I walked into the bar at one fifty-three AM. My casual saunter made the black fringe dripping from my pretty lace wrap sway around my calves. I liked the silky glide of the tassels against my bare skin. Confidence rolled off me, intentionally so. A woman walking into a bar alone at one fifty-three AM has to be confident. If that confidence slips for one second, the veneer of adventure crumbles, and her stark loneliness will be laid bare for everyone to see.

Adventures. That’s what I liked to call them. These little forays into the world, when desperation took me to seek comfort in the company of strangers.

Maybe one of them would be on an adventure of their own. Then, maybe we could both pretend we weren’t lonely, just for a little while.

Just until the bar closed.

Luckily, the bars in Nashville stay open until three AM, even on a Tuesday night. I’d already wasted several precious hours singing karaoke and laughing with anyone who would talk to me in passing. Now, I wanted some company. Male company.

Maybe.

The thought of being intimate with a man terrified me. And thrilled me.

And left me feeling sick in the pit of my stomach, a churning that belied the deeper ache between my legs. I hadn’t gotten laid in…

I didn’t want to do the mental math of how long it’d been since I’d left my husband. Or how long before that had been the last time we’d had sex.

I flinched away from that line of thinking. I’d only recently begun to accept the full, disgusting truth that I’d lived through years of abuse at the hands of a man who claimed to love me.

Don’t think about Thomas.

Despite my wayward thoughts, my feet carried me smoothly from the entrance to the ebony bar without hesitation. Any indecisiveness would be seen as a moment of self-doubt, and I wasn’t going to allow the neuroses that plagued me when I was sober to take over and ruin my all-important veneer of confidence. I shrugged into it like a well-worn coat, and a sense of cool calm settled over my shoulders.

I could feel male gazes dance over my skin, tickling my flesh like the silky tassels that bumped against my calves with every step. The black dress I wore was low-cut enough and short enough that the outfit left little to the imagination. While I always wished I could shift a few pounds off my thighs, body confidence wasn’t an issue for me. I loved my curvy self.

I ordered a Dos Equis and turned to face the live band, my back arching slightly as I struck a casual but suggestive pose.

A pose. The way I positioned myself was artificial. A confident lie that I was exactly where I wanted to be. A lie that I was completely content being alone.

The male attention I could feel like a palpable sensation rolled from across the bar to skim over my body. I glanced in that direction. Found the man’s startling pale blue gaze. Held it.

I allowed a small smile to tug at one corner of my lips. Then, I turned my eyes back to the band and took a swig of my beer, as though I hadn’t seen the handsome man at all. As though I wasn’t hoping I’d placed just enough bait to get him to come to me. As though I wasn’t desperate for it.

I watched two women vie for the lead singer’s attention, waving money at him as they called out requests. There was only time for a few more songs, and the women were hell-bent on getting their preferences played. The pretty brunette with the fiddle took the money with a smile and a promise to play both their songs. Briefly, I considered commenting to the nearest woman that I like the fiddle player’s gold velvet, damask bellbottoms. Just to have a reason to talk to someone.

But I could still feel the man’s eyes on me, so I chose to hold my place for a few minutes longer. Settling my elbow back against the bar behind me, I kept my muscles relaxed in a casual stance as I took another swig of my beer.

His attention made my stomach quiver, and excitement raced through me. I knew he was watching. I wanted him to come to me, to talk to me for a little while, at least. I wasn’t looking for sex—the prospect of vanilla sex left me cold. I needed a little pain with my pleasure.

I doubted the man watching me could give me what I wanted in bed, but I craved company more keenly than I wanted an orgasm.

I felt his presence at my side before he spoke, but I didn’t turn to face the man. I didn’t want to appear overly eager.

“Is that your husband?”

“What?” I blinked up at him. He loomed tall beside me, just at the edge of my personal space. Respectful, but definitely interested. He was even more attractive than I’d thought. In the initial glance I’d allowed myself, I’d gotten an impression of pale eyes, blond hair, and a square jaw. Up close, I could see the fine lines around his eyes, which were set above high cheekbones.

“Is that your husband?” he repeated. “The lead singer.”

I laughed. “No, he’s not my husband.”

“You’re here by yourself?”

I tossed my hair back, a flippant gesture. “Yep.”

“The way you were watching him, I thought he must be your husband.”

That cut a little. My marriage was over. If he kept pressing me about why I was alone at a bar at two AM, I might not be able to maintain my casual bearing.

“Nope.” I held my smile. “If this is a pick-up line, it’s a weird one,” I teased, putting some of the pressure on him to divert it from me. “I’m single, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh. Good.”

“So,” I prompted. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Scott,” he introduced himself, giving my hand a firm shake.

“Addison,” I replied, my smile more genuine. I’d gone through a string of Scotts back in my college days, and my best friend still joked about it. Now that I was single again, I supposed it was only fitting that I go on another Scott streak. Or at least, I’d indulge myself by talking to this particular Scott for the next half hour, until the bar kicked us out.

What would happen after that, I wasn’t sure. I chose not to think about it; I’d live in the moment and simply enjoy flirting with one of the hottest guys I’d managed to attract since I’d left my husband.

He was older than me by a few years, but that didn’t make him any less handsome. He looked like he worked outside, his skin slightly tan and a little weathered. The rugged appearance suited him.

I leaned closer to him, my body thrumming with awareness of his masculine presence. Desire heated my veins, and I summoned up a flirtatious smile. Sex might not be on the table, but a kiss would be a welcome distraction from my loneliness.

“What do you do, Scott?” I loved learning about strangers’ careers, their passions. As a writer, I soaked it up for inspiration.

“I’m in the lumber business,” he said. “We’re actually on our way back to Minnesota from Florida, but we’re stuck here in Nashville because the weather’s bad back home.”

“Minnesota,” I repeated with a slight smirk. “You definitely have the accent.” I hadn’t noticed it at first, but it was more pronounced when he told me where he was from. I did the same thing; I often lost my Southern accent unless I was talking about home or was around my family. The commonality was comforting, and I instantly felt more at ease near him.

It didn’t hurt that he was regarding me with open interest, and he’d moved in closer, so we could hear each other over the loud country music. The heat in my veins warmed my chest, and something stirred between my legs. He smelled good. Masculine.

“Yeah,” he allowed, shifting slightly. I wondered if he was self-conscious about his accent, or maybe I’d sounded a little too teasing.

“What were you doing in Florida?” I redirected the subject to ease his discomfort.

He shrugged. “We were there for business.” He gestured to his friend, whom he’d abandoned across the bar. The dark-haired, stockier man frowned in our direction, and I chose to ignore him. He either didn’t like being left alone, or he didn’t like something about me.

“Your lumber business took you from Minnesota to Florida? And you drove?”

It seemed odd to me. If he was affluent enough to travel for business, why the long drive? Why not fly?

“Yeah,” he replied again. “Have you ever been to the Bahamas?”

“What?” The sudden change of topic startled me, but I was intoxicated enough that I didn’t dwell on it. “Oh, I stopped in the Bahamas on a cruise once.” I shrugged. “It was right after high school. I don’t really remember it well, and we weren’t there for long.” I didn’t like to think about it, but that graduation cruise had been eleven years ago. Acknowledging the passage of time—and the fact that I only had four more months left in my twenties—made me feel old. Especially now that I was having to start my life over at thirty, since my marriage had ended.

I chose to focus on Scott instead of my worries. Alcohol and his sex appeal made for an easy distraction.

“What’s the weather like in the Bahamas in the winter?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I went on my cruise in the summer. Why? Are you thinking about going there?”

“Maybe for business.”

“The lumber business? In the Bahamas?” I was trying to get a read on his job. He was being vague, and something felt off. Suspicion made the back of my neck prickle with wariness, and I shifted back from him slightly. I didn’t like being lied to, and I was usually far too gullible. My trusting nature had caused me a lot of heartache, and I’d become a little more cautious in recent months.

“Uh-huh.”

He wasn’t giving me a lot of information to work with.

“I love to travel for work,” I said, trying to continue the conversation. I might not fully trust him, but my body told me to keep him close. I hadn’t felt this kind of physical draw toward a man in years.

“I do it whenever I can,” I chattered on. “Where do you like to go?” Travel really was one of my passions, and having that in common with him would give me the excuse to keep talking to him.

“I spend a lot of time abroad,” he said.

“Oh!” Excitement buzzed through me. Finally, something we could talk about. “I’ve spent a lot of time in England.” I didn’t mention that I’d lived there on a spouse visa with my ex-husband and had recently been forced to move back to America. I tried to keep the wistfulness from my tone when I mentioned England. The loss of my adopted home made my soul ache and my eyes burn if I thought about it for too long. “Where do you travel?” I stayed in the moment, focusing on Scott instead of falling into familiar despair.

“Not England.” His lips twisted with distaste, and his eyes darkened. “Farther south.”

The way his expression shuttered let me know he didn’t want to talk about it, making me surmise that he found the subject unpleasant. I began to suspect that he’d been involved in something other than the lumber business in the past. Maybe he was former military and didn’t want to discuss his time in combat zones.

Whatever the case, I detected anguish in the clipped way he’d spoken and his carefully neutral expression. I might be halfway to drunk, but my empathetic senses were as sharp as ever. I didn’t want to dwell on any topic that might upset him.

“The band is really good.” I changed the subject again.

He smiled, his white teeth flashing through the dimness of the bar. Some of the tension in my chest eased. I liked his smile.

“They are,” he agreed. “Do you want to dance?”

I shook my head. “I don’t dance.”

“Come on,” he cajoled, taking a step toward the area in front of the stage, where two women were twirling and swaying their hips like no one was watching.

“I can’t dance. I’m sorry, but I’m really bad at it.”

I’d always wished I were more graceful, more coordinated. I nearly caved to the desire to please him and take his hand, but I knew how it would turn out: with me shuffling awkwardly and falling prey to my anxiety. I didn’t want to feel self-conscious around Scott. The way he was regarding me so intently made me feel beautiful and confident. I didn’t want to ruin that.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, shifting the conversation once again.

“My friend’s loft.” Georgia had left me hours ago, returning home with a migraine. I’d chosen to stay out by myself.

“What about you?” I prompted.

He pointed out the window. “I’m at the Hilton. It’s right across the street.”

I wondered for a moment if he was inviting me back to his room, but I decided not to pursue that line of thinking. I wasn’t ready to spend the night with a strange man, no matter how handsome he was. No matter how desperately I wanted to be touched. He wouldn’t be able to fulfill my kinky needs.

“Man, I really wish you’d dance with me,” he said. “It would mean a lot to me.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” Regret tugged at my heart. His words felt heavier than those of a man who wanted to grind on a woman. It sounded as though it really would mean something significant to him if he could share a dance with me. Again, I sensed the sadness I’d noted in him when he’d mentioned his travels abroad. His life must be more complicated than simply a man traveling for business.

“Okay,” he agreed, settling in beside me to watch the band and enjoy the music.

My chest tightened. I hated letting him down when he clearly wanted to dance with me, but I liked that he hadn’t pressured me. And I was relieved that my refusal hadn’t prompted him to return to his friend. I didn’t want him to leave.

As the silence stretched between us, I began to shift uncomfortably. It bothered me a little that he hadn’t asked anything about me. I’d given him openings to ask about my career and my time in England, and he’d chosen to give me clipped answers and not return with any follow-up questions. I didn’t like to think that he was a self-absorbed person who wasn’t really interested in knowing more about me, but then again, he hadn’t left my side.

He was hot enough that I overlooked the potential character flaw. Besides, it wasn’t as though I had anyone else to turn to for company. In a few minutes, the bar would close, and I’d have no choice but to return to Georgia’s apartment.

The band played one more song, and I drank my beer as I listened. Scott watched the band, too, but I could still feel his attention on me. I wondered why he didn’t prompt any further conversation, but I decided not to get hung up on it. He wanted to stay near me.

I wasn’t alone.

The song ended, and the lights turned on. Scott sipped at his drink, unconcerned by the fact that the bouncer was shouting for everyone to leave. I chugged some of my beer before setting the bottle down on the bar top. I didn’t have to finish it.

“We have to leave,” I told Scott, regretting that my time with him was over already.

“No, we don’t. Not yet.”

The bouncer shouted again, ordering everyone to finish their drinks and head for the exit. I wasn’t one to disobey or cause anyone the smallest inconvenience, so I stepped away from the bar with a sigh.

“We really do.”

I started to walk toward the exit. Scott set his glass down on the bar and followed me. I smiled to myself. I really didn’t want to leave him yet.

But there was nowhere for us to go. Georgia was sleeping at the loft, and even though we had separate bedrooms there, I didn’t want to disturb her. There was also the dilemma that Scott would expect sex if I invited him back. I just wanted to chat with him and pop the bottle of prosecco that waited in the fridge. Maybe make out with him. Just a little.

We stepped out into the balmy night, and I turned to face him. “Where are you going now?” I asked, fishing for an invitation to spend more time together. I didn’t have to have sex with him. I didn’t have to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with, and I got a sense that he wasn’t the type to try to talk me into something I didn’t want to do. He’d proven as much when he’d respected my choice not to dance with him.

“Where are you going?” he countered.

I wasn’t the only one who wanted to keep hanging out. I beamed up at him.

He stepped toward me and wrapped his arms around me, his big hands settling at my lower back as his hips pressed against mine. I drew in a shuddering breath, reveling in the first intimate contact I’d had in months.

His friend exited the bar, appearing at our side. Scott didn’t let me go.

“You coming?” the man demanded.

“I’ll see you later,” Scott dismissed him, only taking his eyes off me for the briefest moment. I loved the way he was so focused on me, so attentive. I felt beautiful and powerful. It was a heady sensation.

He surprised me with a kiss. I wasn’t prepared, but lust instantly ignited in my belly when his lips touched mine and his hands firmed around my back, pulling me closer. I wrapped my arms around his neck, loving the feel of his hard body pressed against mine.

His lips were gentle, his tongue coaxing. A stray worry skittered across my mind. Had I forgotten how to kiss a man in my months of celibacy? And in the years of cold indifference from my husband before that?

I closed my eyes and pushed the worry away, focusing on him instead: the glide of his tongue against mine, his purely masculine scent that surrounded me.

When he finally pulled away, I knew I wanted to spend more time with him. Maybe even have sex with him. Maybe.

“Here’s the thing,” I murmured, teetering on the edge of a decision that I might regret. I swallowed and braced myself for the awkward admission. “I feel like you should know that I’m going through a divorce, and I haven’t…been with anyone.”

“Oh. That’s okay,” he reassured me.

I bit my lip. There was one other problem that I had to address: I couldn’t have vanilla sex. The lack of arousal made it extremely painful for me, and I wasn’t at all interested in that.

“And I’m into BDSM,” I said, shooting a nervous glance at the bouncer, who was far too close. My cheeks burned, but I had to say this. Alcohol helped loosen my tongue. “Is that something you might be interested in? Because if not…”

He leaned closer, so I could feel his warm breath fanning my face. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

I read that as a yes.

I desperately wanted it to be a yes. I craved the sweet release I’d find in giving up control to a Dominant partner. That reprieve from my anxiety and self-doubt was far more blissful than any orgasm.

“Okay,” I said quickly. “We can go back to my friend’s apartment, but we’ll have to be really quiet. She’s already asleep.”

He grinned. “Great. Lead the way.”

He took my hand in his, but he allowed me to guide him toward our destination.

“I write romance novels,” I blurted out, feeling the need to tell him something about myself before I had sex with him. “You didn’t ask, but that’s what I do.”

He squeezed my hand. “I love that,” he said, sounding strangely intense. His voice lowered, as though he was speaking more to himself than me. “That’s why I do what I do. So people like you can do things like write romance novels.”

I knew in that instant that Scott wasn’t in the lumber business. But I didn’t mind that he’d lied to me. I surmised that he was military, probably some division he wasn’t allowed to talk about. My dad’s best friend had served in Delta Force, so the secrecy was something I was familiar with.

We reached the corner where I needed to take a left to get back to Georgia’s place. The entire street was blocked off by construction equipment. A jackhammer started up, and I felt Scott tense at the sound.

PTSD. The pieces were falling to place in my mind, even though he’d barely said anything to indicate his real profession.

I held his hand more tightly and tugged him back in the direction we’d come from. Protectiveness surged through me. I didn’t want him to feel any pain, and if the blasts of sound from the jackhammer were going to set off unpleasant memories for him, I wanted to quickly put distance between us and the equipment.

He began to relax within seconds of our retreat. I breathed a sigh of relief, pleased that his dark thoughts seemed to have been held at bay.

“You’re not in the lumber business, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Why do you say that?”

“A few things you’ve said. Your time abroad, for one thing. You’re military, aren’t you?”

He was silent for a moment. “You’re very intelligent.”

“Not really.” I certainly didn’t feel very intelligent these days. Not after all the stupid mistakes I’d made.

“You really are,” he countered, more firmly.

We rounded another corner, heading back to my apartment by a different route. I wasn’t familiar with this street, but I knew we were headed in the right direction.

I was immediately grateful for Scott’s presence at my side. We walked past half a dozen men who were sleeping rough on the pavement. They didn’t make a move toward us, but I wouldn’t have felt safe passing them on the dimly lit street by myself, especially not in my low-cut dress.

He pulled me closer. “Now I’m really glad I’m with you,” he said in an undertone.

“Me too,” I admitted.

When we reached our next turn, a voice sounded behind us.

“Hey!” the man called out. “I need to talk to you. I need—”

“No,” Scott said firmly, releasing me to turn to face him. “Go away.”

Unease flashed through my system, but I didn’t need to worry. It only took a second for Scott to turn back to join me, the situation handled. He closed the distance between us, wrapping his arm around my waist again.

We didn’t talk for the next three minutes that it took to reach the apartment, but I didn’t mind. It was becoming obvious that Scott wasn’t able to share much about his life with me, and I didn’t feel like chattering at him. The silence was comfortable, almost intimate. The way his fingers curled around my hip kept me focused on the desire coursing through me, so I wasn’t caught up in nervousness over the lack of conversation. Companionable silence was a rare thing, and I marveled at how comfortable I felt with him, how connected. I felt like I could read him, even though he wasn’t saying a word.

He needed this as badly as I did: connection, intimacy. For just one night, we needed to feel something good and pure. We weren’t stumbling back to my place and tearing at each other’s clothes in a drunken frenzy. This was more than a late-night hookup.

I already knew that I’d never see him again after tonight. We wouldn’t exchange numbers and pretend we were going to call each other. His life wouldn’t allow for that kind of communication. He lived in a world of secrets and solitude, and I wasn’t looking to play games.

We reached the apartment, and I entered the code to unlock the door.

“That’s not a very secure code,” he commented, his tone heavy with disapproval.

I laughed, his protective instincts sending me flying high. For years, all I’d wanted was to feel protected and cherished. Even if only for one night, the illusion of a deeper connection was intoxicating.

This night was becoming strange and wonderful. The mystery he presented was intriguing. Sexy.

I didn’t mind his initial lies about his job or his inability to share facts about his life with me. After the way he’d told me so seriously that he wanted to dance with me, and the way he’d tensed at the banging of the jackhammer, I just wanted to hold him. I wanted to give him something special that he could remember on long, lonely nights.

At least, that was the romantic fantasy I conjured in my head. I couldn’t help myself; I was a romance novelist, after all.

We arrived at the apartment, and I fumbled at the lock. Nervousness made my fingers tremble, but I wasn’t scared of him. I was apprehensive over what I was about to do. Could I put my heart at risk and have a one-night stand? Would I be an emotional mess in the morning, left alone and cold in a strange bed?

He touched the small of my back, the steady heat of his hand calming me.

I took a breath and tried the lock again. This time, the door opened.

“We have to be really quiet,” I whispered. I didn’t want to disturb Georgia. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to me bringing a strange man to her place at nearly three AM.

He nodded, saying nothing. I appreciated his silence as we walked down the corridor past my friend’s bedroom. I breathed a little easier once we got into my room and I shut the door. I knew there was pretty good sound privacy in this apartment, so Scott and I could talk at a more normal volume.

That didn’t mean I intended to cry out when he spanked me or brought me to orgasm.

Were either of those things on the table? Had he only vaguely answered my proposition about BDSM to get me into bed with him?

I hoped not.

I needed a moment to collect myself, to soberly consider my actions. I excused myself as I slipped past him into the privacy of the bathroom.

I took a moment to check my appearance in the mirror.

Shit.

My brown hair was still sleek and shiny around my face, but my mascara had creased under my blue eyes a little, and my naturally pink cheeks had even more color than usual.

I supposed a night of drinking hadn’t done my appearance any favors. I hoped Scott wouldn’t be disappointed now that he could see me under brighter lights.

I hastily wiped away the mascara beneath my eyes. It was all I could do, and I’d just have to face him with ruddy cheeks.

After a moment’s consideration, I chose to remove my panties. They weren’t my sexiest lingerie, and I definitely wanted to appear sexy.

When I returned to the bedroom, Scott was seated on the edge of the bed. He’d already stripped down to his boxer briefs. I paused, staring at him in awe for a few seconds.

For five years, I’d written books about hard-bodied men, and I’d wondered what it would be like to have sex with a muscular man.

It looked like I was about to find out. Scott wasn’t bulky, but he didn’t appear to have an ounce of body fat. He was lean. Chiseled. Probably lethal.

But the way he watched me, his eyes darkening with uncertainty, made a sense of safety settle over me, even though I knew he could most likely be a very dangerous man under other circumstances.

I closed the distance between us without another thought, craving to erase the worry from his brow. In that moment, my lingering nervousness evaporated, my decision made. I was going to have sex with Scott, and I wasn’t going to regret it.

I straddled his thigh, letting him feel my bare pussy against his skin. I wasn’t wet yet, but my body was heating for him.

I reached behind me and unzipped my dress before pulling it over my head. I straightened my spine and arched my back slightly, so my breasts stood out. His gaze dropped to my chest, and I glowed at his obvious appreciation. I’d put on a few extra pounds in my depression over the last couple years, but the way he regarded me with open hunger filled me with confidence and gratitude.

I didn’t usually enjoy initiating intimate contact—I didn’t like being in control when it came to sex—but I felt powerful enough that I was emboldened to lean forward and kiss him. His tongue traced my lower lip, and I opened for him, allowing him to claim my mouth.

He gripped my hips and rolled, positioning me beneath him on the bed. A light shiver raced over my skin. This was what I needed: to be overpowered and fucked hard. The only way it wouldn’t hurt was if he was savage with me, unrelenting. Anything soft and sweet would leave me cold and cause me pain when he penetrated me.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured.

I licked my lips, my cheeks heating with a touch of embarrassment. “Well, I told you about the BDSM thing. I like to be spanked. Have my hair pulled. Be held down.”

His eyes softened, the sadness I’d sensed in him rising again. “I don’t think I can be that way with you. If anything, it would be safer if you tied me up.”

The heavy way he said the words, the way his voice dropped, made me realize he wasn’t just making a kinky request. He couldn’t trust himself to get aggressive with me. He’d feel safer if I restrained him, so he couldn’t accidentally hurt me. Or maybe he’d hurt enough people that he couldn’t separate his violent life from sexual aggression, and the thought caused him anguish.

I could see his pain in the lines around his eyes. Drawn to comfort him, I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. I’d invited him back with me because I’d needed to be held, but his needs surpassed my own. My personal struggles seemed so small compared to what he must be dealing with.

“Things must be pretty hard in Minnesota,” I said softly, staring up into his aquamarine eyes. I wanted him to know I wasn’t talking about Minnesota. I was respecting his secrets, his boundaries. But I needed him to understand that I was here for him. I would hold him, and I wouldn’t let go.

For this one night, at least.

“Yeah,” he said roughly. “They can be.” He trailed his fingers through my hair, studying me intently. “Never change,” he murmured. “When you walked into that bar by yourself, you ordered your beer, and your shoulders dropped back. You were totally relaxed. You felt safe. That’s why I do the things I do. So people like you can feel safe in the world.”

I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t been relaxed at all. I didn’t say that my casual posture had been a carefully crafted lie to conceal my loneliness and desperation. That wasn’t what he needed to hear right now.

“Thank you,” I said instead. “I can’t begin to imagine what you must have to do, but thank you.”

“I love that you write romance novels,” he said earnestly. “I have a lot of time to read while I’m traveling. I want to read everything you’ve ever written.”

I squirmed beneath him, discomfiture nipping at me again. “You’ll think they’re silly. I mean, the suspense elements. They’re not super realistic. And I know you… Well, you know more than that.”

He smiled, and he didn’t refute what I’d said. “I still want to read them.”

“My pen name is Lauren Krane,” I blurted out, my whole body burning with embarrassment. “But if you don’t like my books, please don’t tell me.”

He chuckled. “If I like them, I’m going to review all of them. If you see a review by Melissa from Minnesota, that’s me.”

I laughed at the ridiculous proposition. “You really will think they’re silly, though. My dad’s best friend is always telling me that he’ll give me real information on how the FBI works, but I’m too embarrassed to talk to him about it. He used to be in Delta Force, and he ran a private security firm after that.”

Scott was silent for a moment, but he kept me locked in his intense blue gaze.

“I was in Delta Force,” he finally said.

He didn’t say anything else.

I put a few more pieces together in my mind. He used to be in Delta Force. But he probably still operated covertly, his life so secretive that he had to tell lies to women he met in bars. His age also made me wonder just how deeply he was involved in special ops. He could have retired by now, but he hadn’t. He’d chosen to stay in that life, even though it clearly haunted him.

“Thank you,” I said again, trailing my fingernails down his back. He seemed to understand what I was saying, even though I was communicating more with my touch than my words.

He leaned in and kissed me again, his tongue gentle against mine. This wasn’t the rough sex I’d craved, but I wouldn’t deny him this moment, this comfort. He might not be kinky, but something about him tugged at my soul. I couldn’t bring myself to break this connection with him. It was bittersweet and intense. I wanted to stay swept up in the moment, to fill my being with the empathy I felt for him.

Empathy felt akin to love, and the illusion of intimacy made my heart expand in my chest.

His mouth left mine, and his lips skimmed down my neck before trailing soft kisses between my breasts.

“Wait,” I ordered, my tone sharp with sudden nervousness. I knew where he was headed, and I didn’t want that. Not only was I deeply self-conscious about a man going down on me, but I knew I couldn’t return the favor. My trauma when it came to oral sex ran deep, lurking in a dark corner of my mind that I chose to suppress. I wouldn’t ruin this night with a panic attack.

“I don’t want you to do that,” I told him.

“But I want to,” he said fervently.

“Please. Please, don’t.”

His expression softened, and he paused at my breasts. “What’s wrong?”

I licked my lips, suddenly nervous. “Well, I can’t return the favor,” I admitted. “I…just can’t.” I didn’t want to tell him about my traumatic past. I’d barely faced it myself. I just knew I’d crumble into a sobbing mess if he put his dick in my mouth.

He gave me a small, reassuring smile. “That’s okay. I want to do this.”

“I don’t like it,” I whispered. I’d never attained much pleasure from a man going down on me. I wasn’t sure if it was because of my personal insecurities about my appearance and taste, or if it was because of the guilt that plagued me over the fact that I couldn’t reciprocate oral sex. Probably both. I didn’t like to think about it, so I usually refused the offer.

The same earnest light I’d glimpsed when he’d asked me to dance illuminated his pale eyes. “It would mean a lot to me,” he said, mirroring the words he’d spoken in the bar.

“I’m sorry. Please,” I begged him to relent. Things were becoming strained between us, and I didn’t want the intense, intimate connection I shared with him to be severed.

“Okay,” he conceded, his tone soothing.

He kept me locked in his gaze as he lowered his mouth to my breast.

All thoughts of embarrassment or protest left my head when his tongue flicked over my hardened nipple. I’d always been sensitive, and no one had touched me like this in a long time. Pleasure rushed straight from the tight bud to my clit, making it pulse. This wasn’t remotely kinky, but Scott’s strong, hard body pinning me down as he licked and nipped at my breasts made lust bloom low in my belly. My fingers speared into his hair, holding him closer as his teeth grazed my nipple. I gasped and arched up into him. My sex grew wet, my body preparing for more of his erotic onslaught.

“I need to taste you,” he murmured against my skin as he began to kiss his way down my stomach.

My breath caught. Now, that was something straight out of a romance novel. How could I deny a man who told me he needed to taste my pussy?

I gave him a small nod, granting him my consent. This scenario wasn’t what I’d had in mind when I’d mentioned BDSM to him in the street, but the sure touches of his big hands on my thighs and soft brush of his lips over my skin made my core heat. I’d never been turned on by such a vanilla encounter, but Scott was different. Earnest. Intense.

And he’d said he needed to taste me.

His fingers curved into my thighs, spreading me wide for him as his head dipped toward my wet and waiting sex. Anxiety gripped me, making me stiff in his hold.

He peered up at me, his face hovering just above my most vulnerable area. His thumbs stroked little circular patterns over my skin. “Relax.”

“I don’t usually do this,” I said, my stomach dancing with nerves.

He pressed a kiss against my clit, and I sucked in a small gasp at the whisper-soft contact to the sensitive nub.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said, his pale eyes spearing me in place as effectively as his firm hold on my thighs. He licked my slit in a long, slow glide of his tongue. “You taste so good.”

I drew in a shuddering breath. I’d never experienced anything like this. The way he was talking about how my pussy tasted should be dirty, but he watched me so intently, his beautiful eyes alight with genuine pleasure. Something tugged in my chest, a deeper satisfaction than the erotic sensation of his hot mouth against me. I felt beautiful and powerful, as though I were a goddess he was worshipping with his body. But at the same time, I’d made myself vulnerable to him, and his strong hands on my legs reminded me just how much more powerful he was.

He released one of my thighs so he could press his forefinger inside me. I gasped as he slowly penetrated me, stretching me after long months of emptiness. His touch was firm, assured. He crooked his finger, finding the sensitive spot at the front of my inner walls as though we’d done this dozens of times.

My sex opened for him, responding to his confident touch. He might not be spanking me or ordering me around, but the way he handled my body—touching me as though he had every right—made me shudder with desire.

A second finger slipped into me, stretching me farther. I anticipated discomfort at the added intrusion, but he sucked on my clit and rubbed my g-spot again.

“Oh, god.”

My thighs quivered. Actually quivered. It wasn’t the first time I’d experienced the sensation, but it had never happened with a man’s mouth on me before.

He paused to look up at me, transfixing me with his steady stare.

“Put your hands behind your head,” he ordered.

I almost groaned as lust rolled over me. This kind of kink-lite usually wouldn’t do anything for me, but my pussy clenched around his fingers as I obeyed, lacing my fingers together behind my head. Scott might not be able to bring himself to pin me down, but he’d found a way to restrain me with no more than a calm command and a possessive hold on my most intimate area.

His touch turned rougher when his mouth returned to my flesh. His tongue was firm against my clit, his fingers almost too demanding as he rubbed my g-spot. He didn’t pump in and out of me. Instead, he focused his attention on the special spot that would make me come apart.

Pleasure built low in my belly, coiling within me. My thighs started to shake in earnest, my toes and fingers tingling. I bit back an ecstatic cry as my orgasm rippled through me. I lifted my hips as his touch turned harsher, demanding I give him more of my pleasure. Part of my mind marveled that there was no pain. I was wet, my pussy pulsing around his fingers as I came.

When the last aftershocks of my orgasm subsided, he slid his fingers out of me and licked at the wetness at my core. I moaned at the decadent sensation.

“You taste so good,” he told me again.

Usually, I wouldn’t really believe such an assertion. But his rumbling tone and the cocky half-smile on his lips made it impossible to doubt him.

“Thank you,” I panted, not really sure how to respond when I was boneless beneath him, my body humming and my mind mercifully quiet for a moment.

He sat back on his heels, grinning down at me. “My pleasure.”

For the first time, I was emboldened enough to glance down at his thick erection, which was straining against his boxer briefs. I swallowed and met his gaze again. Scott was big. Probably too big for me.

But I still ached for more, even after my orgasm. He’d primed my body to be filled, and I wanted him.

“Do you have a condom?” I asked, temptation dripping from the question. Scott certainly made me feel like a temptress; a sensual siren he couldn’t resist. The way he was watching me with such open hunger, his mouth still glistening from my arousal, sent me flying high.

His lips curved with pleasure, and he nodded. He left me briefly to retrieve the condom from his pants, where he’d abandoned them beside the bed. He also stripped off his boxer briefs, and when he resumed his position between my thighs, I got my first look at his cock.

My eyes flew wide. I’d been wrong. Scott wasn’t big. He was huge.

“This is going to sound like I wrote it in one of my romance novels,” I babbled, “but that’s not going to fit.”

Did I just say that out loud?

“I mean, that doesn’t even sound like something people say in real life,” I continued on, nerves making the words spill out of me. “But yeah. That won’t fit.”

One corner of his mouth tugged up in a self-assured smile as he tore open the condom wrapper and sheathed himself.

“It’ll fit. Trust me.”

There it was again: trust me.

I’d only known Scott for a couple hours, but the pull I felt toward him went soul-deep. We both needed this: to feel cherished, to be held.

I nodded. I did trust him. He was almost a stranger to me, but I trusted him.

He gripped the base of his shaft and shifted forward, guiding his cockhead to my slick, swollen entrance. When the tip had barely penetrated me, he lowered his body atop mine slowly, pushing his cock into me with aching care.

I gasped and opened my legs wider for him, my knees falling to either side as I rocked my hips up to accommodate him. To my amazement, he entered me in one steady, controlled slide, my body perfectly prepared to accept him.

Pleasure suffused my system, and I grabbed at his shoulders, my fingernails sinking into his flesh.

“Oh my god,” I breathed. “I’ve never felt… I can’t believe you’re inside me.”

I was full, stretched around his enormous cock. But my body had welcomed him. There was no pain, just toe-curling pleasure.

Emboldened, I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him impossibly deeper. We both groaned, and my eyes nearly fluttered closed as ecstasy washed through me. I forced them open. I didn’t want to miss a second of this time I was sharing with Scott. I stared up at him, captured in his gorgeous blue gaze.

He closed the small distance between us, his mouth crashing down on mine as he withdrew slightly and pumped back into me, letting me feel him inside me. His tongue coaxed mine, as tender and careful as his cock penetrated my pussy.

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer, opening for him and accepting him completely. Something swelled in my chest as I gave him so much more than just my body. The kiss tasted like my essence, but I wasn’t bothered by the flavor. Scott had reveled in it, so why should I find it unpleasant? I slid my tongue against his as he began to move within me, thrusting into my pussy with longer, rougher strokes.

I met each of his thrusts, my heels digging into his sculpted ass to draw him deeper, welcoming him to claim me. I panted into his mouth, exchanging breaths with him as both our bodies became slick with sweat. Pleasure built within me, my second orgasm cresting as his cockhead dragged across my g-spot. He caught my cry on his lips as I came apart, my pussy squeezing him as my legs locked around his waist, demanding he give me more. He drove in harder, giving me the rougher treatment I craved. Our kiss turned more frenzied as bliss pulsed through me, and I mindlessly met his thrusts with wanton abandon.

I was still tingling with pleasure when he slid out of me and gripped my hips. Anticipating a new position, I rolled and started to get on my hands and knees, assuming he wanted doggy-style.

“No.” His hands firmed around my hips, pressing me down against the mattress so I laid on my stomach.

“What are you doing?” I asked, some of my awkwardness returning. I didn’t like that he wasn’t inside me, and I wasn’t certain what he wanted.

“Haven’t you tried this position?” he asked, rolling me and lifting my leg as he slid back into me.

I was on my front, my hips tilted slightly to the side to accommodate him. He filled me, hard and deep.

“I didn’t even know this was a position,” I marveled breathily.

Apparently, there were a lot more possibilities open when a man was as well-endowed as Scott.

He took me, long and slow. I felt pinned down, and there was little I could do to move against him in this position. It made me feel small and vulnerable, and I reveled in it, gasping against the pillow as he plunged in deep. I wasn’t going to come again, but pleasure suffused me.

Scott grunted and stiffened, driving deep before withdrawing suddenly. I hated the abrupt emptiness, but I appreciated that he’d pulled out as an extra precaution.

He dropped a kiss on my shoulder.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised before disappearing into the bathroom to clean up.

I rolled onto my back, stretching and smiling to myself. I’d just experienced the best sex of my life, and it had been almost completely vanilla. It was strange and wonderful. I’d never shared such intense chemistry with a man, and gratitude swelled in my heart.

Scott returned, climbing onto the mattress beside me. I cuddled close to him, tucking my face against his chest.

He pulled back slightly. “No.”

I blinked up at him, confused and a little upset that he didn’t want to snuggle with me.

“I want to see your face,” he said, immediately allaying my discomfiture. “Your eyes are so beautiful.”

I flushed at the compliment and trailed my fingernails down his back, scratching lightly. “You have beautiful eyes, too.”

The fine lines that aged his face deepened, his expression tightening with anguish. “Do I?” he whispered. “What color are they?”

“Blue,” I told him, puzzled by his question. “Right?” I was suddenly uncertain, even though the evidence was literally staring down at me.

“I don’t know. Sometimes, I forget. Sometimes, I think I don’t have eyes. I don’t think I even have a face.” The words were soft, haunted. I wasn’t certain if he knew he was speaking them aloud.

My heart ached for him as I realized he couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror. Whatever violence he committed in his dangerous world, he’d done things that had scarred him deeply. His body was close to flawless, with only one small physical scar visible on his jaw. But Scott had wounds that went so much deeper than his flesh.

“You’re a good man,” I told him, my voice soft but firm.

“Am I?” he asked, strained.

I stroked his back. “Yes. I believe most people are inherently good, and I can tell you are.”

His lips thinned. “I’d like to believe that, but not everyone is good.”

Something dark stirred within me, too. “No,” I agreed, remembering the terrible things my ex had done to me while claiming he loved me. “Some people aren’t good.”

Scott shook his head, as though to physically shake off bad thoughts. “Now you’re talking about bad guys. Those are the guys I deal with. I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. I held him closer, my arms tightening around him as I buried my face in the crook of his neck.

He leaned back again. “No. Let me look at you. I want to remember this.”

My chest tightened, but I swallowed my grief for him. I met his intense gaze and resumed stroking his back.

“Thank you,” I said. “Whatever it is you do, thank you. I know it must be hard.”

His jaw firmed, but his hand was gentle as he stroked my hair. “Never change,” he said, a low, almost reverent command. “I do the things I do so people like you can be safe and live the lives they want. Tonight, you were so relaxed when I first saw you at the bar. And when I went down on you, you decided to trust me. Never lose that ability to trust. Thank you for that.”

A lump formed in my throat, my heart twisting in my chest. Scott carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I hated his pain.

I simply nodded, unable to find words heavy enough to express my feelings, my gratitude for his service and for the incredible gift he was giving me. Because he was trusting me, too. He hadn’t told me anything about his life, but I knew parts of his soul he probably didn’t often share with anyone. Maybe not even with himself.

He shifted, moving down between my thighs.

“Again?” I asked in awe.

“I love the way you taste,” he rumbled.

His clever tongue touched my clit, and I was lost. He licked me to a third orgasm, one that left me trembling and limp against the mattress.

“Wow,” I panted when he settled beside me, a cocky smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Three orgasms.” Pride radiated from him, and I marveled at the fact that he seemed to find more pleasure in giving me ecstasy than he’d found in fucking me.

“Thank you.” I’d been saying the words all night, but what more could I offer the man who’d just shattered me three times in the space of a few hours?

He pressed a kiss against my forehead. “I have to go,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

“Stay,” I begged, even though I knew he couldn’t. I’d already kept him for far too long.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” I really did. I didn’t want to make him feel guilty for leaving after sex. This had been so much more than a one-night stand; he wasn’t using my body for his own pleasure and leaving in a rush.

“It’s probably late enough—or early enough—to get coffee, if you want,” I offered, craving a little more time with him.

He shook his head. “I really can’t. I wish I could. This time tomorrow, my coffee will probably have sand in it.” His lips twisted around the words, and my chest ached.

He must be going back to his dangerous job, to a dangerous place. What terrible things might he have to do? Would he add another scar to his soul, another dark memory that would haunt him?

“I really do wish you could stay,” I said softly, to comfort him rather than guilt him. “This has been amazing.”

He smiled and stood, leaving me alone on the bed as he began to pull on his clothes.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Man, I’m glad I kissed you outside the bar.”

I grinned. “Me, too.”

I started to push up off the bed when he was fully dressed. “I’ll walk you out.”

His big hand settled on my shoulder, pressing me back down into the mattress. “No. Stay. I want to remember you like this.”

He pulled the covers up to my chin and tucked me in before brushing a kiss over my forehead. I felt precious, cherished. I hated that he was leaving, but I settled into the bittersweet perfection of the moment.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“Goodbye,” he murmured.

He straightened and walked away, disappearing through the bedroom door in three long strides. I heard the apartment door close and lock automatically behind him.

I let out a soft sigh of regret, but a satisfied smile lingered around my lips. I was suddenly glad that I hadn’t killed myself last month, when loneliness and despair had engulfed me. Scott would never know it, but he helped save my life.