As soon as I step inside the apartment, I shrug off my drenched coat, hanging it against the door to dry. Shoving off my shoes, I leave them at the entrance. Silence greets me. It's more stifling today than it ever was before. Dad isn't home. Nobody is here for me to come home to.

For five years since Mom died, he's been gone. Hidden away in his office or in Olivia's bed. He gave up on me a long time ago. But it's not that which now causes tears to sting my eyes. No, this time it's the man across the street.

James.

Even his name sends a pain so acute straight to my heart. As if a needle is prodding at the thudding muscle in my chest. Swallowing the emotion balled up in my throat, I pad over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I stare at the contents.

My mind flits back to moments ago when I looked into his eyes, seeing the agony so clear in his gaze only solidified my want of him. I want to fix him. It's impossible to change someone. There's no guarantee that once they're healed they'll stay with you, but something shifted between us last night.

Strange how you can meet someone who burrows their way into your very soul in one night. It wasn't the sex, which at first I believed it was. No. It was so much more than that.

His touch, the way he spoke to me, one moment he was wide open, a gaping abyss of melancholy and guilt, and the next, he would close up shop as if it's five p.m. on a Friday afternoon.

If I'd only found him earlier, a few seconds would've made a difference. Maybe I could've spoken to him. Made him see I wanted to be there.

The shrill ring of my mobile startles me from my thoughts, and I shut the silver door of the refrigerator I still had open. With a quick glance at my screen, I notice it's my best friend.

The problem with speaking to her is she'll know something happened. We've been friends for almost ten years. Saskia has been beside me through everything from braces to my first crush on the most popular boy in school.

All of that was welcome. It was the growing pains most girls go through, but this . . . this is vastly different. I had sex with a man old enough to be my father. A man who's so broken he can't even ask me to stay and have breakfast with him.

His mood swings gave me whiplash. Back and forth.

When the ringing stops, I sigh a breath of relief, but it's short lived. I knew she wouldn't give up. I answer after the fifth ring. "Hey, Kia, what’s up?" I attempt a smile, but it's forced. My voice is rigid with emotion.

"What's wrong, chickadee?" she asks playfully, but there's no humor coming from my end. "Oh no, what happened? Is it your dad? Did he finally propose to Cruella? Oh my God, don't tell me you finally found out that hipster clothes are so last season?" She sasses me with a snort and giggle.

"No," I sigh. "I think . . . I mean, I don't know, but I met someone."

"What?" Her screech is loud enough to wake all the damn cats in the neighborhood. "How am I only hearing about this now?"

"Calm down. I just got home."

"Oh, my fucking God, did you fuck him? Is his cock big?" she gasps down the line, causing me to laugh out loud. This is why she's my best friend. As painful as it is to think about how I walked out on him, I'm smiling because I'm happy. When I think about how much pleasure he gave me, my heart fills with emotion.

"He's older," I whisper, lowering my voice, but I don't see the point since I'm alone. There's something taboo about it, which only serves to send a tingle racing through me.

"Tell me everything, and I mean every-fucking-thing," Saskia orders.

"Ugh, fine," I respond, flopping onto the sofa, pulling my legs up and my feet under my ass. "Well, he owns the hotel chain Darden Hotels," I start, recalling everything that happened last night. And when I say I recall everything, I mean each tiny detail. "He was so loving, so rough, but gentle. He made me orgasm more times than I can count, and I mean, like, the real thing," I hiss down the line, blushing at my own words, at the memory of how my body responded to his.

"And then what happened this morning?"

"Well, that's the thing, he's . . ." I sigh, not knowing what to make of James Darden. He's what? Broken? Hurt? Just an asshole? No. He's not an asshole, at least not all the time. But there's something he's hiding from me. I didn't expect us to confess our life stories, but I wanted more. Just a tad bit more.

"Will you see him again? I mean, you said he felt something too?" My best friend is always optimistic. Which in turn has me wondering if I should be like that too. Will I see him again? I don't know.

"Well, I did invite him for dinner, but I doubt I'll be hearing from him. I mean, it wasn't a date. He didn't say yes." The sadness in my voice is loud and clear. My heart thudded against my ribs when I asked him, when I took the leap into the unknown. But of course, he seemed unsure of what to do. Perhaps that’s all we had, one night of bliss, and now I’m shoved out into the cold again.

"Listen to me, chickadee,” my best friend advises. “Men are assholes, there’s no doubt about that, but when they get a taste of some good pussy, there’s no way they’ll pass up the chance for a second taste," she informs me as if she's the parent educating me on romance and boys. Sometimes Saskia is older than me in that respect, but everywhere else, money and education, I’m the one who schools her.

"Do you have to be so vulgar?" I groan, recalling the dirty words James uttered to me. Each and every one of them made me wet and needy. Craving his touch, I dove in head first, not caring about the consequences.

"Come on, Cerys, don't tell me he didn't get vulgar with you." She giggles then, causing me to follow suit.

"Well . . ." My words taper off, knowing she’s right.

"I knew it!" She sounds more excited than I feel. Perhaps I should paint and take my mind off the man from across the road. "Listen to me,” she says, sounding serious for a moment. “He'll come around tonight. Just you wait." I nod even though she can’t see me. Maybe she’s right, but I’m not holding on to hope again, only to be let down. The one man in my life who always lets me down is Dad. I don’t need another one.

"I guess. Listen, I'm spending the day inside. It's way too cold to go shopping."

"That's fine. Daddy dearest has his business associates over for lunch, and I'm playing hostess." Something in her tone hints at an underlying plan.

"Tell me more,” I encourage, knowing my friend does not do things like this for no reason. At least, not for her father's benefit.

"Ha, fine. Daddy's new junior associate at the office is thirty-eight, but he's utterly delectable. He has those dark, brooding features, sorta like Justin Theroux. You know who I mean, Jennifer Aniston's hubs."

"Yeah, the dark and dangerous look. You do realize the dude is probably a psycho?"

"A hot psycho! Later, chickadee, and listen to me. He'll be over there. Just don't get that little heart into the mix. I don't want to have to go on a killing spree. Orange is not my best color. Love you, babe," she chatters, hanging up before I can get a word in. Dropping my phone on the sofa, I head into my studio and quickly change into my painting clothes. A low-cut, white tank top splattered with paint from years of use and small, cut-off shorts also multi-colored from different paints.

* * *

A loud banging on the door causes me to leap from the small wooden stool, dropping my palette paint-side onto the white cloth I placed down in case of an accident. Fuck.

I lean down to pick it up when another loud thud on the door has me jolting up. Someone's trying to break in. My heart pounds against my chest, leaping into my throat when I hear a click. They're trying to get into the apartment.

Thinking quick, I grab the paint thinner and race into the living room. I'm about to pull the door open when a voice comes from the other side.

"Open the fucking door, love." His rough, deep growl vibrates through the wood and through me too. Shit!

I cast a quick glance at my clothes, then in the mirror in the hallway. I'm a mess. A fucking colorful mess. But if this is what he wants, he'll have to live with it. I pull open the door, and there, looking disheveled in another one of those expensive-ass suits, is the man who’s been on my mind all day.

James Darden.

"What are you doing here?"

He doesn't respond, instead pushing through the door, knocking the bottle of paint thinner all over my shirt. His gaze is wild, panicked. It roves over me, from my messy black-and-red locks to my bare feet I notice have tiny pinpricks of yellow paint on them.

Immediately, Hank is around his ankles, twirling against the fabric of his suit. But this time, he doesn't even notice my cat. No, this time his eyes are pinned on me.

"James," I utter his name, hoping to break this dark spell that seems to surround him.

"I can't do this, Cerys." His pained words stab me right in the chest, but before I can respond, he continues. "I'm so bad for you, in so many fucking ways, but I can't walk away. I can't not have you in my bed, in my arms. I need you to understand I'm going to fucking break you until there's nothing left of you. I'm going to take, take, and take, until you're nothing but shattered pieces. It's who I am. What I do. I revel in your brokenness."

His words fall silent, and there, in his dark eyes, are glistening drops of emotion. Although he doesn't allow them to fall. He holds them close, like he does with me. His one hand on my hip, the other on my face.

His calloused thumb strokes over my mouth, "You're so beautiful with all your color and I'm so fucking dead within my darkness."

"Take my color," I breathe on his lips, watching as he inhales me. My paint-drenched clothes, my dirty hair, and my breath I know is pure coffee. All these things I would normally want to hide from someone, from him especially, he takes it in as if I'm a drug.

"What if I take everything? What if I drag you into my darkness? I'm so fucked up, love. There's so much filth and darkness inside me I don't know what sunshine is. At least, I didn't know until I met you," he tells me earnestly. This is my warning. Run. Go, my mind tells me, but I don't. I stand rooted to the spot.

"Then take it. I want you to take what you need from me." I nod, smiling up at him, giving him what he wants. I lean up on my tip toes and plant a chaste kiss on his lips. I expect him to devour me, to ravage me, but he doesn't. This time, he slowly savors the kiss, his tongue dips into my mouth, licking against mine in a tangle of desire.

"I'm scared of breaking you."

"I'm already broken," I confess.

He doesn't touch me anywhere by my face and the gentle grip he has on my hip. Holding me like a glass ornament that could break at any moment. I feel it in the kiss. I feel every emotion he's tried to tell me. This morning, when he had me bent over the sofa, it wasn't a fuck. No, he was trying to tell me what he's saying now. That even though we've known each other for less than forty-eight hours, this is real.

His warmth sears me when he moves his head away, so he can look at me. Everything he’s trying to say is right there, in those intense eyes.

His offers a small smile, pleading with only his stare.

But then he begs.

"Don't leave me. Give me a chance."