The truck is barreling closer, closer, closer and there’s no stopping it. I hear the sound of bullets whizzing over head. I hear Simms telling me to run. I hear the firefighters yelling for their wives and children, frantic with fear. And loudest of all, I hear the screams.

So many screams, ringing out in the air.

Screams I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

Screams that—

“Come on, love. Wake up.”

There are arms around me, holding me close. Tethering me to the real world. Keeping the horror at bay.

“Shhh. You’re okay, Emilia. You’re okay.”

My feverish screams die out as consciousness returns with a jolt. My heart is pounding double-speed. Carter’s arms are still wrapped tight around my body.

“You’re okay,” he repeats in a soothing voice. “I’ve got you.”

I crane my neck to meet his eyes, whimpering softly. “The truck…”

“I know, love. But it’s over now. You’re safe.” His hand strokes my hair. There’s gravel in his voice. “I promise. I will keep you safe.”

There’s no room for doubt in his tone. He means every word.

My heart expands. I pull in a gulp of air and try not to focus on how close my face is to his, or how good it feels to be pressed against the hard planes of his body. I hate myself for even noticing. For being able to feel anything at all besides grief or loss or pain.

By all rights, I should be dead right now. How can I possibly be thinking about this?

Perhaps that’s precisely the problem, though: I should be dead. I came so very close. And there’s a part of me — a recklessly off-the-rails part — that whispers about living life to the fullest while I still have a chance.

Our gazes are still locked, and I can’t look away. There are deep shadows beneath his eyes — evidence of his sleepless vigil. I want to trace them with my fingertips, erase them with a kiss. I want to lean forward, press my mouth against his, and lose myself in him for a while.

Thankfully, I manage to pull away before I cave to the impulse. My cheeks are stained red as I sit up. I hope he doesn’t notice in the dark.

“I need to shower,” I whisper. Between the dust and debris from the explosion yesterday, the germs and grime from the hospital, and the sweat from my fitful sleep, I’ve never felt dirtier in my life.

Carter sits up too. His breaths are a bit uneven but when he speaks, his voice is steady. “Do you want me to call someone to help you?”

I glance at him. “Would…”

“What?”

“Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Tell me,” he orders softly.

I can’t look at him. I look down at the bedspread instead. “Would you help me? I just… I don’t want to be around anyone else, right now. I’m not ready to face the rest of the world. Only you.”

There’s total silence in the room for a long moment — so long, I begin to think he’s not going to answer me at all. But then, so softly I can barely hear him, he simply murmurs, “Okay.”

I try to walk to the bathroom, but the ache in my bruised leg makes it impossible. The pain meds have definitely worn off. I cry out, almost falling, but Carter manages to catch me for the second time tonight. Carrying me into the bathroom, he sets me on the shallow stone bench inside my walk-in shower, then kneels down so we’re at eye level.

“Do you—” He breaks off, swallowing roughly. “Do you need me to—”

I shake my head and reach for the drawstring of the sweatpants they dressed me in at Fort Sutton. They’re huge — probably the former property of a military cadet — and they slide easily to the tiled floor. My thighs press against the warm stone as I reach for the bottom hem of my shirt and begin to pull it up over my head.

Carter averts his eyes, turning to the valve controls embedded in the wall. He turns on the rainfall setting, sidestepping to avoid the sudden torrent. I stare at his back, watching as he shoves a hand beneath the stream to test the water temperature. Once it’s perfect, he sets my bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the bench beside me.

“There. Good to go,” he informs me without turning, his voice tight. “I’ll be just outside the door. You can call me when you’re done and I’ll bring you a towel.”

I push shakily to my feet, using the wall as a brace to keep the weight off my battered leg. Shuffling a step closer, I watch the muscles flex beneath the fabric of his t-shirt when I reach out and lay a gentle hand on his back.

“Carter.”

His name is a plea on my lips.

Letting out a low, pained groan, he turns to face me. The look in his eyes when he sees me standing there, stripped to the skin, nearly makes my quaking knees give out completely. His gaze drags down my body, taking in every curve, every slope, every infinitesimal detail. And any other day, I’d feel self-conscious or stupid for putting myself on full display. But after everything that’s happened, there’s no room in my head left for embarrassment.

Steam is filling the bathroom, fogging up the glass cube around us. Carter’s whole body has gone rigid with tension. I can see it in his every muscle and tendon. He doesn’t close the gap between us but the unadulterated longing in his eyes tells me how ardently he wants to.

“Emilia… let me get someone else,” he begs, eyes still drinking me in. “Please.”

“But I want you.” I take a shaky step toward him. “I need you, Carter.”

I need you to make me feel alive again.

I need you to remind me that I didn’t die today.

That there are still things worth living for, worth fighting for.

His expression is a study in contradiction — pain and longing warring in equal measure. He wants this too. Badly. Maybe even more than I do.

He’s just better at controlling himself.

I take another shaky step. This time, I nearly lose my footing. He sees my stumble and grabs hold of me before I fall. The minute his hands hit my bare skin, I know it’s over. Dragging me to his chest, his last shred of self-control slips away, leaving only need behind. His need to touch me. His need to reassure himself that I’m still alive, still here with him.

His forehead comes down to rest on mine. He’s breathing hard. His eyes are pure fire and his voice is pure growl. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“I know,” I murmur back, staring up at him. “It’s probably the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

He kisses me, then — his mouth coming down to claim mine without another beat of hesitation. It’s the kind of kiss I’ve only ever dreamt about. The kind of kiss you read about in books or see on movie screens, but never get to experience for real. The kind of kiss I didn’t know someone like Carter Thorne was capable of giving.

It’s full of tenderness and warmth, but also passion and heat.

A dance of lips and teeth and tongues that makes me dizzy with desire.

The best kiss I’ve ever had… on the worst day of my life.

He backs me slowly beneath the torrent of water, heedless of his clothes getting soaked. Pressing me up against the tile wall, he pins my body with his hips as his mouth devours mine. My hands wind around his shoulders, clinging tighter, and I arch my back until there’s not a single molecule of space left between our bodies.

For a long while, with the water streaming down, he merely kisses me. Thoroughly, ravenously, as though making up for all the lost time since we last found ourselves drowning in each other. It’s been an eternity since I felt the press of his lips, since my breasts brushed the hard planes of his chest, since my fingers slid up into his hair.

Too long.

Far too long.

With every move he makes, Carter Thorne sets off fireworks in my nerve endings, from the top of my head to the space between my thighs.

I never want it to stop.

Never want him to stop.

He shifts closer, cupping my face with his hands. I gasp when I feel his hard length throbbing against my thigh through the wet fabric of his pants. When my hand reaches down between our bodies to stroke his cock, he gasps too.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his mouth moving to my neck. I feel the scrape of his teeth against my jugular vein and nearly come undone at the sensation. “God, Emilia, I’m sorry. I just meant to kiss you, just once, some chase fucking peck of comfort, and now…”

“Shhh,” I breathe. My fingers find the bottom hem of his shirt and tug it up over his head. He helps me, flinging it aside with impatience. It hits the tile with a splat, but I barely hear it. All my focus is absorbed by the sight of Carter’s magnificent bare chest. His abdominal muscles ripple beneath the rainfall. There are beads of water on the dark line of hair leading down into his pants. I have the strangest urge to lean forward and lick them from his skin.

Carter doesn’t give me the chance. I catch a glimpse of the dark promise in his eyes and then he’s kissing me again, tongue spearing into my mouth as his hands begin to roam my body. He touches me everywhere — palming my breasts, caressing my sides, moving down, down, down, until his fingers slide between my legs and find my core. My head falls back when he pushes one finger inside me, then a second, sending volts of electricity through my system.

Sweet Christ.

He’s barely touched me and I’m about to come.

“Let go, love,” he murmurs against my neck, sucking the tender flesh. His fingers move again and I cry out, consumed by pleasure as an orgasm rockets through me at lightning speed.

He kisses me as I come down, swallowing my soft cries as the aftershocks fade from my system. I lean back against the shower wall, eyes half-lidded, and try to regulate my breathing. I hold his gaze as my fingers tug his zipper down in slow, torturous degrees. His dark blue eyes dilate with desire as his pants slide to the floor.

Nothing left between us, now.

Carter’s cock springs free, huge and rock hard. He groans as I wrap my hand around him and begin to stroke, the warm water only adding to the exquisite sensation of his length moving beneath my grip.

“God, Emilia…”

I increase my speed, more than happy to drive him wild, but he’s had enough teasing. With a fierce growl, he lifts me clean off my feet and begins to carry me. Half of me thinks he’s going to pin me up against the wall and fuck me senseless right there in the shower.

Instead, he strides out the glass doors, across the bathroom, and into my dark bedroom. Water streams off us, leaving a wet trail across the hardwood all the way to my bed, but I don’t even notice. And, if I did, I wouldn’t care.

Carter throws me onto the pillows and comes down on top of me. I feel his cock poised at my slick entrance and barely have time to wrap my legs around his hips before he plunges inside me, sheathing himself to the hilt.

His name is on my lips like a mantra as he moves in relentless thrusts, driving me to new heights of pleasure with each stroke.

Carter, Carter, Carter.

Our eyes are locked but, for once, we don’t have a wordless conversation. Because there’s no need for words.

This, here… the two of us, together…

It defies all definition.

Eludes all explanation.

This man will ruin me, if I let him, I think, scoring my nails down his back. And I will destroy him in return.

I combust into another orgasm at the same moment he does, pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever experienced spiking inside me. And I know it’s because, deep down, the emotions I feel for this man — this infuriating, stubborn, intoxicating, terrible man — are also unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

There’s a word I could use to describe the things I’m feeling. A word I would use, if I was a bit more brave and a little less smart.

A tiny, four-letter word…

…with enormous, far-reaching implications.

I don’t say it.

I don’t even think it.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

But as I lie there in his arms, listening to our heartbeats pound in perfect sync, I feel it fill every frozen crevice of my damaged, delusional heart.

Bring on the destruction.