I can’t help but watch the clock.

I’ve never done that before. Not during art class. The students are busy working with oil pastels. It’s free form, whatever they'd like to create. Mainly because I was too out of it to come up with a fresh sample for them last night.

Been out of sorts since Saturday. After mother’s nuclear bomb announcement of Megan’s wedding, and Brent’s attendance shocker, my mind has been mush. Pulverized.

The hundred plus text messages from mom hasn’t helped either. I hope – no – I pray, beg, and plead she'll hold true to the promise she made Brent and hasn't told Clara anything.

Any. Thing.

My cousin has called, as usual, jabbering a mile a minute about Megan’s wedding details. How they had to move the date up because her fiancé has an internship in Alaska. He’s studying to be a doctor, apparently – one more fucking thing I have to contend with – so they’ll be moving to Alaska right after the wedding. Cash-only gifts.

Fucking-A.

Fortunately, the only thing Clara worries about for now is the frosting melting on the wedding cake she’s baking because it’s an outdoor wedding. In Arizona.

Good thing wedding cakes are mostly for show.

I should be thankful for the distraction. With all this going down, she hasn’t had time to obsess over who is or isn’t attending.

She hasn’t mentioned the zoo, either. Fingers crossed it stays that way, and mom doesn't slip a peep about my date.

After the zoo, we’d gone out to eat together. Twice in one day.

That’s when Brent told mother that we had to keep our friendship under wraps because of Nat and my job. I wasn’t there. I'd helped Natalie to the restroom with an upset tummy and gave her some Pepto, so I don’t know exactly what was said.

Worse, I haven’t even seen him since he dropped me off that evening.

Maybe that's why I can’t peel my eyes off the clock. He should arrive shortly to pick up Nat.

I've thought long and hard. It's time.

I’m going to insist we end this sham. Before it does more damage. There’s no reason – none – for him to go to Flagstaff.

Mother may have made it sound like I’m perpetually dateless, and maybe so, but bottom line is, so what?

This thing between us – this jaunt through Heaven and hell – it's a burden. I've lived my whole life without dreaming of some gorgeous man charging into my life and promising me happily ever after.

That’s mom. Not Isabella Derby. She’s the one who reads a dozen wild romance novels every month.

The familiar click of the door opening has me glancing up.

Brent.

Here we go again.

I could brace myself a thousand times, and it still couldn't stop the instant reaction in my blood. My pulse kicks higher, some kind of crazy flutter mode.

He's really hero material. Like something out of those dirty books with his chiseled looks, inviting scruff, and screaming green eyes. I'll admit it: sometimes I read the novels mother sends home with me.

The ones with shirtless hunks and women who are halfway unraveled hanging on their arms. Brent Eden may be the spitting image of a cover model – possibly the world's hottest – but damn.

This is no romance. And I'm no damsel in distress.

I'm a grown woman who got in too deep, who let her fantasies off their chain, and who desperately needs to end this sweet chaos before it ruins everything.

He shuts the door quietly, but rather than staying at the back of the room, he heads forward. Straight for me. Tension shoots up my neck as his eyes capture mine in an ornery glare.

What the hell now? What has his badass attitude flaring today? I’ve already told him I see right through it.

Unless...

Crap!

Clara must have called him. Again.

He arrives at my desk around the same time I decide that’s just as well. If he's annoyed, sick of this, exhausted with me, then maybe it'll be easier. This whole thing ends in the next half hour.

“Where’s your car?” His voice is hushed, but harsh. “I drove around the entire building and didn't see it.”

That gets my attention.

Then I remember why he didn't spot it. With everything else going on, I’d forgotten the bad news for a short while. “It wouldn’t start,” I tell him. “Had to get a ride.”

He puts both hands on my desk and leans closer. “It was here this afternoon, Blue. When I picked Nat up from school.”

I sit back, not impressed by his attitude, even if the growl in his voice touches something primal deep inside me. I shake my head. “So? It started just fine then, but when it was time to come back for class, it wouldn’t start.”

“How’d you get here?”

This is nuts. I can't imagine why he cares.

Giving a half-snort, I point to my cellphone. “Uber. Duh. What else?”

“Uber?” He chokes off a curse. “You've gotta be more careful, babe. You don’t know who those people are. Could be anyone. Why didn’t you call?”

Resisting the urge to bite my lip, I stare through him instead. This isn't happening.

I'm not about to say I considered it. Even though I did.

Right before I called him an asshole for putting a curse on my car last week by saying it could breakdown anytime. It finally did. And with everything else I've put up with from this man, a girl's entitled to be slightly superstitious.

Pushing away from the desk, I stand. “Why would I call you? I'm not helpless. You just keep thinking I am.” Before he can respond, I address the class. “Ten more minutes!”

Knowing how quick he is, I dodge around him, and spend the next ten minutes drifting from student to student. So far, nothing's happening like I planned, and the last thing we need is a scene in front of the kids on top of it. He'll have to cool his heels until class finishes.

He’s still standing next to the desk when it’s dismissal time. A pissed off wall of muscle.

God. For the first time I wonder if his badassery isn’t so much for show as it is a revival of sorts.

A throwback to the time he'd been a hardcore rebel? Or his army days?

Whether by choice or circumstance, and though his life is far tamer now, the aggression was so instilled in him, he can’t stop it taking hold.

The students wrap up and I make a few brief closing remarks. I feel bad watching them shuffle out the door. It's the first night I haven't given this my all, no thanks to the frustrated beast stewing in the corner.

This can't keep happening.

Soon, Natalie's the only student left. I have no choice but to return to my desk and pack up my things. Doesn't mean I have to say a word to Mr. Broody. I tap my phone's screen a few times and lay it down, summoning a ride. It'll take at least ten minutes for someone to get here with the academy being tucked back on slower roads.

I don't say anything to Brent.

Until he speaks.

“I’m giving you a ride home, Izzy. I canceled your Uber.”

The transformation inside me is instant. From just annoyed to psycho-bitch mad.

“You...what?” I rip my phone from his hand and fight to keep quiet enough so Natalie can’t hear.

Sure enough, my ride's canceled. Before the penalty fee even hit. I didn't even see him do it.

He. Can't. Keep. Getting. Away. With. This.

“Eden...just who the fuck do you think you are? Jesus!” I've spent hours of my life with this man and I still don't have a clue. “Look, you might be able to keep your daughter in arm’s reach at all times, but that doesn't extend to me. You've got no freaking right to even attempt it.” My wrists tremble as hot blood pumps through them.

If this man had a season, he'd be Phoenix, high summer. Always.

He's staring, his green eyes weapons, not temptations this time around. The tiger glare says he’s beyond pissed. So does the strength in the hand that takes my wrist. It's amazing how swiftly he can do it without actually hurting me.

I really don’t give a damn. “Let. Go.” I seethe.

He doesn’t release me, but his hold eases. “Okay. Whether you hold my hand or not, it won’t change the fact you’re riding home with us.”

“I’m not!” I hiss. To prove my point, I add, “I’ve told you before I won’t lose my job over you. Over this. You're making it too hard. Now, please, let go before I –”

“What? Scream? By the time Oscar walks into this room, you’ll be so tongue-tied on my mouth you won’t even know he's here.” His lips part ever-so-slightly, warm and feral and weirdly inviting.

Insane. That's what this is.

“You wouldn’t dare?” I hate how it comes out a question.

He steps closer, his lips barely an inch from mine. I was hot and bothered before, and now it's getting worse for very different reasons. “You know damn well I would. Haven't stopped thinking how good you tasted since the first night you said more than 'hello.' How bad you wanted it last weekend, Blue. Fuck, how bad I needed it.”

My eyelids flutter.

I officially hate him. And I hate wanting him ten times more.

His breath mingles with mine, stirring something hot and carnal inside me. Just like at the zoo, when I thought he was going to kiss me.

It's a deep, physical ache. A self-destructive want.

A need to have his body on mine so intense it's every insanity known to man.

Tonight, it's even worse. I wanted it then, Saturday, but I need it now. Need, like he said.

Even though I’m furious.

He dips his chin. His bristles barely graze my cheek. They're softer than expected. More delightful, too.

My breath catches in my throat.

“I dare, Isabella Derby. Dare to tell Nat she can squawk to the whole world we went to the zoo together. That you’ve been to our house for supper. That you've been on my goddamn mind like a wet dream stuck on repeat. Morning, noon, and night.”

Holy hell.

Forget insane. This is suicidal. Every last bit of it.

The consequences of anyone hearing about us hits me like a water balloon. His touch becomes kryptonite.

I snap my head backwards so fast I nearly lose my balance. My feet hit the chair. The harder I try to keep from falling, the harder it is not to. My near tumble couldn’t have lasted more than a second or two.

Time is no match for him.

Before I can even blink, Brent has my arm and he's grabbed my waist with his other hand, keeping me upright. I’m breathing like I just ran a marathon.

A second later, I realize exactly what part of his body presses against my stomach. Oh, hell!

I push at his chest, flailing with my free arm. “Was this your goal since the beginning? Getting me fired?”

“No.” He releases my waist and takes a step back before dropping my wrist. “I just want you to see the danger, taking rides from strangers.”

Ridiculous. I shove everything into my bag. “In case you don’t know, I teach preschool, Brent. Stranger-danger's a key part of the lesson plan.”

He grabs my sketchpad. “Then you need to practice what you preach.” Turning, he says to Natalie, “Ready, baby girl? We have to give Ms. Derby a ride home tonight. Her car's out of commission.”

“Awesome!”

Seriously, what did I ever do? To deserve all this?

I sneer at the grin he flashes my way, but then smile at Nat. Guilt hits like a brick.

It's the same feeling that whacked me yesterday at lunch, when she’d snuck a subtle wave my way after looking to make sure no one was watching. She shouldn’t have to keep any secrets. Or worry whether or not she'll look like a teacher's pet.

One more reason to stop this sham. ASAP.

Only, that seems impossible tonight.

The ride to my place is tense. The air seems electric in the front seat. If Natalie senses anything, she’s very good at hiding it, chattering away about tonight's oil pastels.

As soon as he pulls into my building's lot, I tell him he can park out front, but of course he doesn’t. Instead, he drives around the side, insisting he’s looking at my car before leaving.

Apparently, mechanical precision is another one of his many talents.

He quickly determines the starter needs to be replaced, and soon a tow truck arrives to haul my Mustang to the shop.

I don't say much. I'm too strung up on how hard it is to get rid of him when he keeps saving my ass.

Also, because I'm not about to ignite another argument in front of Nat.

Also, also, because it'd be more than another argument. We're a few choice words away from a dynamite explosion.

I wish it ended there.

A pickup with his company name on the side pulls into my parking spot as soon as the Mustang disappears. He says it's mine to borrow tomorrow.

Screw it. I can't hold my tongue.

“You really are trying to get me fired, aren’t you?”

“Wrong, Blue.” He takes the keys from the man who climbs out and holds them to me. “It's not a favor. You either drive that, or I’ll drive you to and from school, just like I do Natalie. Your choice.”

Some choice.

So ready for this day to be over, I throw up my hands. “Whatever. You win. I’ll drive the damn truck.”

Grabbing the keys, I tell Nat goodnight and make my escape.

Later at home, try as I might, sleep won't come. Predictable.

It wasn’t the fear of someone at school noticing what I drove, or Megan’s wedding, or even his caveman attitude that keeps me awake.

It's how frightfully close he came to kissing me.

How badly I wanted that to happen.

How badly I still want it.

Want it. Against every warning and shred of common sense and decency. Against everything I think I am.

* * *

Another day blurs by. I'm driving his loaner truck home after a day of finger painting, cutting enough apple slices to feed an army of fifteen four year olds, and singing about tiny spiders and big mouthed frogs.

Paradise. It'll be years before I work my way up to teaching art full time for the older kids, but it's a nice start. It's hardly the reason I'm bothered, impatiently clicking my nails against the steering wheel.

My lips still quiver every time Brent Eden invades my mind.

I need to get over this. Really.

And I need to find a way to get him to back out of Megan’s wedding. I don’t trust myself in close proximity with him. It's no good. I've only seen what happens a dozen times.

I'm no good in close range with this beast of a man.

Not now, not next week, not ever.

My Mustang sits in my parking space when I pull around my apartment building. I park the truck next to the dumpster as a man climbs out of my car.

It’s the employee from last night. Juan, I think. His friendly smile brightens his brown eyes. Knowing it was his cousin’s shop my car was towed to, I open the door. “Sorry for the wait! Didn’t expect it done so soon. If you tell me how much I owe, I’ll cut you a check right now.”

He hands me the keys. “You'll have to settle that up with the boss. It's on his tab, I think. I’m just the delivery guy this time.” He winks.

Shit. I don’t want to settle anything with his boss, yet can’t hold that against him.

Sighing, I turn over the truck's keys and thank him. After Juan drives away, I search the inside of my car for a receipt showing the work done.

Of course, there isn’t one.

When Brent canceled my Uber last night, he’d also punched his phone number into my phone, but I’m not about to call him.

Or text him.

It takes willpower, but I refrain.

* * *

By next week's art night, I’ve gotten three estimates for replacing a starter and have the average amount of cash needed for the job in my purse.

Whenever he comes to pick up Nat, it's his. And I have my entire speech laid out. All about how he doesn't need to attend Megan’s wedding this weekend.

I’m also a nervous wreck.

Truly can’t believe the mess I’m in.

Between mother and Clara and their endless phone calls and texts – nine out of ten mentioning him – I’m praying for an onslaught of the flu. Or appendicitis.

Whatever helps prevent me from having to go anywhere this weekend.

Not having a date when everyone thinks I do is guaranteed hell.

The students are painting with oils tonight, the most difficult medium we’ve used. Because of that, their assignment is abstract, which leaves me too much time to once again watch the clock.

I haven’t seen or heard from him in a week, and somewhat expected to, considering I’ve talked to people about Natalie. I've had her schedule changed slightly. For her own good.

She needs to be around kids her age. I want to encourage it as softly as I can, but the time has come.

That, right there, probably pissed him off, too.

Fuck, the door!

I keep my cool. Don’t turn around. Just keep meandering from student to student, commenting on their work. Pretending the devil himself isn't at my back.

My peripheral vision checks to see if he’s walking toward the front of the room. So far, no.

Small favors.

“Five more minutes,” I say, heading for my desk.

He’s still in the back of the room. Lingers there even after I dismiss class.

Natalie packs up her stuff and heads for my desk, rather than her father. “Dad says we’ll pick you up right after school on Thursday.” Her smile is murder.

I cringe inwardly. The thought of telling her no, it's too much, and I level a glare at him.

After digging out the envelope with the car repair money, I flip the bag over my shoulder. “You should have your dad carry your sketchpad tonight. Oil paints take a long time to dry.”

“Oh, you're right! I’m being super-duper careful, Ms. Derby,” she says proudly.

“I can see that. Here, let me take your bag. I’ll give it to your father.”

She hands over the bag and we both walk to the back of the room. I hand him her bag and the envelope.

He takes both, frowning at the offering.

I say nothing as I walk out the door. Not verbally. Silently, I tell myself I'm not lost in his scent.

It’s a lie.

His cologne is faint. Subtle. It goes to my head. How can a simple smell make this harder?

Once outside, I take a deep breath, hoping another scent will override his. Of course, it doesn’t.

“Four-thirty okay?” he asks.

It takes me a moment to catch my bearings and know what he’s referring to.

He shrugs. “I’d like to get to Flagstaff before dark, Blue.”

I shake my head. “I’m not leaving until Friday morning, and really, you don’t need to...” I pinch my lips together as Nat spins around and looks up at me.

One look. I'm gutted.

“Already told your ma you’re riding up Thursday evening with us.”

Once again, I cringe, lowering my voice. “Well, my hotel room's locked in for Friday and Saturday night.”

“You don’t have a hotel room.” His eyes narrow.

“I'm sharing one with mom,” I lie softly.

Actually, George is sharing her room, but mother wants everyone to think they're just friends. It always amazes me how hard she tries to keep her own drama under wraps.

“No, Blue. Your mom, plus Clara, are staying with your aunt. Janice, I think. Clara and Megan’s mom.”

My chin drops. “How –”

“Cleo. You’re the only one who doesn’t call or text.”

Frustrated. Mortified.

Enraged.

Right now, they're the same emotion, sending a dull pain to my temples. I rub them swiftly. Now I know why mom and Clara stopped asking about him the last couple days.

They don’t have to. They’re talking to Brent privately.

Can it get any worse?

Oh, yes.

Riding two and half hours next to him sounds heavenly hellish.

So much for backing out. Or saving face. Or pretending I haven't totally lost my mind to this smirking man-beast, who reads me so well my blood boils.

* * *

He picks me up Thursday at four-thirty sharp, and soon we're heading north out of town. Along the way, Nat describes, in full vivid detail, the dress Brent bought her to wear to the wedding, and then the old ranch that was once his grandfather’s.

We arrive near dusk and settle in. I’ve never been so worried in my life.

This is crazy. I'm crazy.

“Isn’t it awesome?” Natalie asks, standing on the front porch of an old farmhouse with both arms spread wide. “Finally here! My favorite place in the whole wide world.”

“I can see why.” The peeling white paint gives the single-story house a rustic look. So do the old fashioned Bermuda shutters that have saved the windows from intense wear and tear by the wind and odd dust storm. Several full-grown trees have also protected it from the elements.

It's easy to see a kid running wild around here.

“Come on!” she says, waving a hand. “I’ll show you where you'll sleep.”

Sleep. Very funny.

As if I’ll ever be able to sleep in this strange little place with Brent freaking Eden one room over.

Speaking of, he's already unlocked the door and stepped inside ahead of us. Lights flicker on in every window.

“I'm ready for the grand tour. Lead the way,” I tell Nat.

The inside isn’t as rustic as the exterior. The old oak floors creak, but every room seems neat and clean. The kitchen hangs off the back of the living room A good-sized bathroom and two bedrooms round out the other side of the place. One with bunk beds, and another with a double bed.

“You can sleep in this one!” Natalie says as we enter the room with the double bed. She grabs my hand. “That's not the best part, though. Let me show you my favorite.”

I follow her back through the living room and around the kitchen. She takes me out the backdoor and onto a screened-in porch.

She points towards a play kitchen set. “I’ve always loved it here. Let’s open the windows and it’ll cool right off.”

Together, we open all the windows. By the time we walk back into the kitchen, Brent is busy unloading a cooler, putting the contents in an old, but sturdy refrigerator.

His grin makes my stomach flutter. “Taking it in?”

“Yes,” I answer, bending down to hand him the last couple items from the cooler. “Nat showed me her favorite place.”

“The old porch.” Nodding, he takes a bottle of mayo and package of lunch meat from me. “It was mine, too, when I was a boy.”

Our hands touch. Our eyes meet. I've been here no more than ten or twenty minutes, and I already feel beguiled by some sorcery.

A tingle zips up my arm. Air lingers somewhere in my chest. Not quite caught, but not flowing freely, either. My whole body feels the same way.

Snagged.

Trapped in emerald green.

Searching for a way to break the spell, I ask, “What about now? I see why you like this place.”

“He and Uncle Davey used to dream about moving out here and having all kinds of animals like their grandpa did,” Nat cuts in, digging into a grocery bag on the table. “But then Dad went in the army and Uncle Davey died.”

It's the strangest thing. Almost like watching a shield, a barrier, slide across his eyes, taking the shimmer with it, the second those words are out of her mouth.

He takes a couple last cans from me and puts them in the fridge. He never answers my question.

“Yippie! The stuff for s'mores!” Natalie’s squeal echoes off the walls. “Can we make some tonight, Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweets. Hold up a few. Let me get a fire going first.” He closes the cooler's lid. “Which can’t happen till we get everything put away and organized.”

“We’ll help,” Natalie chirps. “Won’t we, Ms. Derby?”

The formality seems completely out of place here. “Of course,” I say, “And while we're here, you can call me Izzy.”

“Izzy?”

“My nickname. What everyone in my family calls me.”

“I have lots of nicknames, too! All from Daddy. Nat. Baby girl. Sweets. Kiddo.”

I glance at him. He nods once.

There's something so flipping handsome about a man who treats his daughter like a princess and tries to hide it.

Still, a weird dread I can't quite put my finger on wells inside me at this entire pretense.

Handsome or not, he's not my boyfriend. Never my fiancé.

It’s not just duping my family, it's deceiving myself.

I don’t want a pretend relationship. I don't want anything.

Because with him, even one more kiss might leave a smoking ruin.

* * *

Half an hour later, everything's put away and we're outside under a canopy of stars, roasting marshmallows over a fire crackling in a big ring of red stones.

“Dad says s'mores are too sweet.” Natalie licks the remnants of her fourth s'more off her fingers. “Can you believe that?”

“No.” I only had a single big one, but enjoyed it immensely. “No such thing as too sweet in my book.”

“Right?!” Natalie says. “That’s what I say, too.”

We sit back in old metal chairs. Mine creaks as I lean closer to her. “I think that’s just a guy thing. Being too hung up on sweet.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, a crooked smile crossing her face.

Across from us, Brent sits quietly, listening to our chatter. The flames cast shadows across his face, making his eyes brighter. “You two are ganging up on me,” he growls jokingly.

Before either of us can respond, a loud meow rings out.

“Shadow?” Natalie freezes for a second, then jumps from her chair. “Dad, it’s Shadow!”

She shoots around behind me. “Here kitty, kitty!”

I do a slow turn. We're in the middle of nowhere. I haven't seen another house in the last ten miles. I turn to Brent. “You leave a cat up here? Alone?”

He takes a drink off his metal cup. “You really like thinking the worst of me, don’t you, Blue?” Setting down his cup, he nods towards Nat, who sits on the gravel driveway petting a cat. “Shadow belongs to the neighbors down the road. Always prowls around at night. Usually takes him a day to figure out we're here.”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean –” I cut it there, changing the subject. “How often do you come up, anyway?”

“Try to make it once every month or two. Been more like three or four lately. Too busy. Nat loves this place, though.” His eyes are on his daughter. The adoration in his eyes is breathtaking.

That was the first thing I’d noticed about him and it's still the same as the first day he walked into my class. How much he cares.

“Daddy, I’m taking Shadow inside to feed him!” Natalie arrives with a huge gray cat in her arms. “Want to pet him first, Izzy? He's so sweet.”

I run a hand along his back, recognizing the thick, short blue-gray hair and golden eyes. “Wow, a Chartreux. Kind of a rare breed.” I smile softly, memories flooding back.

“The neighbors breed them. Good mousers,” Brent says.

“I know. My mother had one years ago.”

“Really? What happened?” Natalie asks.

As gently as possible, I say, “Life. She just got old and died.”

“That’s sad.” She kisses the top of the cat’s head while the animal paws at her face. “I’m going to feed him now.”

Nuzzling him the whole way, she walks into the house. “Daddy bought treats just for you, Shadow. You're gonna be a happy, happy boy.”

I smile. One more confirmation Brent’s badass persona is just that.

A façade he tries to hide behind. Only a kind soul buys treats for an animal that isn’t even his.

It also returns the same question that's been nagging me for weeks.

Why does he try to hide? Pretend he's something he isn't?

Why do I keep going along with the sham?

He’s looking at me as I pull my gaze off the house as the door closes behind Natalie. “Tell me something, Brent. Why are you doing this?”

He stretches over the side of his chair, grabs a log, and throws it on the fire. “What?”

A thousand tiny, bright sparks fly into the air, falling back into the pit as the flames spread upward, consuming the new log.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. “Buy treats for a cat that’s not yours. Pretend to be my boyfriend. Let my mother and cousin text and call you. Act like it doesn't annoy you.” That last part should win him an acting award.

He glances at the house. “For her.”

Heavy.

I nod. “Okay, the cat treats, I get. But not the rest.”

His gaze goes to the fire and he keeps it there. “Nat likes you. Simple.”

Not quite. I’m not buying it. “I’m sure she likes all her teachers, but I bet you didn't kiss them and go to their cousin's weddings.”

Shrugging, he takes another drink. “Felt sorry for you after Preston, Izzy. That's the long and short of it.”

Way to strike a nerve. Sympathy? Please.

I might be thankful he helped me out of a jam, but it doesn't explain anything. “Preston hasn’t contacted me since.” I stand. “And I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.”

He grabs my wrist, before I can stomp away. “Wait. I started the whole thing by telling Preston we’re dating. Guess I feel obligated –”

Obligated? Jesus.

He's too good at torpedoing my heart in one word.

I rip my arm away. “Wow. Sorry I asked. I don’t want anyone feeling obligated. Ever.”

He doesn't chase after as I storm off toward the house. None of this should be my fault, yet the burden is there, pressing me down. Leaving me so fucking confused. I feel like I’m caught in a maze that doesn’t have an exit, or a map, or an end.

“Isn’t he pretty?” Natalie asks as I walk into the kitchen.

She’s sitting on the floor petting the cat as he wolfs down treats.

I kneel. “Yes, he is.”

“I wish I could live here all the time. Shadow could practically be my cat.”

“Maybe you'll get a cat like him? Keep him at your house in Phoenix.”

She shakes her head, a frown appearing. “Dad’s allergic at home.”

“At home?”

“Yeah. Shadow doesn’t bother him here because there’s enough fresh air.”

That makes about as much sense as everything else that’s been happening. I suppress the urge to let out a snort. “Does Shadow come visit every day while you’re here?”

“He never goes home. He'll hang around every day until we leave.” She scoops the cat who's finally had his fill into her arms. “He even sleeps with me.”

Happiness shines on her face. “Every night. It's comforting.”

No lie. Within fifteen minutes, she and Shadow are snuggled up in bed, both fast asleep by the time I shut off the light. I enter the other bedroom and stare at the double bed, trying not to wish things were different.

Until the idea of him sleeping in the short and narrow bed above Natalie hits.

I have to apologize for getting pissed so easy.

He’s still by the fire, and glances over his shoulder as I walk down the steps.

I sit down in the metal chair beside him. “She's asleep.”

“With Shadow?”

“Yep.” I pick up a small stick and throw it in the fire. “I’ll sleep in that room with her. You can have the guest room.”

“Why?”

“It’s your house, Brent. You should have the bigger bed.”

He leans back in his chair. “No.”

“I have to.” I level a knowing look his way while saying, “Heard you’re allergic to cats.”

He wipes a hand over his lips but can’t fully hide his smile.

I grin, letting him know the truth is out.

“Blue, you tell my daughter that and I’ll –”

I laugh. “You’ll end up with a cat, is what you'll do. Here and in Phoenix.”

“I might at that.” He takes a swig of his drink and hands it to me. “Cheers.”

It’s a peace offering, I realize, so I take it.

There’s a challenge, a quiet smirk in his eyes, as I lift the cup to my lips, without even asking what's in it.

Big mistake. The whiskey straight up burns my throat. It's like napalm going down.

I barely have a chance to swallow before a coughing fit explodes in my lungs.

My eyes are watering by the time it’s over and I catch my breath.

Laughter lines his voice. “Shit, are you all right? Didn't mean –”

I nod. Furiously. “I...I'm more of a tequila girl, I guess. My dad liked bourbon.”

He flips open the lid of the small cooler beside his chair and yanks out a can. I catch it as he tosses it my way, needing something to cool the fire in my throat. Twisting the can to see the label, I ask, “What’s this?”

“Margarita in a can.”

My lips twist. I blink, surprised. “You drink canned margarita?”

“Wrong. Had a feeling you would.”

My face heats. Oh, God. Every look he gives me might be divine. Or divine punishment.

“Never tried it, but hey, there's a first time for everything.” I pop the tab and take a drink. Strawberry. Surprised, I take a second taste, confirming it’s good. “Pretty decent! Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

We sit in a companionable silence for a few minutes, slowly sipping our drinks. “This really is a nice place. I'm not just saying it.”

“Nat loves it.”

“Bet she’d love it even more if there were animals here.” The alcohol rush must give me a bit of liquid courage because my next question plops out before I can think twice. “Hey, what happened to your brother? Davey?”

Despite the fire and the heat of the summer night, a chill ripples my arms at the grief that crosses his face.

It wasn't just my imagination earlier. Every mention of his dead brother shuts him down.

“He died, Blue. Nothing else to say.”

Damn. Unsure what to say next, I take another sip of margarita.

He tosses a fresh log on the fire. “So did Nat’s mother.” He glances my way. “That was your next question, wasn’t it, Detective Derby?”

I shrug, dropping my face to hide the fierce red on my cheeks. Slowly, I nod. There’s no use hiding it. I'm drunk and nosy and we both know it.

“Aneurism during child birth did her in. She never knew if Nat was a girl or boy.”

“God, I'm sorry. No ultrasound?” I want to slap myself over the stupid question. Blame it on the canned tequila and slushy strawberry mix.

“Don’t know if she ever did one or not outside what's required to check for health issues. Always said she wanted the gender under wraps till the baby came. I was in the army. Overseas. We’d dated on and off for a couple of years.”

I'm still looking at him. Slowly, he sucks a mouthful of whiskey, and swallows loudly.

“Cindy didn't approve of the shit in my younger years. Running around with a motorcycle club. Said turning into anybody's old lady didn't appeal to her, and I can't say I blame her. It's a rough life. Club had its problems, too – big fucking problems it's taken years to straighten out. I saw the writing on the wall and joined the army. Things were still shit between her and me. When I found out I was going to Iraq, I broke it off for good. Then I was home on leave a year or more later. We were both lonely. Nat was conceived. Told her we’d figure it out after my tour was over. That we’d get married.” He takes another swallow off his glass. “Nat was born two weeks before I put in for my discharge papers.”

I'm shocked he's spilled so much, and don’t want him to regret it. “She's a very lucky girl to have you. My dad was in the army, too. Overseas. Could've gotten out before things really ramped up, after 9/11, but he said he owed them another term. He couldn't walk away in a crisis. Wound up in the wrong place, wrong time. He didn’t come home after a Taliban ambush. I was in my early teens. My mother was a wreck, but eventually, we adjusted.”

Brent's eyes burn right through me. It's an equal trade, at least, confession for confession.

I shrug. “We survived. Somewhat, anyway. I think what happened to dad, to her, is the real reason she wants me to find Mr. Right so bad and get married.” I shake my head and finish my drink. “To know the love of a man. A husband. Before it's too late.”

“You don’t want that?” He takes my empty can and hands me a full one.

I open it and take a long pull. “Maybe someday. Right now, I just want to teach.”

“Art.”

“Art. That’s what kept me sane after dad died. I could lose myself in it. Pretend I was somewhere else. Forget everything.”

“We all need to do that sometimes.”

“Right.” I pretend to scratch the bridge of my nose so he doesn't see the tears.

Brent holds his cup towards me, offering solidarity. I click my can against it.

“To the struggle. And fuck tragedy, too,” he rumbles.

I nod. “Fuck tragedy.”

I take another long swallow and then look at my can. “These are really good.”

“Wouldn't know, Blue. I'm a whiskey man. Sometimes beer.”

“Oh, come on. Here, try a sip.” I hold it out to him. He's incredulous. “Our little secret. One taste. Nobody ever knows.”

I lean over to hand him my can. Brent just smiles.

My head feels a little woozy, but it’s the uneven ground that catches me off guard. The chair tilts and I’m not fast enough to stop it.

He's quick. Keeps it from falling all the way over and I jump to my feet. My can slips out of my hold, and I kneel down to grab it. The contents splash all over a notebook, which I instantly recognize as the one he’s always had in the back of the class.

Too curious not to, I flip it open, before he can snatch it away. My breath catches at the images he’s drawn.

A woman’s body. Naked. Fabulously detailed.

I’m in the midst of appreciating his skill when I see what's printed across the top in big blocky man letters.

BLUE.

That’s when I notice the woman’s face.

Holy flaming hell.

Pure fire rushes my cheeks. I flip the page. And the next.

There are several more nudes.

All of me. I flip one more page and a new sense of warmth fills me.

It’s me again, but this time I’m dressed, hugging Natalie. I recognize the scene. The day she gave me the friendship bracelet.

Growling, he rips his notebook away. “You weren’t supposed to see that!” He tosses it on his chair.

No longer content with being his secret model, I look up at him. “Why? They’re good.”

Good, if I ignore the fact they're living proof this man has been undressing me with his eyes in screaming detail since day one.

He traces the side of my face with one hand, his eyes locked on mine. Every thought I’d warned myself to avoid rushes forward.

Him kissing me. Me, returning his kisses. His caresses.

Touching. Kissing. Giving. Getting.

“You, Blue. You're what's good. Not those damn drawings.”

My heart kicks into high gear and my chest goes tight. I've never wanted to be kissed so badly, to be touched like now.

“Don't be silly.” The air between us crackles.

Electric. Charged. Intense.

I want to beg. Plead for him to just put his lips against mine.

One. More. Time.

He nods, never looking away. “Too good,” he echoes, forcing his point.

“Hardly.” I step closer, laying a hand on his chest. The beat of his heart thuds against my palm.

“You’re wrong, Eden,” I whisper. A crazy warmth folds around me, sinks through my skin, inside me, swift and ever growing. “I’m done being good.” I take one more step, so our bodies are almost touching. “Tell me I'm bad. Tonight. Just this once.”

“Blue.”

I’ve lost it. And it's too late.

“No. Kiss me, Eden. Just fucking kiss me already.”

The animal glint in his eye swells.

In a flash, he grabs my hips, pulling me forward, closing the gap between us. My nipples harden, pressed against his hard chest. I tilt my hips, rejoicing at the feel of his hard cock, deliciously close.

When his lips seize mine, all thoughts abandon me, except for one word.

Yes.

Maybe two words.

God, yes!

I wrap my arms around his neck and let desires that have kept me awake for weeks flow. His lips are softer, his tongue hotter, wilder than anything I’ve imagined. My pussy aches. So wet, so tense, if he doesn't give me something soon I might die.

There’s no more space between us, but we’re not close enough.

I want more. Crave it.

His hands roam under my shirt, up my back. Heaven. I rub against him, arching upwards, as his hands grasp my butt, pulling me against his cock all the more firmly.

Fantasies don't compare to the desires leaping forward when he kisses a trail down my neck. He pulls my T-shirt up and kisses my breasts, tonguing inside the top of my bra.

I gasp at the pleasure and squeeze my thighs together.

Throbbing heat. Soaked. Frantic.

Confused when he stops, I freeze, unable to move as he pulls my shirt back in place.

“This is fake, Blue,” he says. “Fake and fucking dangerous. Remember that.”

He releases me and turns away.

“Go to bed, Blue. Go now. Before I fuck you right here on the ground.”

There's a crack in my desire.

Just enough to send all the conflicted feelings streaming back. Wiping my very red face, I turn.

I get up and stumble backwards. Have to blink back the tears of frustration needling the backs of my eyes. Recalling how my knees work, I head for the house.

In the bedroom, I close the door, still breathing too hard.

Still wanting more.

Asshole or not, he’s right. It's fake.

Fake and dangerous.

I grab my overnight bag and head for the bathroom, but as I undress, all I can think about is him.

His hands. His mouth.

Every glorious inch of him.

Heat swells my pussy again, begging for more. I turn on the water and step in the shower. Leaning back, I let the warm water flow over my breasts, imagining it’s his lips. I run my hands over myself, rubbing my nipples and then down lower.

Lower.

Tentatively, I slide my fingers between my folds and settle on my clit. The pressure makes my breath catch. I never bring myself off this hard and fast.

Maybe because I'm imagining it’s not my hand working my sweet spot, but Brent’s.

I find a rhythm and pick up speed, pretending I’m not alone. I’m getting good at that.

Getting good at this.

I plant my other hand on the wall, letting hot water cascade down my back as I throw myself over the edge.

Coming!

And all I can see is him.

Between my legs. Pinning me down with his hands, fucking me with those tiger eyes, taking half my soul as he plunges in deep again and again and –

Oh, hell.

I’m breathing so hard. Shaking. My thighs hurt. I keep Brent’s image in my mind as I slide my finger deep inside me a few more times, sweet relief fading to numb.

The rush hits like a monsoon. Sudden, fierce, mysterious. An explosion that leaves me limp, leaning heavily against the wall.

It keeps me sane, but strangely unsatisfied. Unfulfilled. And too horny.

It also leaves me lonelier than ever.