When I come out of the bathroom wearing a robe, my face washed clean of makeup, I find breakfast waiting for me. Oatmeal topped with freshly ground cinnamon and thinly sliced apples. A bowl of fruit, a tall glass of orange juice, and another of milk.

Wearing slacks unbuttoned above the zipper, Alex sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed. I climb onto the mattress opposite him and settle before the room service tray. Daunted, I stare at it.

“Eat,” he says.

I begin to pick at the food, grateful for the excuse to avoid his eyes. The oatmeal is fantastic, I’m sure, but right now it tastes like gooey sandpaper. I put the spoon down.

“Thea…” he says warningly.

“Oatmeal is very filling,” I counter, glancing up.

He nods sagely. “It sticks to the ribs.” He looks boyish and relaxed, so unexpectedly adorable. My heart grows heavy even as some pieces resist, lifting stubbornly into the light.

I raise the spoon. Instead of bringing it to my mouth, though, I mock flinging the contents at him. “Should we test that theory?”

He scowls, but his eyes twinkle. “I dare you, Ms. Sands.”

“Back to Ms. Sands, am I?” I ask sweetly, and angle the spoon to my mouth.

He grins and swings his long legs across the bed, stretching as he lowers onto an elbow. Muscles bunch and flex in his chest and abdomen. Particularly distracting is the trail of hair low on his stomach, growing thicker as it disappears into his slacks. I realize I didn’t see boxers on the floor.

Alex Hughes goes commando beneath his fancy suits.

Oatmeal plops from my spoon onto the tray. I look down, then up, flushing. His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Eat.”

I finish most of the oatmeal, swallow a number of melon chunks and strawberries, and drink half the orange juice. Alex leans forward to survey my efforts and finally nods approval. He takes the tray from the bed and sets it by the door.

I snuggle deeper into the plush bathrobe, twitching the folds to cover my legs and feet. The skyline opposite me shimmers, surreal beneath the midday sun. I dissociate… float in the sparkling air.

Alex lingers near the door. “I have to make some phone calls.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back to check on you.”

I push my lips into a smile, but continue watching the sky. A huge passenger jet sweeps low, heading toward the nearby runway. “Thank you, Alex.”

He draws a breath but doesn’t use it to speak. After a moment, he nods and leaves the room. I give it a few minutes, then slip off the bed and pad soundlessly to the door. Listening hard, I wait for his voice to filter up from downstairs. When I hear it, I head to the bathroom to dress.

My body still aches, but differently now: tender bite marks and phantom fullness. I cover the evidence with a bra and blouse, pull on my underwear and slacks, and lift my heels from the floor.

My purse is where Alex dropped it, in the foyer outside the bedroom. Nearby is a second entrance (or exit) for the suite. I slip into the hotel hallway and carefully close the door, then step into my heels. The elevator opens at the touch of a button.

I suffer no regrets. Given the opportunity of time travel, I would drop the towel again. But I am also human and flawed. A tiny, fearful creature who has smashed against glittering rocks. A woman impossibly, irrationally infatuated with a man who will vanish in less than five weeks.

And Margaret… Margaret is gone.

* * *

My phone reports three missed calls. One from Lillian, two from the office. I call Alice and ask her to tell Matthew I’m taking a personal day. Whatever she hears in my voice is enough to keep her from prying, but not enough to dampen her worried agreement.

I thank her and hang up.

I don’t call Lillian back—my key is already in the door of our condo. As I enter, she stands up from the couch. Her eyes brim with sympathy. She takes a hesitant step forward.

“I heard about Margaret, Thebes. I’m so sorry.”

I sense her need to offer comfort, as well as her uncertainty as to whether I’ll receive it.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I tell her.

She rushes forward to throw her arms around my waist. “No, I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have forced a decision like that on you. I shouldn’t have abandoned you.”

“You did the right thing, Lil. As much as I might want to, I can’t hide behind your skirts forever.”

She sniffs and rubs her nose on my blouse. “Sorry, snot happened.” I huff in exaggerated disgust and she finally releases me. Her eyes scan my face, then narrow suddenly on my neck. “Is that… Thebes, is that a bite mark?”

I flush and cover my neck with a hand. “Maybe.”

Her expression grows tortured. “Are we celebrating or planning murder?”

I walk past her and sink onto the couch, then wait until she settles beside me. “Neither, actually.” She pins me with a stare until my blush deepens. I look down at my hands. “Alex and I had sex this morning. And I don’t regret it.”

She hesitates, then: “But?”

I suck air into my lungs. “I might be falling in love with him.” My voice cracks on the word love; I clear my throat. “I also, uh, kind of took advantage of him in my grief. He tried to stop me. Sort of.” I rub a hand over my eyes. “It’s all muddled right now.”

Lillian makes a strangled sound. “Did you tell him that? That you have feelings for him?”

I shudder. “No, God no. I could barely even look at him, after.”

“Huh.”

“What?” I demand.

“I guess I’m not surprised, is all.” Her sigh funnels upward, fluttering through her bangs. “You and Alex are like magnets. I remember thinking it at the gallery show when you first met. There was this weird sort of energy when you looked at each other. It was crazy and a little scary. And totally hot. Every time I’ve seen you together since, it’s only grown stronger.”

I can’t even summon a sarcastic remark. At length, I murmur, “I know you’re trying to give me hope, Lil, that somehow a relationship can come out of this, but he doesn’t want a girlfriend. He wants sex and…”

Vulnerability. Exposure. Defenselessness.

Everything. I want everything.

Lillian grunts. “Maybe he’s not saying it, but he’s definitely acting like he wants more. A man like Alex Hughes gets laid with a crook of his finger. Instead, he’s been following you around like a possessed caveman.”

“I’ve only known him a little over a week,” I counter.

“A long, intense week.”

“Yeah.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “He told me last night he doesn’t even remember sleeping with Tabitha. He never knew her last name.”

“That’s… Well, that’s gross.” Her nose wrinkles. “I can see why you’d want to be careful exposing your feelings.”

I groan. “Why couldn’t I just fall for Michael, like a normal girl? Or Adam, even?”

She slaps my arm. “Back off.”

I give her a tired smile. “I’ve been such a shitty friend, Lil. I’m so sorry. How’s the romance going?”

A pretty blush stains her cheeks. “When I left here last night, I went to his place.”

“And?” I prompt, lips twitching.

She swoons against the back of the couch. “Oh man! It was sizzling hot, Thebes. Let’s just say his gentlemanly exterior doesn’t extend to the bedroom.”

I whip my hand up. “Stop. Sorry I asked. You know I have to work with him, right?”

She giggles. “Whatever, miss Bite Marks. Let me see your wrists. Are there rope burns?”

“Jesus, no. I don’t think he’s into that hardcore stuff.” I glance aside at her, wincing as I lower my voice, “He really likes being in control, though.”

Her eyes sparkle wickedly. “He totally dominated the indomitable Thea Sands, did he?”

My face feels like it’s on fire, but I can’t help whispering, “He… you know…”

“Went down on you?” At the look on my face, she shrieks, “Yes! Hallelujah! I bet he loved it. He loved it, didn’t he?”

The phantom fullness pulses. I remember the tight hunger on his face, the greedy purrs in his throat. “Um, yes.”

“How many orgasms?” she demands.

“Lil—”

“How. Many.”

“Two,” I whisper.

She squeals and claps. “When’s the next round? Are you seeing him tonight?”

I almost confess to leaving the hotel without telling him, but instead say, “I don’t think so. I didn’t sleep much last night. I’m going to crash in a minute.”

Lillian watches me for several moments. “Can I get you anything? Did you eat?”

“Yes, I ate. I’m fine.”

Her head falls gently to my shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, and I know she’s talking about Margaret.

My throat is suddenly tight. “I missed her garden party last year.”

“She loved you so much, Thebes. She understood.”

Tears spill from my eyes, silent and thick. I’m surprised—I didn’t feel them rising. “I always imagined that one day, I would take my daughter to have tea with her. She was only seventy-two. Mother said it was a stroke. But Margaret was always… so healthy. She walked Torrey Pines reserve every Sunday… thirty years. I don’t… understand…”

I’m crying in earnest now, wracking heaves that tear deep inside. Lilian’s arms come around me, holding me tight as I grieve.

* * *

Dusk settles outside my bedroom windows. The ceiling cinema is muted: pastel flickers instead of the vibrant clashes to come. I’m caught between dreams and waking, tormented by the musk still lingering on my skin. My thighs squeeze to alleviate, or maybe enhance, the throbbing between my legs. A sigh tumbles from my lips as my hips shift back into the imagined warmth of a naked Alex.

“Thea,” he whispers.

A hand smoothes over my waist, glides beneath my t-shirt and upward to cup my breast. I moan happily, arching into his touch. Hips grind against me, sliding a hot, silken erection against my soaking panties.

If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.

A tongue traces the shell of my ear. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to feel like a perv.”

I blink rapidly into the dimness. “Alex?”

Kisses trail down my neck, sparking fuzzy pleasure circuits. “Mmm?”

He’s here. He came. I reach a tentative hand back and contact a naked hip, which flexes again and drags a gasp from me. “A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” I ask, but my voice is breathy with arousal.

His teeth sink gently into the nape of my neck. “I’m going to take you from behind, Thea. Just like this…” His arms snake around me, both hands under my shirt now and squeezing my breasts. Powerful legs flex up, lifting mine so that I’m curled against the front of him.

It’s a perfect angle. My thighs clench instinctively. He growls at the pressure I’ve put on him, stroking faster until I squirm with need.

“God, you’re so wet, so ready for me.”

“Please,” I pant.

I feel his smile against my skin. “I should be punishing you for leaving today.” He shifts back, depriving me of the exquisite friction. The arm cradling me lifts.

“I shouldn’t have left without telling you,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry.”

His fingers slide up the crevasse of my ass. I shudder with the dark thrill of it and gasp as he hooks the string of my thong and pulls. The flimsy cotton drags over the most sensitive part of me, dipping tightly into my folds. The sensation is almost too much—almost pain. Gasping, I try to turn.

“No,” he says. I still, twitching as he tugs the fabric tighter. “Good girl.”

His other hand squeezes my breast, pinching the nipple. Gently at first, shooting cloud-like pleasure into my belly—then hard, making me gasp and drive my hips toward his. He growls approval and rewards me by thrusting between my legs. Feeling him there, hot and thick against the barrier of cotton, almost sends me over the edge.

The arm beneath me shifts, re-angling, and his fingers find my cotton-covered clitoris. “Please,” I moan.

“Yes, Thea?”

“Please make me come.”

He doesn’t give me any warning, merely yanks the string of my thong while applying perfect pressure. The fabric pulls hard in opposition as his hips rock me forward once, twice. There’s no slow build of pleasure, no gentle, consuming peak. I shatter into a thousand pieces, pulsing against his merciless fingers and crying out his name.

I hear a condom foil open, then a louder rip as he tears off my thong. My t-shirt whips over my head a second later. I pant raggedly as he fits himself against me.

“How sore are you from earlier?” he asks tightly.

Very, but I say, “Not at all.”

“Liar.” The first thrust isn’t deep, the second only slightly more so. I whine piteously. “Damnit, Thea,” he hisses. “You have no idea how thin my control is right now.”

“I want you out of control,” I gasp.

I push my hips back, forcing him deeper. The soreness is nothing—nothing—compared to the delicious stretch of his invasion. He stays very still, arms rigid around me. His heartbeat pounds against my spine.

“Do it, Alex. Lose control.”

I’m abruptly airborne, or almost airborne, as he hauls me up to my hands and knees. A hand snatches a thick rope of my hair, pulling back until I’m curved like a bow. Still, he doesn’t penetrate me further, doesn’t give in to the trembling I can feel in his body. It’s coming, though. I can feel his control unraveling. My whole body quivers with anticipation.

His free hand travels over my naked back, tracing the lines of ink. They dip, brushing over the spot where my mole is. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmurs.

And he thrusts home.

I scream, arching backward, and almost climax again. Abandoning all pretense of restraint, Alex thrusts into me hard and fast, without finesse. One hand is anchored on my hip, the other fisted in my hair. And it’s perfect… so perfect. I soak in his wildness and match it, exulting in the sounds we make: the frenzied meetings of our flesh, our throaty cries and gasps.

I feel like a goddess.

“Thea,” he whispers, and he jerks, groaning deeply as he climaxes. The pulse sends me spiraling over the edge—I shout and throb around him, milking his release with my own.

“Thank you, thank you,” I whisper, over and over, half-crazed and triumphant.

He collapses on top of me, his weight pinning me to the mattress. I’m smothered but don’t care. It’s Alex above me.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

I sigh happily, then, astoundingly, begin to giggle.

His face nuzzles through my hair until he finds my cheek. “Give me your mouth,” he growls. I obey, and my laughter softens and fades at the slow, sensuous glide of our tongues. He kisses me softly a final time and whispers, “No, Thea, thank you.”

I giggle again.