"Morning, gorgeous." A hand comes to rest on my shoulder and I can't stop the flinch it causes. I’ve been dreading this since my eyes opened and I replayed our conversation last night. I said too much. And letting him kiss me only made it worse. Now, I can’t get the feel of him out of my head. I'm wearing sunglasses even though the morning sun isn't high or bright enough to really warrant it. He already sees too much. They are my protection from his keen eyes.

He drops into the seat across from me and studies me with a concerned frown on his face. He’s not going to make this easy.

"What's wrong?" His deep, rich, oh so soothing voice travels across the short distance between us and coats me in all of the comfort, desire and camaraderie we shared last night. All of the things I've longed to feel for someone but didn't think I would again.

"Nothing. I'm here, right?" I return curtly before I take a sip of my coffee. I know it’s wrong - the way I'm behaving - but it's for the best. Last night was more than it should have been. This exposure, this trust is dangerous, and the last time I let myself feel it, the consequences were disastrous and life-altering. I haven't even told him the entire truth and yet I wanted to.

"Are you?" he asks me, his voice just as curt.

I let my eyes slide to him and see he's leaning back in his chair. His posture is relaxed, his arms crossed in front of his chest, but he's glaring at me.

"Yes. Look, last night..." I start and trail off. I pluck one of the packets of sugar from the container in front of me and tear it open. I pour it into my already too sweet coffee and stir.

"What about last night?" he says shortly. "I'm not going to fill in the gaps for you. Say it," he says, his tone low and slow. I force myself to meet his eyes and flinch inwardly at the expression of disappointment in them.

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin in a show of confidence that takes all of my strength to force.

"I'd had too much to drink. I was tired and scared. I don't want anything beyond what I already have."

His eyes shutter, even the anger is gone.

"What do you have?" The mocking sneer in his voice stings.

"My life. My work. My family," I say, counting them out on my fingers, trying to convince myself, as well as him.

"Really? Yesterday, it sounded like you didn't really have much of anything."

My hackles rise.

"One conversation doesn't mean you know me, Harry, and it doesn't give you the right to qualify or define things that you don't understand."

His hand snakes out so fast that I don't see it until it's grasping mine. The fire is back, his dark eyes, the flecks of amber that light a spark in his chocolate brown irises. His grip is tight but not punishing, and I have to stop myself from turning my hand over and linking our fingers.

"I know that I kissed you and you loved it."

I’m grateful for my sunglasses, so I that when my eyes flutter at the memory, he can’t see. Because I did love it. Too much.

"I know you fucking melted into me the minute I touched you."

I shake my head as I feel the betraying sting of frustrated tears behind my eyes.

"And last night, we shared something."

I try to pull my hand back, but he doesn't let me.

"I'm not scared."

"Liar," he whispers. His voice is gentle, but the insult hits me where it hurts.

I bristle at it and hold my ground.

"I don't think any of this is a good idea. I mean, we're going to have to go our separate ways. What's the point of more?" My voice has raised, and the couple at the table next to us stares. I lower my sunglasses down my nose and return their rude stare with a narrowed-eye. They hastily return their focus to their breakfast.

"You’re right. We are going to go our separate ways. You to America, me back to England. So, let's just have a good time.”

Harry lets go of my hand, and I miss the comfort and safety of it right away. I grasp it with my other palm and put both of them on my lap.

"I'm thirty-two, I have a twin sister and a younger brother. My family lives in England, and I manage my family’s business. I'm a farmer, a landlord, hate cheese and apples and I only like music with no words."

I sputter a laugh and look up at him.

"Who hates cheese, apples, and music with words?"

"I do. Cheese is basically one big ball of cow pus. Apples make my mouth itch, and if your music needs words to sound good, you need to rethink your music."

"All of that is absurd. And weird." I wrinkle my nose in distaste.

"I can see you like cheese." He looks down pointedly at my cheese smothered eggs and the big hunk of brie that's sitting next to the crusty French bread they serve with every meal here.

"Of course, I like cheese. Who doesn't like cheese? That's like saying you don't like ice cream."

"I don't like cheese, and ice cream gives me a bubbly tummy. I like it, but I don't eat it."

"TMI, man," I grimace even as I chuckle.

"I want your TMI," he says, and my laughter dies.

"I told you everything last night." My eyes drift from his.

"No, you didn't," he says quietly, but there's an edge in his voice that makes my nerves tingle.

"Fine. I wear those headphones because I have an extra piece of cartilage in my ear. Ear buds don't fit."

He leans close and pushes my hair off my shoulder to reveal my ear.

“Hmm, so it does. How interesting,” he murmurs and leans in close to study my ear.

His breath tickles my ear, and I have the sudden urge to turn my head and kiss him.

“I’ve got to go." I push my seat back and stand up.

"Where?" he asks, even though he doesn't make any move to stop me. Not that I want to be stopped.

"To listen to music with words," I quip.

"What about your breakfast?" he asks, tipping his head down to my very full plate.

"I'd say you should eat it, but you hate cheese." He laughs, a delighted, happy laugh. I scowl at him. “I'm full and tired of twenty questions."

As I walk past him toward the door, I let my hand trail over his shoulder. He puts his own over it and holds it there. And despite my racing pulse, I make my eyes look as disinterested as possible.

"Yes?" I prepare for more questions, but his eyes are soft, his mouth curved in an alluring smile.

"Meet me on the beach tonight," he asks, his eyes imploring.

"Why?" I ask him with an exasperated tone. But, my defenses are flagging.

"I want to spend time with you. But only if you want to. I don’t want to push you or coerce you. I can take no for an answer." He says simply and the naked honesty in his eyes is my undoing.

The wall I'd spent all night constructing sustains a direct and fatal hit. His eyes, the memory of his kiss, the earnestness of his plea, are more than I can resist.

“I want to.” I respond and feel a burst of happiness at how good it feels to say that and mean it.

He grins up at me. "So, let's spend time together. Just two people who like talking and kissing and who will go their separate ways and never see each other again."

The last words in his sentence pinch me in a place that’s already tender. I have the ridiculous urge to ask him to take them back. Instead, I ask, "What time?"

His smile is all triumph and desire.

"I have a meeting that will probably take all day. So, maybe at sunset. It's so beautiful then. So, maybe half past five?"

"That's fine. As soon as you're back, Bambi will disappear with Kojo."

Harry chuckles. "Yeah, he drives faster than he should now, desperate to get back to her. But today, I won’t complain. I’m already impatient for the day to be over," he drawls, his eyes holding mine. He turns his head to kiss my hand that's resting on his shoulder. His lips linger, and I feel their caress all the way up my arm.

I turn and walk away slowly. If I had half the sense I was born with, I'd be running.

That trouble I knew was coming but couldn't see? It's arrived. In the form of a walking, talking, breathing definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

My body is waking up and it’s screaming, “I offer myself as tribute.”

I want him. There's no harm in indulging myself here. I can still be in control. And when I’m done, I’ll go to my real life with this memory, this delicious moment, as a little bit of sweet to make all of the bitter more bearable.