No physical instruction was needed when she mounted the machine for the second time. Larkin placed her boots on the pegs and scooted so close that not even air could come between them. Still, his hand wrapped around her backside, hugged her closer, and held her there for longer than the first time. She squeezed him tighter still. Her face pressed against the back of his neck. Warmth radiated from his skin. Her eyes closed. The realization that they were hugging shocked her eyes open. This was the most intimate act she’d ever allowed with a man or anyone, for that matter. Even she and her best friends gave weak embraces with air kisses. Those couldn’t be construed as anything more than a greeting. This broke barriers. Unorthodox though it was, this meant something. And she never wanted it to end.

A taxi whipped into the loading and unloading zone, forcing them into motion. Her arms remained around his torso, but she’d broken her death grip. Desperation wasn’t a quality she admired, so no way would she offer it to him.

They rumbled back in the direction of her office. Three blocks away, she knew she’d made a grave error by hugging him so openly. The bike purred quietly at a traffic light with two cars in front of them so close to her office. He was taking her back. He’d seen her desperation without even looking. He’d felt it. Was probably still feeling it. Her arms tingled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until the car behind them honked. Her gaze snapped back to the here and now to see the light green and the first two cars so far in front of them a city bus could wedge itself in the gap.

The car behind them honked again. She felt his heart thrumming inside his chest. Unless he was having a seizure—which she thought would require jerking but wasn’t one hundred percent sure—he was in the midst of a decision-making process. Again the car honked, but this time, it added a rev of the engine and hazarded closer with its bumper.

Beckett expelled an audible breath, looked toward the right, and then revved the bike into high gear. He cut across two lanes of traffic, turning them in the opposite direction from her building. Another car honked, or maybe it was the same one. They were too far gone to tell. Two fast blocks later, he turned left into the basement parking of a high-rise. The large metal rolling door lifted, allowing them entrance. He parked in a dark, desolate corner. The kind she’d always been warned to steer clear of. Her head bobbed left and right while she removed and secured her helmet.

“You’re safe here.” He grabbed the key from the motorcycle and then grabbed her hand.

Of course, she was safe. She was with him.

“This is us.” He led her to an elevator, and they rode for what seemed like an eternity. His hand never faltered, even as people crowded them in a corner. On and off, traffic of a uniquely New York sort shifted, carrying on with their day and paying them no attention. Finally, he tugged her off the car behind him.

She weaved around a crush of people and didn’t register her surroundings until the elevator doors shut.

White paper crinkled under her boots. Tape fastened the barrier to the walls, completely covering the hallway floor. Massive, clear sheets of plastic hung from the ceiling and covered the walls as far as the eye could see. The only light filtered in from a slim wall of windows far behind her.

Larkin’s gaze jumped from the unfeeling plastic to Beckett’s back. Her feet refused to move. He didn’t stop, moving farther into the unknown. What was this place? Why were they here? She turned back toward the elevator, but the panel which normally held a call button hung upside down. A single screw kept it from falling to the floor, and wires protruded from the wall. They crinkled in every direction, creating a gnarled hand that would not help her escape.

Her breathing slowed, constricted by the tension settling in her neck. She turned toward the window, looking for an exit. A staircase or a fire escape would do. Something to relieve the feeling of being trapped.

“Larkin?”

She turned to find him close. So close that she had to bank the urge to wrap her arms around him and beg once more. For what she didn’t know.

“Breathe, Larkin. You’re turning colors.” He grabbed her face and tilted it up to meet his panicked gaze. “Breathe, dammit.”

Hers shifted away to the ceiling and the can lights and bare conduit hanging from an unfinished ceiling.

“The owner is renovating in hopes rental capacity will rebound.”

“Rebound?” Her voice pitched too high. Like the breaths making it through weren’t reaching her lungs. “Judging by the length of our elevator ride, there doesn’t seem to be a problem with rentals.”

“You still don’t trust me.” His head hung, and then after a moment, it shook. “I don’t know why you should. I haven’t given you much reason to.” He released her. A deep breath, one she needed terribly, expanded his chest. “Those are the commercial floors on long-term lease from the building’s owner. All upgrades and cosmetic details are left up to the businesses. The top ten floors are condominiums.” He took a step back and braced his hands on his hips. “They were until capacity fell. The old build couldn’t compete with the modern marvels and signature loft living popping up all over the skyline.

“He closed and began renovating a year ago. I contacted him and offered more money than he could refuse. In return, he rented me the entire floor, no questions asked.”

“Shocking,” she stabbed.

His gaze remained on the floor, but his hands balled to massive, dangerous fists. A hint of veins popped at the end of his jacket sleeve.

“Larkin, if I could, I would.” He met her face to face. “If I could.” His lips pursed, and he nodded. “But this is bigger than me or you.”

Her breath came then, deep and full. It stretched her chest and rejuvenated her heart. “I trust you, Beckett. I understand you can’t tell me things because there are things I can’t share with you.” Her heart, for one, which struggled like the devil to leap out of her chest and snatch him up, to hold him close and never let go. “My reaction to this place … Well, it’s not you.”

“Sure, it is,” he countered. “I scared you on the roof the first night we met, and I’ve given you almost no information about me.”

“It’s not that really.” She closed the gap between them and grabbed his hand. “At every opportunity, you put my safety above your own.”

“Then why the reaction?”

“There have been threats.”

His eyes narrowed. They turned a terrifying shade darker.

“Through the years, there have been,” she added, “but this board leak and bachelorette business have made them more frequent. I’m on edge with no real reason to be.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was as much as she was willing to admit. “Douglas is looking into them.”

“I never liked spooks, but I am glad you have one by your side.”

“A spook?”

“CIA.”

Larkin’s mouth fell open before she could grab it and hold it in place. She stared at him dumbstruck. Most people thought Douglas was a mildly sweet, completely forgettable old man. None of them knew what she knew. Except for Beckett.

“How’d you know that?”

“I suspected it. Didn’t know until you just confirmed it.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. It wasn’t a smile, but it broke the tension holding her at bay.

“Okay, smartass.” She shoved the side of his abdomen.

He caught her hand and held it against his warm body. “I’ve crossed paths with my fair share.” Like a fish caught on a line, destined to suffer slowly and die, he reeled her in close.

“I have never crossed paths with anyone like you.” She didn’t fight it. What was the use? She didn’t want to.

Beckett’s thick arms wrapped around her waist and lifted. Her feet left the floor like that first night. The same amount of unfettered emotions reared inside her, but these were so different. Excitement mingled with despair. Hope shouted over them both, daring her to imagine a life with this man.

The heat of his mouth brushed over hers. Sweetly and softly, they explored the curves and edges she took for granted. His eyes closed for the exquisite contact he offered, and then opened. Each time, he eased back only enough that his face—scars and stunning, chiseled features—came into view. And his eyes. The dark orbs were nimble enough that they peeked in on her soul. His gaze studied her with deep, warm intent before diving back to taste more.

Her right hand toyed with the ridges of the scar on his neck while her left slipped inside the collar of his shirt. The need to experience him was ever present. On occasion, she fended the urges back with a sword sharpened by a lifetime of heart-rending experiences. At this moment, in this unfamiliar setting, Larkin released her defenses and gave herself over to the experience. To Beckett.

He levered one hand under her bottom and hiked her to his waist. She wrapped her legs around him and related the feel of his tongue sliding across the arch of her lip. His head eased back once more.

“Larkin, let me make love to you.”

It was a demand, and her mind registered it as such. Her body throbbed in acceptance and anticipation. Her heart removed the shield it had worn for so long that the exposure alone shot waves of angst to her extremities. He offered no comforting words, no kisses to soothe the pain.

“You’d be the first.” She swallowed.

“So will you.” The man whose stances, expressions, actions, and voice bled confidence sounded as though he stared down the demon who’d taken the skin from his face. It was the only thing she could imagine would scare him, if only a little.

“Yes.” Her word hung in the space between their mouths and their heaving chests and racing hearts. He didn’t move for a pile of seconds.

Whether he’d sensed the change or followed his own abandon, she wasn’t sure, but those words were the last she’d expected from her lips or his.

Finally, he turned and walked them down the long hall. They reached a door with a large, face height security panel. He entered a code with too many numbers for her to begin to commit to memory. Then they were inside. The condominium was modern and sparsely furnished. White floors met white walls, at least the ones that weren’t glass. As in her home, one wall boasted floor-to-ceiling windows. Unlike hers, sheer gray curtains were drawn around the living area.

After locking the door, he walked them through the living area and past an open door with a desk, a sleek laptop, and a manila folder overflowing with paper. Beckett grabbed her chin to face him. His lips crashed into hers more forcefully than she’d ever experienced. It stole her breath and reignited the probing of her hands.

His boots continued to tread across the marble floor, but soon, the sound changed. They were in a smaller room that wasn’t small by any measure of the word. She glimpsed a white wall that stretched far until it reached the extension of windows and curtains that’d been in the main room.

Larkin shut her eyes tight and nibbled Beckett’s arduous mouth. She released her grip on him only long enough to unzip her jacket and cast it aside. The cool air gave instant relief to her fevered skin still constricted in too many clothes.

“Larkin.”

Having her name growled against her lips with such urgency beat everything she’d ever thought she’d loved. Fine dining. Beer. Wine. Shoes. A sense of security based on barriers. None of it gave her the nerve-igniting, pulse-pounding euphoria as Beckett did at this moment.

“I’m right here.” She grabbed him close.

Good thing she did. The world fell several feet.

Beckett dropped to his knees. It took her a moment to realize what had happened. The pillow softness against her back offered the first clue, and his unfettered gaze gave the second. He laid her in the middle of a thick mattress nestled in the middle of the floor. She didn’t try to get her bearings because impatience clawed at her heart. In turn, her hands yanked and tugged at his jacket. No matter how hard she worked, she couldn’t manage to get the damn thing off him. One of his hands gripped its fill of her hip, while the other formed a vise on the back of her neck.

They wrestled in a gridlock of desperation. Breaths rasped through her tight throat. His seeped through the cotton of her shirt and warmed her chest.

“Beckett, dammit.” Her growl dissipated in fluffy down, thick glass, and yards and yards of white walls.

He laved at her neck, seemingly unaware of her struggle. His fingers worked the tie from her hair and freed her just enough that her attention shifted. The more she focused on his mouth, the less she fought with his sleeves. Her grip, meant for action only moments before, shifted to a needy clutch. She used it to aid his hands and lever her hips off the mattress. The heated cleft of her thighs thrust upward, grazing the bulge of his jeans. Friction and layers drove her toward the brink of madness at an excessive rate of speed.

His hands clamped hers and pried them from his jacket. Heat radiated from his palms. He pressed them to hers, holding them prisoner against the mattress. “Christ, woman.”

“What?” Her throat was so dry the word exited as no more than a croak.

“You’re so wild I can’t get these friggin’ clothes off you.”

“Me?” she squeaked. “What about you?”

“When I release your hands, they don’t move.” His face hung just above hers. “You get me?”

She lunged for his lips. They tangled with hers in a manic fit of tongues, flesh, and even teeth.

A growl rumbled against her lips. Then the contact left.

“Larkin.” His head shook.

Her fingers itched to plow through his hair, to cup his face and yank it back to hers.

Beckett moved so quickly all she could do was watch. He kneeled back and tore the jacket from his back and the shirts from his chest. One long sleeve. One short. She stared in dumbfounded appreciation. If she saw him this way a thousand times, her reaction wouldn’t pale. That thought forced a shiver down her spine, rattling it so hard her sides shook.

He leaned forward, yanked her shirt over her head, and pressed his chest to hers. “Sorry, I keep it cold in here.”

If only it were the temperature. Her skin was rosy from the heat they created. Sweat kissed her skin. Her heart pounded next to his, racing for tempo, and she loved it so much. Too much.

His hands were back. They roamed the crook of her waist and the swell of her breasts. Bless them. The touch forced her mind to other matters. Like the one pressing insistently against her throbbing clit. She banked the fear and put her hands to work, tracing the ridges of his smooth and scarred skin. Every muscle begot another. Every valley crested to a climax. And hers gathered itself like a neatly forming tornado. Feelings, touch, emotion swirled and whipped inside her, building pressure.

Again, they fought for the lead, gripping and tearing at what remained of their clothes. Words and coherent thought regressed into grunts and washes of ecstasy. It cascaded over her skin, impeding her and bolstering her more than any drug ever could. What would be the effects of Beckett? He wouldn’t leave a hole in her brain, but what about her heart? It didn’t matter. She helped him fleece the boots, jeans, and undergarments from her body.

They eagerly pulled his from his hips, revealing his spectacular form. Damn the circumstance or the man who hurt him. The scars diminished nothing about him, but oh, the pain must have been great. She’d have taken it away if she could have. She hadn’t been there then, but she was here now.

Larkin levered herself up and knelt in front of him. Her lips stole it away one kiss at a time. She started at his shoulder and worked her way over his pecs, down his oblique to his hip, and then back up.

“I’m supposed to be the one making love to you.” His arms encompassed her in adoration and safety.

“Who ever said I follow the rules?”

“Sure as hell wasn’t me.” He pulled her up into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Beckett filled her completely without pause or reservation. Though, really, he’d had tabs on her body since she realized he would not kill her but save her from herself and destroy her all at once.

Larkin clung to him, used his body as leverage, and worked them to the brink of oblivion, but it was too soon. As though Beckett read her mind, he shifted them, rolling his back onto the bed. Once more, she rode them toward the end, an end that was predestined, and one neither of them wanted to see just yet. His hand played with her bottom, breaking their perfect rhythm. Hot wetness of his mouth encompassed her nipple, further re-charting their course.

He flipped her onto her side and exited her body, leaving her bereft and gasping. His hands roved her skin, molding it to his touch. His kisses eased the tension growing in her throat and shifted it to her belly, winding it there tighter and tighter still. Every time the end was in her sights, they shifted. Time unwound before them in an unending spool of pleasure. They gave and took in equal measure. Both maneuvered the tightrope with steely determination; otherwise, the end would come too swiftly.

Sweat slicked their bodies. Shivers turned to pants. Muscles morphed to Jell-O. Still they toyed, connecting their bodies for as long as they could hold out before one would give and separate.

She was no longer a woman but a billion nerve endings.

He grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her back. His sweat dripped down his cheek, through the ten o’clock shadow, and fell onto her breasts. She bicycled her legs up and down his sides and over his ass, begging for completion and terrified of it.

“I didn’t think it could be like this.” Beckett’s whisper narrowly entered her brain above the pleas of her body.

Her head shook. Rogue tears mixed with her sweat. She pulled him close and hugged him to her chest.

When he entered her, she knew it would be for the last time. Her lungs filled with his scent. Her eyes with his face. Her body with his feel. They came with screams and battle cries, whimpers and gasps. Their muscles quivered. Exhaustion, his arms, and a willingness to ignore reality lulled her to sleep.

It wasn’t long before she woke, just a respite to power her through the rest of her life. He still had his arms wrapped protectively around her.

“Come on.” He placed a kiss atop her head and pulled her up and toward the door opposite the wall of windows.

A large bathroom greeted them just in time too. The proof of their lovemaking slid down her thighs.

Oh shit!

They hadn’t used a condom. Sure, she was on the pill, but this was a first of so many firsts with Beckett. Her heart wedged itself in her throat. She must have stopped walking because he turned and pulled her into his arms.

“We … um …” After so many years of facing tough decisions and asking the hard questions, she was a child again. Incapable of broaching the subject.

“It was selfish, but fuck, Larkin, I’m not sorry. I don’t want you to hate me, but I’m not sorry.”

Her mouth hung open. “I don’t hate you.” She searched for the words. “I’m on birth control. I just … I’ve never …”

“I’ve never been bare either.”

“Really?”

“Was never willing to risk disease or children.”

And now he was? She was so confused. This was goodbye. She’d felt it in the desperation of their lovemaking. In the finality.

“Here.” Beckett pulled her toward a massive shower and opened the glass door. He fiddled with the knobs, and soon, steam rose from the water flowing from the massive showerheads. When he turned to her, he held her hair tie between his teeth. His fingers sifted through her hair and pulled it high. He pulled the holder from his mouth and fastened it around a messy bun.

“Not the best, but it’ll do for now.”

She couldn’t form words, but the stupid smile that stretched across her mouth had to communicate something.

He shooed her into the shower and set to work cleaning every part of her. She couldn’t remember a time when anyone but her owned the task. Not her mother. Definitely not her father. Never a fuck. Not even in a shower romp.

Beckett took great ceremony in washing himself off her. The first hint of sadness seeped into her chest, cooling the edges of her heart despite the near scalding water. While he cleaned himself, he kept her under the spray, but the insistent warm flow did little to help. This would end up as the best and worst day of her life.

Her clothes helped center her … a little. In the open kitchen, he offered her water. The desire to look for hints in the apartment about his life took hold, but she would find no answers.

“You don’t live here.”

“No.” He grabbed her hand from across the counter and pulled her around it. Their bodies matched up in perfect grooves. Her head on his chest. Her breasts against his abdomen. His cock snuggled against her belly.

She wouldn’t ask where he lived. What was the point?

His lips brushed her brow and hung just a little longer than she expected. The goodbye. It stole her breath. A knife to the lungs.

“I’m never going to see you again, am I?” Larkin levered back far enough to see his face.

The heat she’d witnessed in his eyes and gasping mouth only minutes ago hardened. She braced.

“I have to leave. When I get back, I shouldn’t see you.”

Her feet were still under her. A feat in and of itself. She’d weathered worse in life. Him too. They’d get through this.

“I agree.”

“You do?” His eyes softened ever so slightly.

“Yeah.” Larkin placed her hand on his. “I like you, Beckett, and that’s the last thing I need right now … or ever.” She swallowed the what-ifs and could-bes. “I’m sure it’s the last thing you need too.”

“Give me his name and I’ll kill the person who hurt you.” His thumb rubbed the underside of her mother’s rings.

A derisive laugh caught her unaware. “If it was that easy, I would have had Douglas kill them years ago.” Her head shook. “Sometimes, you can’t do anything. Life deals you shit, and you make the prettiest shit castle you can.”

“I’ve played around in a fair share of it.”

“I’m afraid you have.” She kissed his chin and then grabbed his keys. “Time to go.” They needed to leave and fast. The longer she was around Beckett, the more she wanted to be around him. The more she wanted to know about him.

His grip held tight, but he said nothing. He was quiet and contemplative, shielding her from the world.

Larkin had no more bullshit nor bravado. Why not lay it out there? She could talk to him about what she could talk to no one else about because this was it.

“My parents’ marriage was a fraud. My father was a gay man, faking a straight life, and it broke my mother’s heart. I found her with a bottle of Glenlivet and an empty bottle of Valium, and she left me brokenhearted.”

“Christ, sweetheart. How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Larkin looked into the layered depths of his eyes. “I’ll be damned if I give anyone the chance to break it again, even if I truly want to give them the opportunity.”

She hugged him tight and then broke his hold and headed for the door.

He followed behind at a safe distance down the long hallway they’d so passionately crossed hours ago.

The dangling elevator call button clicked under her touch. It responded with a light, and the wait began. She held perfectly still, knowing this would be the hardest part. Who was she kidding? It was all going to be hard.

Beckett’s arms wrapped around her. He braced her back against his indomitable front, but he hugged her tightly as though he needed the comfort. She grabbed his arms and held tight as though their lives depended upon it.

Above the door, the readout indicated the approaching elevator car. They released each other in unison. An amicable parting. No one holding on too long. It was how they parted at the creepy side entrance of her building, avoiding the mob of paparazzi crowding the front and back doors. She didn’t watch him go, but she listened all the same. The roar would echo in her dreams for years to come.