“Where is everyone?” Sam asked as she set up her easel in my office at Titan.

“The developers work all hours during the week, but I make them go home Saturdays.”

The bright morning light streaming through my window lit the place up. During the week it gave me energy, but today it felt peaceful.

“So. How impressed are you about my victory?” I asked.

“Maybe you should be the one who’s impressed,” she tossed, setting up her easel. “It was my idea for you to go see them.”

“But it was my strategy that made it work.” I considered. “Maybe we make a good team.”

Since the plane ride back on Thursday, I’d been planning what would happen when I saw her next.

I’d sent her a text asking to call in our deal. She’d suggested today and for the last forty-eight hours, I’d been itching with anticipation.

“I’m surprised you still own jeans,” she commented, straightening and setting a box of charcoal on my desk.

I glanced down at the Sevens and white T-shirt. “You miss the suit?”

“I didn’t say that.”

I dropped onto the couch Payton had insisted I install last year because I’d been falling asleep in my desk chair and watched Sam unpack her supplies.

My eyes soaked in her appearance, from the messy braid that lay over one shoulder to the sweater and the leggings that showed off each curve.

“This is going to turn into some Titanic thing, isn’t it. One second you’re painting me, and I’m giving you smoldering eyes, then cut to sweaty hands in car windows.”

She shot me a look. “Nice try.” She flicked her eyes over me, the couch. “Relax a little.” I crossed an ankle over the opposite knee and stretched my arms along the top of the seat. “That’s good. Sit like that.”

Time has a way of smoothing things over. There should’ve been nothing between us after all this time. No bitterness or tension. No attraction or longing.

But since coming face to face with her again, I couldn’t deny it.

We could either fight it or play it out.

I knew which I wanted.

What she wanted was another question entirely.

“How do you do it?” I asked abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“Your art. You said it’s about how you see things, through your eyes. Explain that to me.”

She started to draw, her studious gaze moving between me and the paper. “I can’t explain it. It’s like trying to explain a color.”

“Try.”

She set the charcoal down slowly and took a few steps toward me. “Well. In school, we used to do a lot of still lifes. You know. Fruit, water vases, clothes hangers, whatever our instructor felt like. The first month I just copied what I saw. I didn’t really get it.”

“What’s there to get?”

Sam reached for a Yoda figurine on my shelf and took a seat beside me on the couch, leaving just a little too much space between us.

“For one, you don’t have to draw the object. There are other options. You can draw the space around it—called negative space.” She trailed a finger around the perimeter of Yoda’s pointy ears.

I leaned in an inch, close enough to get a whiff of her shampoo. But I kept my attention focused on Yoda.

“Okay. What else?”

As much as I liked getting under her skin, I loved hearing about what she’d learned. It was like having a conversation with Sam, my former friend, after we’d both been away on a long trip. There were endless things to catch up on, a million stories to tell.

I wanted to hear them all.

“You can use all your senses. See something, touch it, even taste it or smell it. Flowers, or fruit, or even a piece of metal. They all have their own scent.”

I held the figurine up to my nose and made a face. “Maybe not Yoda.”

Sam laughed. “Maybe not. But drawing something is about committing your experience of it to paper. It’s not about re-creating the lines.”

“All right, then. Go for it.”

Sam raised a brow.

I shifted back on the couch, my legs stretched out in front of me, my hands clasped behind my head. “Touch me, taste me, smell me… Experience me.”

“No thank you.” She shoved off the couch, trying to play it cool and failing as her gaze dropped down my body. I love suits but there's some hard work that just doesn't get shown off under layers of wool. Sometimes, a t-shirt and jeans just work.

“I’m serious. Unless you’re afraid of something.”

Her attention snapped back to my face. “I’m not afraid.”

“Then there’s no harm in coming closer.”

I felt like the wolf in Red Riding Hood, and we were on my turf now.

She closed the distance between us, stopping when her knees hit my shins.

“I said closer, Sam.”

Sam glanced down pointedly at where our legs met. In a deceptively slow move, I grabbed behind her knees and tugged. Her eyes flew wide as she fell forward, bracing her hands against my chest as she landed in my lap.

“What are you doing?” Her voice caught at the edges and her gaze worked over mine, melted chocolate shot with caramel.

“Helping you see.”

Her hand lingered on my chest and I felt the brand through the thin T-shirt.

Her other hand reached for my shoulders, her eyes following the path her fingers traced across the muscles there. Over my bicep, down my forearm, and I twitched when her bare skin connected with mine.

I wanted her to touch me. To feel me.

To want me like I wanted her.

Her thighs were on either side of mine, and I took her palm and placed it under my shirt.

She’d left charcoal smudges on my shirt.

I didn’t give a single fuck.

I needed her to admit that she stared at me a little too long. That her skin tingled after I touched her. That she remembered the one time we’d kissed, and wished we hadn’t stopped.

My hands found her hips. I wondered if she could feel how hard I was through my jeans. The little noise in her throat had my grip tightening.

“Well?” I muttered.

“Lee…”

It was meant as a warning, but the way she trailed off at the end sounded more like a plea. Fuck, that was good enough.

My thumbs traced circles on the smooth skin above the waistband of her pants and her stomach trembled. I was overwhelmed by the urge to flip her over, to put my mouth on every inch of that skin, to drive into her until she was shaking around me.

“I was thinking last night about your eighteenth birthday.” My voice was rough. Her hand inched higher, her fingers grazing my pecs.

I reached up and brushed my thumb across her lower lip, feeling her shiver. “You kissed me. And I should’ve kissed you back.”

She started to pull her hand back but I grabbed her wrist, held her palm against my chest.

“I know I hurt you. But you were wrong about something. I didn’t stop for lack of interest.”

“Then why.”

I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of her touch, her body over mine. “I made a promise to protect you. I thought if things between us changed, it could be dangerous.”

“That’s a stupid reason.”

My eyes blinked open, facing her accusing expression.

“It didn’t feel like it at the time. You’d been through a world of hurt, Sam. I wanted to protect your heart, not break it.”

“You did anyway.”

I ran the back of my knuckle down her side through her top, following the curve of her breast, the slope of her waist. My throat turned into a desert.

“I know. If you had any idea how many times I wanted to kiss you.”

She swallowed, looking away. “When?” she asked finally, as though she couldn't help it.

“A million times. But definitely the night you sprained your wrist diving off that boat. You remember that?”

She nodded and her gaze flicked back to mine. “I didn’t need you to save me, Lee. Not from the water or anything else.”

I reached for her neck, my fingers tangling in the little hairs that’d fallen out of her braid, and I pulled her forward.

“If I had kissed you that night, Sam,” I muttered, remembering how she’d looked standing in that towel and nothing else, “I wouldn’t have stopped.”

Each breath between us was a lifetime, full of possibility. I didn’t want it to speed up because then it might end. Yet the need between us built with each breath until it was about to erupt, and by God I wanted to hang onto it as long as possible.

When I couldn’t take it any more I tugged her down to me, her mouth opening over mine.

The first touch of her lips jolted through my system.

It was high def, surround sound, fucking all of it. Her smell, her taste, the feel of her skin as I cupped her face.

She resisted, her fingertips braced against my abs like she couldn’t decide whether to push away or let her hand smooth against my skin.

I really fucking wanted it to be the latter.

So I did what I always did.

Negotiated.

My mouth asking her. Telling her. Teasing her.

My hands pulling her down on me, fitting her against me like a puzzle piece that was always meant to be exactly here.

The second she gave in was sexy as hell.

She flattened her palm against me, making my muscles flex. As her hand moved up my abs to my chest, I groaned. Everywhere she touched drove me insane with need.

She shifted forward, changing the angle and deepening the kiss. My fingers dug into her curvy ass, tilting her against the growing erection in my pants.

Yes, Sam. Fucking yes.

The ring of her phone made us both jump.

Sam shifted back on the second ring, grabbing for the phone in her pocket. “That’s the gallery.” She picked up, her thighs squeezing mine for balance as her body straightened. “What are you talking about?” Her voice was tight as she scrambled off me. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

I held the gallery door for Sam as she dashed through ahead of me.

The smell was the first thing I noticed. Char and ash. It stung my eyes, and I blinked as I stepped inside.

Through the fog, I could make out someone in a full-body white suit and mask. “You can’t be in here,” he called, his voice muffled as if through a bad phone connection. “We’re cleaning.”

I lifted the sleeve of my coat to my face, my eyes starting to water. “What happened?”

“Problem with the fireplace last night. Apparently it’s new and it wasn’t venting right. Now there’s smoke damage through the whole place…”

His voice faded away as I stepped past him into the main gallery. I couldn’t fully open my eyes for the dust in the place, but neither could I look away.

It seemed impossible. The place had been pristine with gleaming white walls that were now coated in gray.

The walls and…

“What about the art?” I went on at his blank look. He glanced toward the corner of the room.

Sam rushed across the floor, dropping to her knees in front of the canvases leaning against the wall.

Her fingers touched the edges, and I watched her look at one then another.

I took a knee next to her. The paintings were muted by a gray film. I gingerly touching the corner of one, finding it sticky.

Sam was breathing tightly next to me when Jonathan appeared. “Samantha.”

“What happened?” She rose, whirling to face him.

“There was an issue with the new fireplace. We’re revisiting the inventory document, and I’m working on the insurance claim. But I need you to go over it with me.”

She stared at him for a long moment before seeming to remember I was there. She turned, looking at me with damp eyes.

“Thank you for bringing me. You can go,” she said to me.

“I’m not going anywhere.” My chest tightened into a knot. Her gaze held mine. Not telling me to leave but asking. Imploring.

“Riley, please. I’ll call you later.”

I ducked back out into the cold air outside, my lungs sucking in oxygen until it hurt. Part of me wanted to turn around and park myself inside the gallery, even if she shoved and screamed. But even as I hated knowing she was hurting, I needed to walk away.

Because for a moment I’d forgotten we weren’t the same people from a decade ago. For a moment it’d felt like it was my job to take care of her. My job to comfort her.

In reality, it wasn’t my job to do either of those things.

I’d do well to remember it.

Particularly because the last time I thought it was, I’d gotten my heart ripped in half.