I want you to touch me. Like you did in St. Thomas.

Ethan repeated the words to himself, certain he had heard wrong. They were nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Nothing more than months of wishful thinking culminating in an auditory hallucination.

I want you to touch me. Like you did in St. Thomas.

No. No way had Cindy just said that. It was his imagination, that was all.

Except Cindy was sitting there, her full lower lip pulled between her teeth, a look of anxious expectation on her face. And when he looked into her eyes…

Ethan swallowed again. The look in her eyes slayed him. It was more than just that small glimmer of hope. It was…he didn't know what it was, only knew that it sent his pulse racing as tenderness washed over him.

Was she really asking him what he thought she was asking him? Yes, she was.

But he still couldn't move. He was afraid to, afraid if he moved, it would be to pull her into his arms and never let her go. To claim her mouth with his in a fierce kiss that would leave no doubt about how he felt and what he wanted. He couldn't do that, not yet. Fuck, the last thing he wanted to do was scare her, and that's exactly what would happen if he moved.

If he so much as twitched a single muscle.

But he must have been too still, too quiet, because the hope he had glimpsed in Cindy's eyes faded, replaced with something darker. She looked away as a blush stained her cheeks, pushed off the sofa and hurried over to the chair where she had tossed her backpack moments earlier. Each movement was jerky, uncertain. She muttered to herself, the words too low and too fast for him to make out. Then she headed toward the door.

Ethan shot from the sofa and moved after her. He wanted to grab her, to fold his hand around her slender wrist and pull her into his arms. But he couldn't, not when he was afraid to touch her.

"Cindy. Wait."

She shook her head, not looking at him as she reached for the door knob. Her hand slipped off and she tried again. "No. It's okay. I'm sorry. I wasn't—"

"Cindy. Stop. Please." Ethan hesitated then slowly reached for her, resting his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, as he expected, but only for a second. And it felt different somehow, more like she was just embarrassed instead of anxious or afraid. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. "Come back to the sofa so we can talk—"

"No, it's okay. We don't need to talk. I think I said enough already. It was a stupid idea and—"

"Come on. Let's talk." He slid his hand down her arm, wrapped it around her own slender one. He threaded his fingers with hers then tugged. She hesitated then slowly turned and let him lead her back to the sofa. He took a seat and breathed a sigh of relief when she sat next to him, their hands still wrapped together, their legs brushing. She didn't pull away, but she wouldn't look at him, either. Her hair fell in front of her face, hiding it. Hiding her eyes, hiding what she was thinking, what she was feeling. But he could feel the slight trembling in her fingers. Was it from nerves? Embarrassment? Anxiety?

"Talk to me."

"No." She shook her head, the fall of hair still hiding her face. "It was dumb. Just forget I said anything."

"Um, yeah. Easier said than done." He tried to make his voice light but the words came out a little too husky. Did she notice? He couldn't tell.

He kept hold of her hand and shifted, moving so he could see her better. Then he reached out with his other hand and brushed the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers lingered in her hair, so soft against the rough flesh of his hand. Warm, almost alive.

He swallowed back a sigh and moved his hand, let it drop to his lap. Cindy didn't move, not even to look at him. A blush still stained her cheeks, though not as bright as moments earlier. And she didn't look like she wanted to talk—about anything. There was no way he could let this conversation drop, though. He needed to know what she meant, why she had asked.

Needed to know why, period.

He ran his thumb across the back of her hand, just a gentle caress against her soft skin. She didn't stiffen, didn't try to pull away. He searched his mind for the right words, afraid of saying the wrong thing. But he didn't know how to finesse words, wasn't sure how a situation like this could even be finessed.

So he said a silent prayer and hoped he wouldn't fuck this up.

"So. I'm guessing you don't need me to rub sunscreen on your back, huh?" Ethan breathed a sigh of relief when the corner of her mouth tilted up just the tiniest bit. She shook her head. She still wasn't looking at him, but maybe that would make this easier—for both of them.

"Okay. I, uh, just wanted to check, just in case. So, since you're not talking about sunscreen, I'm guessing you mean, um—" He cleared his throat, felt his own face grow warm as he tried to decide what word to use. Fuck? No, never. It was too crass, too harsh—and didn't even come close to what they had done. Sex? Too impersonal. Make love? That's what he wanted to say, because that's what they'd done in St. Thomas: made love. Even that first night on the beach, where anyone could have walked up on them. He'd been making love to Cindy. Did she see it that way? He didn't know. Would the words spook her? Maybe he shouldn't use them, just in case.

He cleared his throat again, wondering why he was suddenly so nervous. "You mean, uh, sex. Right? Unless I'm a total ass and completely reading into things here and—"

"You're not. Reading into things, I mean." The blush on her face deepened. She tilted her head, her gaze sliding to his for a brief second before she looked away again. "Or being an ass."

"Okay. Good. That's good. I just wanted to make sure we were, you know, on the same page and everything." So now what did he say? Why. That's what he needed to know, needed to ask. There was a reason she was asking, a reason she wanted to do this. As much as he wanted to believe it was because she wanted him—needed him—as much as he wanted and needed her, he knew that wasn't the case. So yeah, he had to ask. Had to know. And wasn't this a first? Asking a woman why she wanted to have sex with him.

Yeah. Real funny. Ha ha.

"Do you mind if I ask why?"

She was quiet for a long moment—so quiet, Ethan wasn't sure she would answer. Then she turned to look at him, her fingers tightening around his for a brief second. Her eyes met his then darted away, focusing on something over his shoulder. Fair enough. Even he wasn't sure he'd be comfortable with direct eye contact right now.

"I met with my therapist this morning. She asked about my anxiety." She paused, looked at him, looked away. "I mean, how I freak out when people touch me. And I told her how…how I didn't. The other week. With you."

"Okay." Ethan waited, finally nodding for encouragement. Cindy shifted, her leg brushing against his. But she didn't move away.

"She, uh, I mean we…I wasn't sure if—" She stopped and dipped her head, her teeth pulling on her lip for a brief second. "I thought that maybe, you know, that maybe we—you and me—that we could see if…if I was comfortable with…more." She stammered the last few words, a blush staining her cheeks bright red. Ethan watched her, wondering if he heard the words right as disappointment welled deep inside.

He pushed the disappointment away, forced a small smile to his face before he spoke. "You mean like an experiment?"

Her head flew up, her eyes widening as their gazes met. She shook her head, sending her hair flying around her face. "No! No, not like that. I didn't mean—no, not like that."

"Then what?"

"I just—" She took a deep breath and dropped her head. She tugged her hand, trying to pull it away from his. Ethan tightened his fingers around hers, refusing to let go.

"Just what?"

"I—never mind. It was stupid. I was being stupid. It's not important."

"Cindy." He said her name, his voice barely more than a whisper. She wouldn't look at him, though, so he reached out and tucked two fingers under her chin, gently raised her head until she would look at him. "It is important. And if it's important to you, then it's important to me. Tell me: why?"

Her eyes filled with hope and fear, pain and uncertainty, as they searched his. Each glimmer of emotion acted like a knife to his heart. And he realized that it didn't really matter why, not really. Not when he knew he would do anything for her, anything she asked of him.

He ran his thumb across her lower lip, heard her swift intake of breath at the light caress. He shifted, moving closer, then leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers. Watching, waiting. Making sure this was something she really wanted, that his touch wouldn't scare her or hurt her. Her lids fluttered shut as he pressed his mouth against hers. Light, gentle, just the briefest meeting of their lips before he pulled away.

But not before he felt her shudder, not before he heard her sigh as she leaned against him and placed her hand high on his chest.

He swallowed, cleared his throat against the sudden thickness. "Like that?"

She shuddered again then opened her eyes. So deep, so green. And filled with hope, that glimmer burning a little brighter. Ethan waited for her to look away, waited for her to pull away. But she didn't. She leaned closer, ran her tongue across her lips, and nodded.

"Like that. I…I feel when I'm with you, Ethan. Even back…back in St. Thomas. I felt. More than ever before. And I want to feel that again. Please."

The words stunned him, made his pulse race even faster as the blood thrummed through his veins. Did she have any idea what those words did to him, how they made him feel? No, she couldn't. And he couldn't tell her.

But he could show her.

He captured her chin in his hand, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her. Soft and warm, still gentle, lingering. She sighed against his mouth and he swept his tongue in. Slow, hesitant, waiting for some sign that she changed her mind, that the kiss was too much.

But the only sign was the press of her body against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him closer as the kiss deepened. Hotter, wetter. Claiming instead of exploring.

And then it was too much for him. He wanted more, needed more. Had been waiting for this for months, ever since St. Thomas. Before then, even.

He gentled the kiss and tried to pull away, tried to put distance between them—if only for a second, just long enough for him to regain his mental balance. But Cindy clung to him, her mouth inches from his, her gaze so beautifully intense as she looked at him.

"Make love to me, Ethan. Please. I need you."