Jesus. How did this happen? How was I fighting with my court-appointed counselor? It was just a simple bullshit session. How did I keep fucking it up?

She was wearing a loose top today, some kind of light knit thing with a neck so wide it dropped almost to her shoulders. Beneath it she wore a navy blue tank top, the straps of which were clearly visible. I could see her collarbones, her clavicle. The line of her neck. Her dark brown hair was tied back again, but there were a few tendrils around her face, framing her cheekbones and her chin.

I drummed my fingers on the arms of my chair because I wanted to reach over and ease the straps of her tank top and the neck of her sweater down over her shoulders. Pull them down, down.

Keep it under control, Riggs.

“Let’s talk about your career stealing cars,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

She blinked, looked down at her file. “Well, to be honest, you don’t fit the profile. No drugs, no prior offenses, no acts of rage. You seem to have started breaking the law relatively late in life.”

“So I should have started sooner?” I asked her. “That would have made more sense to you?”

“Criminal behavior is a pattern,” Tara Montgomery said calmly. “It’s a learned method of dealing with things, and it most often starts early.”

She was going to be a professional today, like she’d promised. I’d promised her, too. But I looked at the curve of her bottom lip and I knew she was capable of something else. Of being someone else. I wondered if she had a man, if she liked to fuck him, if he made her come. Which was none of my fucking business.

“Well, I didn’t start early,” I told her. “I started late.”

“Why?” she asked me. “Why did you start? Did you need money?”

“I had a job and an apartment,” I said. “I was fine.” It was true. I’d been working as a mechanic, which was the only job I knew. Luckily it’s a job someone always needs, somewhere.

“Why, then?” Tara pressed. “Was someone threatening you?”

“Anyone who tries to threaten me can do it with their teeth down their throat.” Also true.

But she wasn’t done. “Was it the thrill of it, then?”

“If I wanted a thrill, I’d get on a damn roller coaster.”

“Why, then?” she said, the barest waver of frustration in her voice. Which said I was getting to her.

“I’ll tell you on one condition,” I said.

She looked exasperated. “What is it?”

“Tell me something true about yourself.”

Her eyes went wide and she stared at me.

“Anything,” I told her. “It doesn’t have to be embarrassing, or even secret. It just has to be true. You ask me all these questions, and you expect me to give you honesty. Well, I want it from you in return. Just once, before this session is over and we never see each other again.”

She seemed to think it over. “Okay,” she said. “I have something. I’ll tell you.”

My heart flipped in my chest. I hadn’t actually thought she’d say yes. “Go ahead.”

I could tell she was choosing her words, her beautiful brown eyes thoughtful, her soft mouth pressed briefly into a line. “I was engaged to be married eight months ago,” she said. “We’d been together for two years. We were planning the wedding when I broke it off.”

Now my blood was going crazy in my veins. Excitement that she’d done what I asked. Jealousy over whoever this fucking guy was. Fear that she’d change her mind and clam up. “Did he hurt you?” I asked her.

She looked surprised. “No, never. He was a nice guy.”

A nice guy who could go fuck himself. “Did he ignore you? Treat you bad in some way?”

“No, he was fine. I just… I wasn’t happy. I knew I couldn’t be happy with him. So I left.”

I was silent. All I could do was look at her. Picture her with a nice guy, a good-looking guy, going out for dinner, laughing at his jokes. Curling up on the couch with him, watching TV. Kissing him, fucking him, telling him she loved him. Meeting his parents. Putting his ring on her finger.

Nice things, normal things that normal people did. She’d done all of those things. Things I’d never done, and felt like I would never do.

I stared at her and she stared back, meeting my gaze. Her cheeks flushed slowly, hotter and then hotter again. There was everything in the air between us, heavy and burning and unsaid.

She parted her lips, made herself speak. “Your turn,” she said softly. “Tell me the truth, Jace. Why did you start stealing cars?”

I didn’t drop my gaze from hers. “Because I was good at it,” I said.

Her cheeks flushed redder, this time with anger. “That isn’t the truth,” she said. “It’s a lie. I told you something true, and you are lying to me.”

“What does it matter?” I said, my voice rising just like hers was. “It makes no difference what the reason was. I stole cars because I’m a fucking criminal. You have to get used to that, Tara. That’s who I am.”

“That’s bullshit!” The words came out nearly in a shout. I’d never seen a woman so angry at me before, and it was so hot I could have slammed her on the desk and fucked her right there. “Don’t give me your bullshit line! Your woe-is-me, I’m-a-Riggs line! I am trying to figure out why a man who is intelligent and sensitive and kind would steal cars and fuck up his life!”

“You don’t know me,” I said to her. “I’m none of those things. You think you know me because your file says I read books? Well, I do. I fucking do. I read books, and I’m still a fuckup. That’s how it works with real people in the real world, not profiles. Real people don’t make any sense.”

She made a sound of frustration, nearly a growl, and slapped her palms down on her desk. “You are so fucking frustrating!” she shouted.

I pushed my chair back. “Write your report,” I said. “I came here because I need the court off my back, but you know what? I don’t care what you write in it. Write that I’m an asshole who can’t get through a simple session.”

“You think I won’t do it?” she said. “Just try me, Jace Riggs. I can make you do these stupid sessions that you hate so much until you’re ninety.”

“Do it,” I said, standing up. She didn’t like looking up at me, so she stood up too, and for the first time I saw all of her, the way her sweater draped over her slim hips, the long slender lines of her legs in their dark jeans. Which was fucking great, because now I could picture those legs wrapped around me. Which they would never be. “I paid my debt,” I told her. “I served my time. I lived in the halfway house. I report to my PO. I did every court appearance and every random drug test. There’s nothing you can do that will scare me. Have a nice life.”

“I will,” she said, “because I have plenty of clients who actually cooperate. I feel sorry for whoever gets you next.”

I left then. Just walked out. It was for the best.

Because she was right—I was lying. She’d given me honesty like I’d asked, and in return I’d lied to her face.

I was good at stealing cars—that part was true. But that wasn’t why I started doing it. I started doing it for revenge.

I should have just told her, but what the hell did it matter? Did I think that if I explained myself she’d see me as something different? As a nice guy? A guy she could actually like? That was never going to happen—we were never going to happen. And I couldn’t just sit across the desk from her, looking at her, knowing that. For once, I just couldn’t.

So I’d fucked it up.

But then again, that was all I knew how to really do.