He’d stopped at the coffee house a block from his one-bedroom apartment following eighteen hours on call after a tractor trailer had jackknifed on the highway outside Hoquiam, flooding the emergency room. He was exhausted, and he’d planned only to grab a sandwich and a decaf to wash away the day, then crash for hopefully twelve hours, but he’d been poleaxed when he saw Becky sitting at the small table for two with Slick, who had been giving her all his attention. Of course the guy wanted her. He could see it in the way he watched her, the charm. It was in his body language and energy. He was giving everything to Becky Friessen, his Becky, the girl he hadn’t until moments ago realized how much he wanted. His mind said no, but his body had other ideas.

He knew he was bordering on just having to have her, and there was no way in hell he was going to allow another man to sit with her or flirt with her, smile at her or touch her. As he lifted his head, breaking a kiss he hadn’t meant to take so far, she appeared rattled, and she wasn’t schooled enough with men to hide it. That wasn’t something a girl could fake. Her lips were pink, and he could taste the coffee she had. He could hear the traffic around them as he stood street side on the sidewalk, holding her against him. She was looking up now, questioning, wondering. He needed a shower, a shave, and some food.

“Come on.” He took her hand and started walking, and she fell in beside him.

“Where?” she asked. He glanced down, taking in the round face, the natural blush in her cheeks, and how vibrant her eyes were. She confused the hell out of him.

“My place. I live just up the block.”

“My car is back the other way,” she added. Her hand was still in his, and she was still walking. It was comfortable, and he didn’t want to let go of her.

“It’ll keep there. Don’t worry, I’ll walk you back after,” he said, but after what? Had he really thought any of this through? “So you’re in school, college.”

She pressed closer to him as they approached his building. He shoved his key in the front glass door and pulled it open. “Yeah, um, my uncle got me in. Started a few days ago, so I’m at least taking something until I figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Even the sound of her voice reached inside and squeezed the breath out of him. No woman had ever had the effect she was having on him, and he hadn’t even bedded her, stripped her, or had her naked under him.

She wore a black and white backpack over her deep green wool coat, and she was facing the elevator, for which he’d jabbed the button. Then she was looking up at him as the elevator door opened.

“After you,” he said, and she stepped in. He jabbed the button for the fourth floor.

Her phone beeped, and she reached in her purse and pulled it out. He could see the screen and the text from Ian. Hey, everything okay? Just text me back that you are? Monday 4 at coffee house.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll just…” she said under her breath, and he wondered whether she’d meant to speak out loud. He reached for her phone before she could text back and pressed the power down button.

“Not answer,” he finished for her.

She glanced up, startled, as the elevator dinged and the door opened. He ushered her out as she reached for her phone in his hand. “Tom, hey, give it back. Of course I have to answer. What is wrong with you? He’s my tutor.” Becky managed to get her phone back, which was now powered off.

He slid his key in the lock, taking in the dark brown door of his suite. He ushered her in and closed it behind him. “I told you he wants you.” He shrugged out of his jacket and took in her expression.

“Again, he’s my tutor, and you’re reading way too much into it, thinking he wants me. He doesn’t. It’s just school. You’re jealous. Why?” she asked as he reached out and touched the strap of her backpack. She let it slip off her shoulder. She let him take it and hang it on one of the hooks at the front door over coats already on them.

He gestured to her. “Take off your coat.”

She did, but she didn’t take her eyes off him. He knew she was waiting for an answer, an answer he didn’t want to give her. He tossed the coat over his and then stepped closer, and he could feel the way her breath tightened. He could see her reaction as he stepped in closer again. His hand touching her hair and then brushing it back, tucking it behind her ears. He wanted to kiss her again, he wanted to strip her naked and take her to his bed.

He wanted to bury himself in her and fuck her hard and satisfy himself. It was animalistic and selfish, but then, he was all of that and worse, and she was here in his place, alone, with him.

“I told you before I want you in my bed, and I won’t share you. I don’t want you to see him again. Tutor or not, I know guys, and there’s nothing about him that’s not interested. He’s playing you, reeling you in,” he said, then took in the shock on her face.

“That’s ridiculous. Again, you can’t tell me who I can’t text, talk to, or see…” Her hands rested on his chest as he held her, running his hands over her ass, her smooth blue jeans, feeling how perfectly round she was. She wasn’t talking anymore, and he could feel the effect he was having.

He was under her skin, where he wanted her, even though he was pretty sure she had him, too. Dammit. He shut his eyes to cool his head down, the push and pull. He rested his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes, and groaned as he swayed with her. “Yes, I can. I told you before: you, my bed, and no other guys, ever.”

He lifted her, and she squealed as her legs wrapped around his waist. He started walking through the small, cluttered living room to the open door of his room, where the light spilled in on his unmade bed. He laid her down and put his hands on either side of her head, brushing back her hair, and he just took her in, feeling her body shake under him. It was so subtle: anticipation, excitement, and maybe a little fear, he thought as he took in her expression. Her eyes were searching him out as if trying to figure out what to say, what to do. He pressed in, letting her feel him, and her head rolled back as she bared her neck to him.

“I’m going to take your clothes off, and I want to see all of you naked on my bed,” he said. He pulled away and moved back, pulling her shoes off and dumping them on the floor. She rose up on her elbows, and he thought she was going to say something.

“Wait. This is crazy.” She sounded breathless. As she started to sit up, he stepped in again, slid his hand over her cheek and under her chin to lift it to him so he could see her face, her eyes, and what she really wanted. He ran his thumb over her lip, and she took one breath and another. “I can’t be just a toy for you,” she said. “I don’t come from that. No matter how much I want this, I can’t be just something for you to sleep with when you want me, at your beck and call. You took me for dinner, and I didn’t hear from you for a week, and then you just show up and drag me here so you can, what, mark your territory?”

He couldn’t believe she’d said that. He stepped away from the bed, from her, running his hand over his face, feeling the roughness and grit, knowing he needed to shower, but at the same time he wanted to feel satisfied the only way he could with a woman. He didn’t want just anyone; he wanted Becky, this young college student who was far from naive. Where had all this wisdom come from?

“I’m tired. I need a shower,” he said as he stepped back, still unsatisfied but knowing he couldn’t answer her.

She sighed and then lifted her wrist, looking at her watch. “I have to go,” she said. “I need to work in half an hour.” She slid to the edge of the bed, looking at the floor and reaching for her shoes.

For the first time in his life, Tom didn’t have a clue what to say. Women didn’t walk out on him before he had them in bed, but here Becky was, shoes back on now, standing, and now she was walking straight toward him. She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. He’d barely touched her butt before she pulled away, sliding her hand over his pecs and down his stomach. He grabbed her hand and lifted it, taking in the mischievous smile. She knew the effect she was having on him, and she stepped out of the bedroom and to the door, pulling on her coat, lifting her backpack and her purse.

“Becky, wait,” he called out as he stepped toward her, running his hands through his hair, which was feeling knotted and stiff, likely from the hundreds of times he’d run his fingers through it today. Her gaze was questioning, her bold blue eyes, the simple perfection in her face. He was so tired now and unsatisfied. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

“Okay,” she said as a smile touched her lips, and she waited for him to pull on his coat and walk her back to her car like a gentleman would—only she had to learn that Tom Campbell was none of that. He wasn’t a gentleman, or honorable, or decent.