I’d always had some vague notion of wanting a partner, a family. When women asked me if I wanted to get married, have kids, it was an easy ‘yes’.

But it had never felt as palpable as it did now.

Maybe because none of them were the one you pictured having it with.

I flipped through shirts in my closet, settling on a dark blue one and shrugging into it.

The moment earlier with Sam and Tristan had stuck with me. I considered it as I buttoned the shirt, staring into the mirror. My hair looked dark brown, still wet from the shower, instead of its usual red.

Once I’d gotten teased for my pale skin. The freckles that came out in the summer were long gone in the middle of winter.

I’d gone through a period of hating my looks. Then liking them. Then at around twenty-five, I realized looks didn’t matter.

Chemistry’s not about looks.

It’s the way you can smell someone and want them. The way they make you feel, just by occupying the same space and time.

With Sam…I wanted to be where she was. For as long as she’d let me.

I put on a playlist and took out the steaks I’d bought on the way home. “Your Love” by Outfield blasted from the speakers as I started to make compound butter. Thank you, Epicurious.

I also started the sweet potatoes. Minutes later, I put the steaks on. They sizzled in the pan, and I turned them until they were seared to perfection.

Everything was done at eight sharp.

Now what?

I walked to my kitchen and peered out over the street. No sign of her.

Was she driving? Taking a cab?

The door rang and I jogged down the stairs to let her in.

I opened the door. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Sam peered back at me, a smile curving the corner of her lips. She held up a paper bag. “I brought dessert.”

She unzipped her coat, and my gaze dropped to her clothes as I helped her out of it.

A sweater, and caramel colored leggings that matched her eyes.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Her shampoo hit me, the scent going straight to my groin.

“You are dessert.”

With a grin, I led her up the stairs.

“I can’t believe you live here,” she offered from behind me. “I figured after growing up in an old house you might be sick of them.”

“No way. I love old houses. The way they creak, the attention they need, it’s like living with another person even when you’re single.”

I glanced around the kitchen-dining area with the open floor plan to the small sitting room.

“This floor was closed off. I had a designer open it up. But we tried to keep the details.” I pointed to the crown moulding by the doors and the ceilings.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s a work in progress. There’s a bunch of things I never seem to get to. Gaming never sleeps, and neither do I.”

“Apparently you found time to learn to cook,” she said, crossing to the stove and making a sound low in her throat. “It smells like a restaurant in here.”

“Sirloin steak with compound butter. Wanna try it?”

A few minutes later we were eating. “This is seriously good,” she said after chewing and swallowing the first bite of steak.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t sound so surprised.” I smirked. “Thank God for cooking blogs.”

“Really? I wouldn’t think you’d be into those. You know. The recipe for meatloaf that starts out with ‘The sun was out this morning in Wisconsin…’”

I laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s the best part. I love good storytelling.”

Sam’s expression shifted as she took another bite. “So your friend Charlie called me today. Says there’s a fancy Michelin-star restaurant in town that could use some decorating. They’re willing to display some of my paintings.”

“Wow,” I said after a moment’s delay. “That’s great Sam.”

“Yeah. I have a few pieces left from before the gallery show. I’m working hard to get some new ones ready too.” She smiled down at her plate, and the hint of self-consciousness in her expression was cute as fuck.

“New year, fresh start. To rising from the ashes.” I raised a glass and she clinked hers against mine.

We sipped together.

Since I’d seen the Phoenix images in person at Titan earlier today, the idea I’d had had gone from a crazy notion to firmly lodged in my brain.

“I want to show you something.” I pulled out my phone, popped up the blog post that’d been burning a hole in my pocket all day.

The media release included one of the concept images Sam had created. “It’s my art,” she murmured.

“Got a notification after you left this afternoon. Design studios and Hollywood could’ve been calling you by now. If you’d wanted to be credited for the work.”

“Yeah right.”

“I am right, Sam.” I took a bite of my food. The steak was pretty good, actually. Maybe I’d have to cook more often. “I was also thinking about what do to with the auction money.”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean? You’re getting that obscene car back.”

I winced. “First, I thought we established I can afford to get it back.” I made a mental note to call my investment guy, something that had slipped so far this week. “But if you don't want the money, maybe we could do something else with it.”

She blinked at me. “Like what.”

I shrugged. “I was doing some research. The Massachusetts College of Art and Design and other schools like it have incredible programming. We could put it toward a grant. Or scholarships for kids who’re into art, or writing, that couldn’t afford to attend otherwise.”

I watched her sip her wine, her gaze falling to the table. “It’s really noble. But it’s your money.”

I set down my fork. “So to be clear, you don't want the money and you don't want a part in deciding what happens to it?”

I couldn’t read the expression on her face. “It's better that way. I realized it when we got back from LA. That—the movies, the games, the comic art—that's your world.”

“We all live in the same world, Sam.”

For some reason it felt like she was drawing lines between my world and hers. Building walls, fences, whatever she could to keep us apart.

It was starting to bug me.

She rose, taking her plate to the kitchen and I bit back the frustration as I followed.

I topped off her wine and mine. Then I showed her around the rest of the house, including my bedroom—which she studied for a long moment—and the empty second bedroom, finishing with the converted third bedroom.

“This is it.” I flicked the light on, revealing the massive wraparound couch that’d been custom made for the space, and the nine-foot screen that was flush with the wall.

“Damn. This is a big upgrade from my dad’s living room. Or that crappy theater we used to go to.”

“It is,” I agreed as she crossed to inspect the TV. The tiny holes in the wall that were the only indication of the sound system behind the plaster.

I grabbed my remote. “How do you feel about Iron Man?”

“Favorable.”

“Thank God. Otherwise I was going to have to kick you out and keep the dessert for myself.”

I queued up the movie and Sam settled in next to me.

Tonight I couldn’t focus on the film. My head was buzzing from the wine, from her, and from the unresolved question in my brain.

I glanced over, the outline of her profile lit by the huge screen. Her parted lips, wide eyes trained on the action.

She set the glass of wine on the table. “Tell me something,” she asked, her gaze never leaving the screen. “What’s the hardest part of being a billionaire playboy philanthropist?”

“I’m not a billionaire. Or a playboy. Or a philanthropist.” I frowned. “Actually, that’s not true. I do give generously to panda habitat restoration.”

Sam turned toward me, surprise on her face. “What?”

“I keep the pictures of those furry guys in my desk. It calms me down when I’m having a rough week.”

She shoved at my bicep, and I grinned. Some of the frustration fell away.

Her hair was pulled back off her face in a ponytail in a way that seemed too tight. Moving on instinct and with the help of the wine, I reached for the elastic in her hair and tugged it out.

“I found your drawings, Sam,” I murmured, unable to hold it in. “Online. The profile you keep on—”

“What?!” She froze.

“They’re incredible. I knew you were too good to have picked it up now. What I don’t know is why you ever stopped.”

Her gaze clouded. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Well, I need you to tell me.”

Sam studied me and I thought she was going to refuse. Finally, she spoke. “I started it after my mom died. It was my lifeline through junior year. Then in senior year, it wasn't about me anymore. You were part of it. We'd even planned to make a comic together one day.”

One day never happened.

“After my birthday, I pushed it away.”

“Like you pushed me away,” I murmured.

Her eyes shone. “You hurt me. You have no idea how much.”

“Sam, I told you how I felt. I told you—”

“I loved you too, Lee.” She took a breath, but I only half-noticed because my body was tingling everywhere. “More than I thought I could love anything. It was the one thing I told myself I wouldn’t do. Because I knew it would wreck me. And it did.

“I couldn’t face you after that. And I couldn’t face myself for being that weak.”

The buzzing in my ears wasn’t coming from the TV. It was from some deep rewiring happening in my brain. Rewriting the past.

I reached for her hand. “Sam, we were kids. And we don’t have to be our past, we can have a future.”

If you loved me once, you can love me again.

I watched emotions play over her face, one chasing the other until they blurred. Settled into a mask.

“Say something.”

She rested an elbow on the back of the couch. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” I frowned, trying to make sense of it. “You can’t just decide not to love anyone or anything because it’s easier. What the hell kind of a life is that?”

Pain flashed across her features. “How is that better than what you’re doing? You smile and play dress up and remember the birthdays of women you don’t feel anything for. Because you’d rather spend your life playing it safe instead of going for what you really want.”

Anger rose up. “That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But it’s true.”

I dragged her down, pressing her into the couch, my mouth fusing to hers.

She reached for my shirt, but I pinned her hands to the couch. I kissed her again, trailing my mouth over her neck. She arched under me. “Lee…”

I wanted to show her she was wrong. And that nothing had even made sense until she’d come back into my life.

I reached for the hem of her shirt and she lifted her arms. Instead of tugging it over her head, I just stroked her waist before kissing her again.

Then trailed down her body.

“Riley.”

I never wanted to hear my name from another woman’s lips.

I worked the button on her pants, and my mouth dropped lower.

“Riley. Stop.”

I dragged my gaze to her face, feeling like she’d slapped me.

“You mean it, Sam?” I said, hoarse.

Her throat worked and my heart beat in my ears. The room filled with the sounds of the television, and her breathing.

I watched her lips for any movement but there was only trembling.

“Say it. Say it and I will.”

Her eyes were wide and emotion-filled on mine.

I hitched a finger in her panties, and, moving at a glacial pace, drew them down her legs. I stroked a finger down her slit, my gaze heavy on hers to gauge her reaction.

Not one fucking word.

I took in her expression, wanting and confused.

She looked like she needed something. And I wanted to be the only man to give it to her.

I lowered my mouth to murmur the words against her skin, my breath making her shiver.

La sirena.

My tongue flicked across her, and she bucked off the couch.

Mi sirena.

She was wild, strong-willed, full of competing desires I couldn’t understand or process.

That’d never stopped me from trying.

I worshipped her with my lips, my hands, my body. Her moans and tugs on my hair told me exactly what she wanted.

When she broke on my mouth, I didn’t let her fall. I didn’t let her down for a second. I held her there, chasing her until she let go and came again.

Her breathing was rough when I shifted up her body. Her hands grabbed my hair, pulling my lips against hers. We kissed until I was aching with need, and she reached into my pants to wrap her fingers around me, drawing a groan from my throat.

I didn’t let her fall, and she didn’t let me fall either.

She was right about one thing. I’d never felt the kind of intensity I felt when I was with her.

Not at work, sure as hell not with anyone else.

If this was what it meant to live, I’d been doing it wrong.

When she found my pocket, ripping into the packet there and rolling it over me with cool hands, I was desperate.

When she shifted over me, taking me inside her in a slow, sinuous motion that tore a groan from my body, I was fucking gone.

Sam was a dark silhouette against the screen, moving wickedly over me in a rhythm neither of us could resist.

My hands gripped her slick skin, stroking and encouraging and tormenting.

We chased the feeling until we went over the edge together.

When we lay on the couch, chests together, her sweat mingling with mine and our pulses hammering against one another, I was forced to admit it.

My head and my heart were inextricably tied up in the woman in my arms.

And I couldn’t deny or resent the way she owned me.