Will you leave him? Will you come with me? Build a life with me?”

Heat Flare stares down at Maxie, the intensity of his eyes every bit as powerful, frightening, and hot as the sun from which he draws his power.

“I …” she wants to. God, does she ever want to. More than anything she’s ever wanted to do in her life. But there was Dillion to consider. Granted, they’ve been drifting apart for some time now, but that doesn’t mean they can’t get back what they once had. Doesn’t she owe it to him, to the memory of the good times they once shared, to at least try?

“Well?” Heat Flare presses. “I won’t tell you what you should do, who you should be with, but I also don’t want – can’t – spend the rest of my life in a kind of limbo, waiting for you to decide between me and him. And I want you to take your time, to be sure of your decision, because if you choose me, I want you to be fully mine. I don’t want to build a life with you if you’re going to always wonder if you should have chosen him. I refuse to live in his shadow.”

Insomnia isn’t something that’s new to me. Even as a child, I was restless, and would often spend the entire night reading a book or playing a video game rather than sleeping. And after the accident, well, that’s when I learned that I far prefer staying awake to having to deal with the nightmares that plague my sleeping hours.

Over the past few years, things have gotten better, and more often than not, I can trick myself into falling asleep. Not tonight. Tonight, too many thoughts are racing through my mind, chasing away even the slightest hope of resting.

Today, I decided to put the time to good use by setting up my laptop on the kitchen table and opening up my manuscript. I spent hours writing. My fingertips flew across the keys, and row after row of black text appeared on the screen. My characters dove into one plot point after another while I tried not to think about the words Ryan whispered as hefell asleep.

He loves me.

They were the last thing I thought he’d ever utter. Hell, they were pretty much the last words I’d ever thought I’d hear any man throw in my direction.

I’ve spent so much time thinking that Lance was my one true love, that he was the only man who could truly love me back. Just like he was the only man I’d ever fall for. When he died, my heart and ability to love died with him.

The alarm on my laptop sounds, startling me. A quick glance at the clock on the tool bar confirms that the morning is well underway and that it’s time to stop writing and get on with my day.

Upstairs a floorboard creaks, door hinges squeal, and then there’s the tell-tale sound of water bubbling through the ancient pipes as Ryan turns the shower on.

I stand and add some more grounds and water to the coffee pot before moving to the window.

Sighing, I lean against the cold window pane and stare up at the sun, which is starting to climb higher in the sky. A warm sense of peace settles over me, happiness nipping at its heels, and I realize that the source of both emotions is currently standing upstairs, taking a hot shower.

I think about how well he got along with Nathan yesterday at the ball game, how sad he was when he returned the boy home. My heart aches for the boy who grew up in a house with a father who not only used his fists on his son, but also took the life of a dog he loved, for no other reason than to be cruel.

I think of the way my heart races as he leans in for a kiss and how his voice sounded as he whispered that he loved me.

I’m in love with him too.

The realization stuns me, rendering me incapable of moving, of even breathing.

Somehow, in less than three days, the impossible has happened. I’ve fallen in love with Ryan, just like the character I created, Maxie, is falling head over heels in love with Heat Flare, the superhero I modeled after …Ryan.

Talk about life imitating art.

Love.

Just the word releases tendrals of warm fuzzies.

Even before the accident disfigured my face and cost me Lance, I hadn’t ever thought I’d fall in love. I hadn’t wanted to. I’d always hated the idea of needing someone as much as I needed my next breath, and was terrified by the thought of anyone needing me just as much, but here I was, filled with the very love I’ve always feared and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.

And even if I could, I don’t know that I’d want to.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice that the water is no longer running through the pipes. I also don’t hear the soft sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs, or the sound of clothes rustling with movement.

“Hey.”

The single word has me whipping toward the door that leads to the stairway. My elbow slams into the window pane, and I yelp as the jolt races up and down my arm. My hand goes numb.

Concern flashing in his amazing eyes, Ryan hurries across the room.

“Easy.” He catches hold of my arm in his warm hands and starts rubbing the bruised elbow, his touch chasing away the pain. “Are you okay?”

I stare up at him. Butterflies dance in my stomach. Now that he’s told me that he loves me and I know that I love him right back, I’m more nervous about him than I’ve ever been.

Even as a part of me wants to scream my new love from the rooftops, there’s another part, a stronger part, that wants to keep the news to myself, at least until I better understand it.

“Er … yeah. I’m fine.” I lick my lips and swallow. “Just a little bruised. Nothing I can’t recover from.”

Ryan keeps massaging my joint. “Are you sure? That was quite a bang.”

“And hopefully I learned a lesson and won’t be quite so clumsy in the future.” Desperate to put some space between us, I tug my arm free of his grasp and quickly move away from him to the coffee pot, which has just stopped percolating.

“Want some coffee?” My voice sounds high pitched and overly bright.

Ryan’s eyes narrow. “Is something wrong, something besides the elbow, I mean?”

“No.”

“It’s just you seem… different. Sorta unsettled. And you didn’t sleep in bed with me.”

“Oh, that.” I fill a mug with coffee and pass it to him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Ryan nods and accepts the coffee. “I thought maybe things have been moving too fast. That you needed some space.”

“Things are moving fast, but that’s okay. I can deal.”

Ryan sets the coffee down and closes the distance between us. He pulls me into his arms and rests his chin on the top of my head. “About last night. I want you to know … I don’t want you to feel any pressure or think that I have any expectations. I know that you’re still grieving for Lance, that you still love him. I don’t want to take his place.”

For some reason his words cause a lump to rise up in my throat. I bury my face in his chest. My own declaration of love presses against my lips, but I swallow it. The emotion is so new, so unfamiliar after spending so long not feeling anything. I need to live with it for a little while, explore its depths, decide if it’s the real thing – or just infatuation – before I put it into words.

I pull away from Ryan and shove my hair behind my ears. “Do you want any breakfast?”

He watches me with hooded eyes. “You don’t have to wait on me.”

“I was going to pour myself a bowl of cereal. It doesn’t take much effort to pour a second bowl.”

“All right then.”

While I get the cereal and two bowls out, Ryan grabs the nearly empty gallon of milk out of the fridge. He sets the jug on the table, creating a slight vibration that causes my laptop to wake up.

The rows and rows of text that I spent the past few hours adding to my manuscript glow on the screen, catching Ryan’s eye. He looks at the computer with curiosity, but doesn’t lean forward to read the document.

“Working on something for the medical office?” he asks casually as he sits down in the chair beside the one I was using.

I bite my lip and stare at my computer. I’ve never told anyone, not my mom, not my best friend, not even Lance, about my love for writing, even though I’ve been making up stories for as long as I can remember. I’ve always been afraid that they’d think it was silly and a waste of time.

But suddenly, I don’t want to keep it a secret any more.

I place the cereal on the table and take a deep breath. “I write fiction.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Great. Anything I might have read?”

“No.” This feels like I’m stripping away a vital piece of myself, leaving me exposed and vulnerable before him. “I haven’t published a single word.”

Will he think less of me for putting so much effort into something and not showing it off? “I don’t think it’s very good.”

Ryan nods as if he understands. Maybe he even does. “What do you write?” he asks.

“Superhero romance novels. At least, that’s what I’m working on right now.”

“Really?” Ryan sits up straighter. “I love superhero comics. Especially Green Lantern. And the Hulk.” He tips his head to the side. “Great, now you’re probably thinking I have a fetish for the color green or something. And I don’t. I just think they’re cool characters. I even auditioned for the role of Hulk when they did casting calls for The Avengers, but Ruffalo got it instead. What do your characters do?”

“One generates heat.” I decide not to say that the character is based on him. “The other can manipulate items, including a little bit of mind suggestion.”

“That’s really cool.”

Okay, so telling Ryan about my hobby was easier than I expected. Now, to try something harder. “Would you, I don’t know…” I twist my hands together as I try to form a coherent sentence.

Ryan quirks a brow and watches me with patient eyes. “What?”

“Would you, maybe, like to read it?”