I roll over and the bare skin of my back collides with something warm and solid. The heat makes me start, and I drag my eyes open. Daylight streams around the curtains of my guesthouse and Mrs. Keaton’s stupid dog barks somewhere in the distance. Underneath me stretches a snoring and gloriously naked Jackson Wirth, his hand curled around my back.

Last night really happened, then. It wasn’t just some surreal dream. I blush even though he’s not awake to see me.

I study the features of Jackson’s sleeping face, his slightly crooked nose and his perfectly kissable lips. The tiny, silver scar under his left eyebrow. This is what sleeping rock stars must look like, ready to spring awake and dazzle crowds. But there’s no crowd for him here, just me and the fig tree in the corner, both of us stretching toward the sun.

Hmm. I should go on Tinder dates more often.

Just as quickly, I erase the thought from my mind. Jackson is the consummate bachelor. I ran away from him all those years ago because he couldn’t love me the way I needed.

Nothing’s changed between now and then and I’m not stupid enough to think that last night will have meant anything to Jackson. But maybe knowing that is a good thing. I know not to get my heart broken, so I just won’t let it happen. The most important thing is that Jackson can still be my friend, which I need more than I can say. I didn’t realize until now how much I’ve missed him. Here in Swan’s Hollow it’s me and Abigail and Nico and Jackson. They are my tiny world and I cannot mess this up. I just don’t know how to act around Jackson now that we’ve crossed this line.

“Hey,” Jackson says, stirring under my palm. “Fancy seeing you here.”

I wish I had another minute to look at him in the morning light, another minute to hold onto the memories of last night before I let him go. Because last night, god. The thought of it makes my skin buzz.

“You’re in my bed.” I roll my eyes but smile anyway.

He grins. “Lucky me.”

On impulse I reach out and touch the scar above his eye. I was with him when it happened, riding shotgun while he drove us from Wirth & Sons to home. It was one of those nights that stretched forever, spring verging on summer, and we drove with the windows down, everything pressing in damp and wild. The forest smelled like moss and secrets and the night felt buzzing and alive. We could do anything. We could be anyone.

It happened in an instant, the doe rolling out of the trees like mist, a split second of white-knuckled terror as the car careened toward her and then crumpled around her pretty little body.

Jackson’s arm shot out, not to protect himself, but to protect me. All I could stare at was the doe’s face, her eyes going wide on impact, first with surprise, then with pain, then with acceptance.

The deer crushed the whole front bumper of the car, and the car, in turn, put a long, jagged gash in an oak tree just off the road. I’m sure I could pick it out now, an unassuming bend in the road like a hundred other bends in the road, made distinct in one awful moment.

“You and the tree have matching cuts,” I told Jackson after the accident, my hand wrapped around his in the hospital.

He’d lifted the corner of his mouth and then winced. “Does it make me look sexier? Wouldn’t want to ruin my cred with the ladies.”

I reminded myself that, despite my fingers twined in his, there were other girls out there who wanted Jackson, too. Who he wanted. I squeezed his hand, trying to keep my voice light. “God, don’t be an ass.”

But over time the angry red mark faded into something lopsided and, yes, sexy. It made Jackson look mysterious, like he was someone who’d lived, someone who had stories to tell. He protected me before himself. And if I had been half in love with Jackson before that night, this completely sealed the deal for me. It didn’t matter that he was never going to feel the same. Only today Jackson’s in my bed and we’re getting closer to level ground.

My fingers tremble on Jackson’s skin. “Thank you for saving me.”

He grabs my fingertips and kisses them gently before tucking me against his side. “I couldn’t have lived with myself if I let you get hurt.”

I swallow hard. I need to keep my nerve. I need to remember the reasons sixteen-year-old Natalie stayed away, the reasons I should stay away now. “Listen, can we keep this casual?” Jackson narrows his eyes like he doesn’t quite believe me, but this is the story I’m sticking to. “I’m leaving as soon as this lube gets launched,” I remind him. “I’ve got a game plan to get back to the city.”

“So I hear,” Jackson says. “But that’s not going to work for me.”

My body goes still and my heart thuds dully at the rejection.

Right. Why had I even thought sleeping with Jackson would happen more than once? I clear my throat to hide my discomfort and shift away.

Jackson swipes a thumb across my lips. “Don’t look like that, Natalie. I mean I want something more than casual.”

I can’t help the tinge of skepticism that shades my voice. “So you want…to date me?”

“Yes. But not in the traditional way.”

Of course not. Jackson doesn’t do anything by the book. I shouldn’t feel so offended since I just asked him to do the same thing, but I can’t help pulling away.

He cups my chin and tilts my head so I’m looking right at him. “I mean I don’t want to date you in a way that’s going to end.”

Oh.

It feels too intimate to have this conversation now, still half-asleep and naked. Emotions fly across my face and I tamp down the part of me that wants to shout Yes! Some things really can be too good to be true, and Jackson’s confession feels like one of them.

“We might be at an impasse here, Jackson.”

He quirks up an eyebrow. “Casual is what you want?”

“Yes. Casual.”

He lets go of my fingers, then skims the backs of his knuckles across my skin, making me shiver and flush at the same time.

“Is this casual enough for you?” He leans forward to nibble my earlobe, then kisses a line down my neck.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

He trails his fingers down my hip and across my belly. All my blood rushes to my core and I’m on fire again, coming alive for him. “How about now?”

“Not casual enough yet.” I’m embarrassed that it’s almost a whimper, that my need for him is ignited so fast. I have got to get my hormones under control. But Jackson’s touch is a spreading fire and I want to burn.

“Now?” he asks and I lift my hips to meet his hand.

“Better,” I say. “Much better.”

I close my eyes and tell myself that I can do this. That I can have casual sex. But I realize, after, when my body’s still shaking and my heart’s flying in my chest, maybe I can’t do casual after all. There’s nothing casual when it comes to me and Jackson Wirth.

“We should get up,” I finally tell him. The light from my window casts new shadows on the wall, marking time. “Some of us have to sell lube for a living, you know.”

Jackson rolls away from me with a groan. “Such a slave driver.”

“Truly,” I agree.

He lifts up onto his elbow and the sight of his shifting muscles makes my mind short out. “Mind if I catch a shower? We can go over some business plans when I’m done.”

Something about the request makes me indescribably happy. I press my face into my shoulder to hide my smile.

“Mmhmm.” I nod.

Jackson takes his sexy, sculpted body into the bathroom, and as I watch him walk away I can’t help but feel happier than I have in a while. Maybe I’ve been more sex deprived than I’d thought. Still, I like the idea of Jackson wanting to spend time here. It’s nice that he’s not hurrying out and that he’s not bailing on the business either. Maybe we can make this thing work out after all.

While Jackson showers I set up the computer in the kitchen. I can hear him in the bathroom: the spray of water, shampoo bottles being opened and set down. He hums some sort of wordless tune that feels bright and hopeful and I picture him in there, running bodywash over those firm muscles of his. Yeah, admiring his body last night was definitely a high point. Not to mention, admiring what he could do with it.

Argh. Focus.

I open up my email and type out a quick status request to send to the CEO at our lube supplier. I’m anxious to get some bottles in my hands and to make this dream a reality.

A second later, an error message pops up on my screen: This message failed because the email address provided is no longer valid.

My stomach lurches. What? That can’t be right. I double-check that my spelling is correct and resend the message.

The same error appears.

Something in my chest tightens.

I open a web browser and type in the company’s domain name, hoping to find another email address, or a contact form, or something. But the domain shows up as unregistered.

What the fuck?

My body starts to sweat and by the time I dial the phone number I’ve written in my notebook, panic shrieks along my nerves. Something’s not right here. Sure enough, the phone rings and rings before disconnecting.

This is really, really bad.

Somewhere far away, the shower shuts off and the bathroom door opens.

“Jackson,” I whisper, and the words choke in my throat. “I think we have a problem.”