Colin, present day

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Colin spent approximately six seconds in heaven before it was torn from his arms.

Or rather, before CeCe ripped herself from his hold.

He’d had just a tease of soft curves and floral scents, felt the press of her lips, her breasts, her tongue against him.

Then the bloody elevator had dinged, its doors had slid open, and she’d run.

Again.

This pattern was getting frustrating.

He slammed his fist against the metal panel as it tried to slide closed and bent to pick up the paper envelope that had fallen from Cecilia’s pocket when she’d thrown herself into his arms. She’d grabbed her tote bag, so there was that, but she wouldn’t be getting far without a room key.

Sighing, he tucked his messenger bag over one shoulder and left the elevator, bracing himself for her presence, for the punch to the gut that stole his breath every time he saw her.

She was beautiful inside and out, there was no doubt about that. But she was also . . . scared. Hurting.

And he wanted the full story, for fuck’s sake.

Not a piece of information here and there. Not a slice of the past and vague words. He wanted to know what had happened six years ago.

Because by all rights, he should be the wounded one.

But Colin had the feeling that he wasn’t.

He glanced at the key holder in his palm, searched out the sign on the wall, and headed in the direction of Cecilia’s room.

She wasn’t far, around one corner, head in her hands, bag still over one arm but resting on the floor, as she squatted against a door.

He ignored the jump of his pulse and stretched an arm over her head, swiping the key against the lock. It disengaged with a click. When he shoved it open, bright green eyes flew up to his and her mouth opened, no doubt to put him off again.

A shake of his head, a swift movement to scoop her up off the floor.

“Col—”

“Hush.” He growled when that damned annoying tote bag whacked him in the head and slid it free from her arm, setting it carefully on the luggage stand before carrying CeCe further into the room, flipping switches all the way.

“Colin.”

He didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he ripped the comforter free of the mattress with one hand.

“Hey! You can’t—oof!”

He took a breath, shaking off the tempting sight of the woman he’d obsessed about for years, hair mussed, looking up from a bed at him in invitation.

No. Confusion. With a little irritation mixed him.

Colin bent and removed her shoes, lining them up next to the nightstand, before turning back and staring at CeCe.

Yes, it was probably creepy.

No, he couldn’t stop himself.

Especially when her lips parted and there was a hint of invitation in her expression. He leaned down, felt the hot whoosh of her breath on his mouth, and kissed her . . . on the cheek.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling up the blanket and tucking it around her. Gritting his teeth, he set the keycard on the nightstand and rose to his feet.

And then he did the opposite of what every fiber of his being was demanding—namely stripping CeCe naked, leaving her limp with orgasms, holding her close afterward, whispering all the words he’d felt, still felt into her ear, and watching her sleep.

Did she still snore in soft little puffs of air?

Would she still whisper his name and snuggle closer?

Could they possibly forget the past and find a way to build something new?

He wanted to find out the answers to all of those questions. He wanted her body, her heart, her soul.

He wanted her.

That was why he had to leave.

Colin tried to ignore the fact that she didn’t stop him as he went.

It didn’t work.

Hotel bars were the worst. The scourge on the earth, the cesspool of all humanity, the bottom of the proverbial barrel.

Either that or he was being dramatic.

Okay, he was being dramatic.

And that wasn’t like him.

But he’d sent away his driver, intending to walk the city until his nerves settled. The trouble was he had only made it as far as the hotel bar.

He had always felt like this . . . not about the bar and not acting like a gross creep stalking a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. Rather, he meant that it had always felt as though there was a piece of string attaching him to Cecilia. It had been stretched taut, threatening to snap for many years, and now that he’d found her, he didn’t have the strength to risk that tenuous position once more.

What if he couldn’t find her again?

Dramatic meet maudlin meet terrible Shakespeare-esque drama.

He should have just talked to her when he’d been in her room.

Better that than brooding over a bottle of whiskey like a pathetic idiot.

“Another?” the bartender asked when Colin drained the last drops from his glass.

“No, thanks.” He shook his head and tossed enough bills on the bar top to cover his tab plus a healthy tip. The man had been quick, efficient, and didn’t ask nosy questions.

But Colin was bleary-eyed, exhausted after the flight and the days packed with meetings before then, and he really needed to sleep.

He was also slightly drunk.

Which was probably why he headed to the elevators rather than pulling out his cell and calling his driver. He pressed the button for the fifth floor and waited calmly—albeit with a slightly faltering stance . . . the floor’s fault for not being level, thank him very much—as the elevator rose.

Then he pulled out the spare key to CeCe’s room, the one he’d put in his pocket earlier for safekeeping, and unlocked the door.

It was mostly dark, with only the bedside lamp on, and she’d fallen asleep with a book on her chest.

One of those bloody historical romances.

For fuck’s sake.

He carefully picked it up, lest it stab her in the eye or something as she slept, and started to close it. Only a word caught his eye. Then a sentence.

Then a scene.

And hot damn what a scene.

He sank to the floor next to the bed and turned the page.

And another. And another. And . . . he read the whole damned thing. The sex, the horses, the kilts, the conflict that drove the hero and heroine apart—conflict driven by the hero’s intervening family that left a nasty aftertaste in his mouth. He even read the happy ending and the epilogue where their castle was full of children and the couple lived in a state of unending bliss.

The book made him sigh like a sappy sod, and it made him ache. To long for the fictional happily ever after.

It also made him sleepy, and Colin found himself listing to the side, curling up next to the bed, and closing his eyes.