex. No strings.”

He edges a little closer, but he’s fighting this, and I know why—he doesn’t want to hurt me. And I respect that, but dammit, if he doesn’t take me into his arms soon, I might lose my mind.

“This is what you really want?”

I don’t hesitate—I just nod and shove off my underwear. I’m standing buck naked in front of this man with the sunlight pouring in through the windows as if I’m under a spotlight.

“Fuck.” His eyes darken. He comes toward me in two quick strides and immediately lifts me as if I’m weightless. His mouth crashes over my lips, and his tongue twines with mine as he carries me into the living room.

My hands go to the back of his head, and I push my fingers up through his thick, dark hair, which is a slightly rougher texture than silk.

I’m nearly panting when he drops me onto the couch and sinks to his knees before me. His eyes follow the path his fingers are burning across my skin as his hands work up my legs, then he gradually wedges my knees apart. I tilt my head back as he kisses my inner thighs.

I’ve thought about this so many times since we met, but nothing can compare to the real thing.

One hand wraps around my ass, and he squeezes as his mouth covers my sensitive flesh. I buck my hips up and gasp in pleasure. He’s giving me what I need, building the intensity and the pressure with his tongue and fingers at the same time. Then his hand goes up to my breast, and he pinches my nipple.

“I don’t want to come yet.” I want the first time to be with him inside me.

“Shh…”

He has me crying out as he strokes me again with his tongue. He’s hitting every chord in perfect harmony, and I’m about to peak. My shoulders arch back, straining, pressing into the couch as my eyes roll back. Tremors rip through my body, and I can’t stop.

He holds my hips in place and it’s almost torturous, but he doesn’t stop. I press my hands to his shoulders, not sure if I can take any more pleasure without losing consciousness.

“Noah…” My voice breaks.

His lips move back to my thighs, and I relax as he trails kisses down to my calves and begins kneading my flesh, giving me a massage.

Is this man for real?

“Do you have any protection here?” he asks once he’s upright and on his knees.

Suddenly I feel so naked and exposed with him fully clothed. I’m trying to use my brain—to formulate coherent thoughts, but it’s hard. “I, uh, my brother uses this place from time to time. Maybe the bedrooms have some.”

He stands then takes my hand, helping me.

I angle my head toward the stairs. “This way.”

Noah catches me off guard by slapping my butt on our way up the steps, and it turns me on. When we get to the top of the stairs, I can see that this man is coming undone with need. And I love that I’m the one doing it to him.

My back ends up against the wall as he pins my hands above my head and kisses me. I can taste myself on him, and I try to let go and live in the moment. He palms my breast with his free hand then reaches between my thighs again, parting them, demanding entrance, and I obey without question.

“Which way?” His voice is like velvet on my skin, soft and smooth. I could listen to him speak all day. It’s not just the Southern accent; it’s the way he speaks with authority but also with passion—like every damn word he says is meaningful and goes straight to my bones, starting a fire inside me.

He slowly lowers my arms, and I point down the hall in a daze. I’m cold from his wet jeans and shirt, and I want his naked body to cover mine and warm me.

I allow him to take my hand, and he follows me. I flip on the switch in the guest room and head toward the white painted end table by the bed. Thank God. Inside the drawer is a string of purple foil packs, and I have to squeeze my eyes for a second and remind myself that the woman taking care of the house has washed the sheets since my brother has been here.

But maybe we should go to another room…

Before I can voice my idea, Noah has me falling backward onto the bed, and my hair fans out behind me. I stare at him as the condoms drop from my hand.

He’s looking at me, that dark, almost pensive expression in his eyes as he peels off his wet tee. His hard, golden chest moves up and down slightly, and I follow his hands to where he works at the button of his jeans.

When he’s standing in only his navy boxers, his cock stretching out the wet fabric, I have to bite my lip and force myself to clutch the plush comforter instead of touching myself—missing his hands on me.

“Wait for me.”

He must notice my hands are twitchy with need. My back arches off the bed, my breasts jutting in the air as I wait—like painfully slow ticks on a clock when you’re desperate for something and time stands still.

He’s making me physically hurt for him to be inside me.

And damn, I can’t even begin to describe the intense pain between my thighs as he removes his boxers, exposing his hardened length. I have to look away from his muscular thighs and the V above his hip bones—but when his eyes capture mine, it’s worse. The intensity of his gaze has my stomach muscles clenching, and I can’t help myself. My hand slips to my breast and my other hand slides down to my center, but Noah shakes his head and comes down on top of me, moving my hands away.

“Only my touch,” he rasps before flipping me onto my stomach in a quick move that reminds me of this man’s powerful strength. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

I dig my fingertips into the pink rose petal bedspread as he shifts my hair away from my ear and trails kisses down the side of my neck. His mouth moves down my spine to the small of my back before touching the curve of my ass, and I want to bite something to stop from screaming.

I’ve never felt like this before. No man has ever brought me to the edge with a touch, with a kiss. I feel him spread me apart, and I inhale at the feel of his tongue back between my thighs, then he’s hitting my sensitive spot again, but from this position, it’s making me unable to see straight. White dots dance before my eyes, so I close them tight and ride this unbelievable wave of pleasure.

“Please.” I’m begging again. But this time I’m begging for release because I can’t take it anymore.

Within moments, I’m already peaking again, unable to hold back, then he grips my ass with both hands, squeezing tight as I jerk and buck against his face, losing all sense of control.

And then he flips me over, and he’s looking down at me, bracing his hands on each side of me as I pant like a damn crazy person in heat.

“Are you ready for me?”

I want to return the favor, I want to give him everything he gave me, but I can barely move. My legs are like jelly.

He pushes up, grabs the string of condoms I dropped, opens one, and slides a rubber over his cock, the veins prominent there. My body is already tightening, greedy for him. He lowers himself over me and brushes his knuckles across my cheek. His lips part a little as he stares into my eyes.

“I’m ready,” I whisper before he positions his tip at my center. When he eases himself inside me, my head goes back, and my body shifts up to slam against his, wanting—no, needing—to take all of him.

“Jesus,” he says under his breath, and I almost miss the word.

He moves in and out, slowly at first, stretching me. I’m so tight, and then his thrusts go so deep inside me that I wonder if we’ll ever come apart. I don’t want him to. It feels so right. Like he belongs inside me.

“Look at me.”

His demand is throaty, and I can tell he’s hanging on the edge the way I was moments before. Hell, the way I still am. I’m so sensitive that even the slightest pressure will make me snap.

My eyes are closed because I’m afraid to see the man I’ll have to give up.

“Grace…”

The moment I force myself to give in to his wishes, I find release, my body shaking as he climaxes with me, all the while keeping eye contact.

“Wow,” I say after a minute, and he gradually slides out and lies beside me.

I turn my head and look at him. His eyes are closed now, his head tilted toward the ceiling, and I’m wondering what he’s thinking. Does he regret crossing the line?

Then I catch sight of his tattoo—the artwork there. I shift to my side as my fingers skate over his shoulder. “Does the tattoo have any significance?”

“Tattoos,” he says without opening his eyes, but the muscles in his stomach tighten.

There are different symbols all blended inside what looks like a giant circle. An anchor, fox, tiger, and more.

“They represent the people I lost,” he says after a moment. “Nicknames and such of the guys.”

I immediately drop my hand from his body and lower back to the bed, the air from my lungs deflating. “There are a lot,” I whisper, not meaning to say the words out loud.

“Are you okay?” I ask when he doesn’t speak.

The warmth of his hand covering mine takes me by surprise, and the heat of his touch spreads throughout my body.

I take a shaky breath as he shifts my way, his eyes now open, and he palms my cheek with his free hand. “Right now, here with you, I’m more than okay,” he says and then presses his mouth to mine.