I can’t believe Jarett’s in my room, sitting on my bed. Can’t believe I brought him here, that he agreed to stay, that I went out to take those cakes in the first place with barely any hopes at all, and now here we are.

Side by side.

His words replay in my ears, and I keep seeing the way he looked at me, and at my mom while he explained why nobody could ever want him. How determined he was to protect his foster mom, not adopted after all, from even the possibility of an idea she might have done something wrong, or that he isn’t grateful.

Or that he doesn’t love her. He does love Becky Lowe, I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. He thinks of her as his mom, but won’t allow himself to believe it. Correction—to believe he deserves it.

He’s totally breaking my heart, and whoa, slow down, Gigi. You were only out hunting for information on him, not forgiving him and throwing yourself into his arms.

Okay, okay. Deep breaths.

And that’s another mistake, because underneath the scent of my rose candles and that of clean soap coming from his borrowed clothes, I can smell him.

I can always smell him, that indefinable spice of his sweat that is so… Jarett, and it makes my heart pound with anticipation and my belly clench with desire.

Time to put some distance between us, but before I do, his hand darts out and grabs mine.

His thick lashes lift, and his eyes meet mine. “Thank you. For bringing me here. For the chocolate and cake. For…” He looks down at my hand, turning it over on his big palm, as if thinking to find the words there. “For everything.”

“You’re always welcome in my home, Rett.”

And crap, that’s not what I’d meant to say. It’d should have been rather something along the lines of “You’re welcome.” Something neutral.

Tonight I keep saying things I’m not supposed to. But who am I kidding? That’s what always happens when he’s around.

His eyes widen a little.

“Are things bad?” I blurt out, shivering when his thumb strokes over my knuckles. “With your mom?”

“I told you, she’s not my mom.”

“But I’m sure she’d want you to call her that.”

There. You see? No control over my mouth. Crap. I’d promised myself not to push him, especially not tonight, when he looks so sad, even less about something I can’t be sure about.

But he chews on the inside of his cheek, and nods. “She did. I mean, she told me many times to call her that, but I never did.”

“Why not?” I shift closer to him, until his muscled thigh is pressed to mine.

“Dunno. Never felt right. And she only took me in for the sake of Sebastian.”

I frown at him. “What do you mean?”

He’s still staring down at our entwined hands. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Rett…”

“Life is what it is. That’s what Connor would say.”

“Who is Connor?”

He jerks, those expressive eyes going round. “Fuck, forget I said that. All of it.” He’s panting, his face pale, and he’s scaring me a little. “What’s wrong with me today? I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” A strained laugh escapes him. “You got nothing to be sorry for. If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry. I know I should keep away from you, that it’s dangerous, but I can’t, and I…”

He doesn’t finish.

God, so many questions I want to ask him. With every word he says, I have ten questions more. Who is this Connor and why does he sound so important? Why does he think Becky Lowe took him in because of Sebastian, and is that linked to the promise he made her to look after him? Why does he think that everybody who takes him in dies?

And above all, why did he just say he can’t keep away from me?

He’s shivering harder now, gaze going distant again, and I push away my questions for another time. After all, I invited him here because I was worried about him, and he does look tired. Exhausted.

Though inviting him into my bed hadn’t been in the plans.

Still.

“You’ll be fine, Rett.”

He sort of shakes his head while nodding. “Yeah,” he says wheezing, and whatever happened today at the nursing home had to be bad.

I make a note to ask Mom if she knows anything about it, and realize I know next to nothing about Alzheimer’s. One more thing to investigate.

Anyway, I can’t stand seeing him like that anymore. Yanking my hand away, I stand up, turn and push on his chest.

“Lie down and let me take care of you.”

I expect him to make a smartass comment, or at the very least arch a brow at me, but he doesn’t. It’s a testament to how bad he must be feeling, that he lets me shove him down on the mattress, though the small frown on his face tells me he isn’t sure what’s going on.

Guess I’ve surprised him quite a lot today. Myself, too. In good ways, I hope, though there’s no way to tell just yet, but in any case…

In any case, I’m not backing down now, not stopping to think about it, because it feels good to take care of him, to make sure he’s okay in my turn.

If feels right.

* * *

“What are you up to?” Jarett asks sleepily. He’s still in Merc’s borrowed sweats and T-shirt, though he’s chucked off the sweater. He’s on his side, the covers drawn up to his chest, those tattooed arms folded over my hot pink quilt, and…

What did he just ask me?

“I’m just… going to get changed,” I tell him, waving my nightgown at him.

He gives me a faint smirk. “I’ve seen you naked, sweets, or did you forget?”

How could I forget?

“You look better,” I whisper. The color has returned to his face, and he’s stopped shivering.

“Warmer,” he admits. “It will be even warmer when you come to bed.”

“Let me change. Won’t be a minute.” Because it’s somehow different having him rip the clothes off me to have sex with me and this… thing we’re doing tonight. Lying together in my bed, to sleep.

For warmth. For comfort.

I don’t think he’d been only cold before, I think as I hurry to the bathroom and close the door, then proceed to shuck off my clothes and pull on my nightie. He’d seemed… shaken. And now he’s acting as if nothing happened. As if the five minutes that passed between saying he’s sorry and me helping him under the covers have flipped the switch, and he’s back to his arrogant self.

I’m puzzling over this as I return to the room, not happy about this, and yet happy he doesn’t seem so sad anymore. So lost.

Lost, yes. That’s the word I’d been looking for. Since I found him outside the nursing home, he seemed lost.

No, scratch that. He seemed that way since I first met him. I hadn’t realized then, but as I enter the room and find him dozing, I know it’s true. All the things he said, all the bits and pieces fit into the picture.

Why is he so lost?

His breathing is even, his face relaxed, one inked arm folded under his head, the other over the covers. He has a light dark stubble on his jaw, and his lips are slightly parted. His dark hair has dried, and it falls messily over his forehead, and I see his strong collarbone through the T-shirt’s neckline. His broad chest rises and falls, and oh man, it’s still so hard to believe he’s in my bed. Like I should grab my phone and take pictures as proof.

But I don’t.

Instead I find myself holding my breath, transfixed. He’s so beautiful. And I stand there, observing him as he sleeps, feeling like Edward observing Bella sleep in an inverted Twilight world.

Don’t be a creepy perv, I tell myself, but I can’t stop looking, and now I know what Edward must have felt.

Apart from the blood craving, that is.

He twitches suddenly, lashes fluttering, and I open my mouth to say something, anything, when his eyes open and fix on me.

Standing there.

Staring at him.

Shit.

But he only blinks a few times, his expression puzzled, and then a smile spreads on his face. It’s soft, and sweet, and breathtaking.

I approach the bed, and he lifts the quilt to let me in beside him.

Surreal. This is surreal.

I’ve never slept with a guy in the same bed before. Okay, except maybe with Merc when we were little, but not since I grew boobs.

My whole body tingles as I ease in between the sheets, expecting cold and finding them warm from his body. I’m hyper-aware of how close we are, closer than ever, even though we’re both fully dressed and not even touching.

He’s eyes are heavy-lidded, a transparent green in the light from my bedside lamp, and I’m caught in them, in the golden and the darker flecks swimming in their depths. His mouth is soft from sleep, and I want to kiss him so much it hurts.

“Gigi,” he breathes, and I clench my hands so I won’t reach for him.

“Shall I turn off the light?”

“Not yet. I wanna look at you.”

I smile at him. “Are you even awake?”

“More than ever.”

I swallow hard, my face warming up. “You were asleep when I came in.”

“I dreamed you were sleeping beside me,” he says, his voice a little rough, and it does strange things to my body, and my heart. “And then… you were gone.”

“I’m here,” I say softly.

He shifts on the mattress, lifts a hand to shove hair out of his eyes. “Yeah.” He frowns. “I’ve always wanted to ask you this… Why did you move here, to this city?”

“Destiny sucked.” I roll one shoulder in a shrug. “Quite bad. We were bullied there, and then my sister got involved with a guy and a stalker came after her and almost killed her.”

He lifts his head off the pillow and stares, eyes flashing. “You fucking serious? And what happened with that guy?”

“Oh she married him and is about to have his baby.” I grin at Jarett. “Not the psycho stalker. The other guy.”

He huffs a laugh. “This isn’t funny, Gigi. You never told me this.”

“Like you told me all about yourself?”

He falls quiet for a bit after that, and I regret my comeback, just a little. Finally, he lets his head drop back on the pillow. “You were bullied?”

Me and my big mouth. “Yeah, happens to lots of kids.”

“Don’t, okay? Don’t make light of it. Goddammit. And here I was, asking you to pay me back with sex and blowjobs.”

“It wasn’t the same.” I give him a sideways glance, smile. “I wanted you. I want you. And I feel safe with you.”

He gives a bark of laughter and mutters something like a curse under his breath.

But I’m serious. “Do you know why I always followed you after school?”

“Cuz you thought I looked hot?” He looks at me from under his long lashes.

I punch his arm. “Be serious.”

He laughs, then rubs a hand over his mouth. “Why, then?”

“Because you looked super-hot,” I admit, and I’m rewarded with the return of his smile. “But also strong, and tough. Intimidating. Like you could protect me.”

His smile fades in a flash and his eyes narrow. “What did they do to you, Gigi? Back in Destiny. Tell me.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. And here? Did you get that here, too?

“No. Here it wasn’t that bad,” I whisper.

“Not that bad?” He lets out a growl that raises the hairs on my arms. “Fucking hell. I’m gonna kill those bastards for touching you.” His hands are curling into fists. “You never said. Why the fuck didn’t you ever say anything to me about it?”

He’s shaking with tension, with anger, and I should be scared, he’s like a powerhouse about to explode into action and violence.

But somehow I’m not. He’s not angry at me, but for me, and it’s sweet. “Because you kept them at bay anyway. They’d see you and run. They knew you hung out with me and stayed away.” I put a hand on his coiled biceps, tug him back. “You protected me, even if you didn’t know it, back then.”

He lets out a breath. Looks sideways at me, his gaze uncertain. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t lie about that?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

He lies back down, his handsome face thoughtful. “I fucking hate that I didn’t know about it, and I hate even more that it happened to you.”

“It was years ago,” I tell him gently.

“But the scars don’t fade easily,” he whispers, and just as a bad suspicion creeps into my mind and I want to ask if he was also hurt in the past, he says even more softly, “Can I hold you?”

I can’t speak, my throat clogging up.

This boy.

A nice boy, Mom said. A good boy.

But he’s more. To me.

“Come here.” He stretches out his inked arm over my pillow, and after a second’s hesitation I roll on my side and snuggle up against him. “Yeah, like that. Comfy?”

His voice rumbles in his chest and right through me as I place a hand over his muscled stomach.

I hum in response.

“Gigi…”

“I like you, Jarett,” I whisper. “I wish you’d like me enough to pull back from all the bad shit.”

His nostrils flare. “Well, I don’t like you.”

I draw a sharp breath. “Rett…”

“‘Like’ is too weak a word. Look, just…” He’s looking down at me, emotions shifting behind those pretty eyes of his, and he seems to want to say more, but in the end, he just reaches over me and switches off the lamp. “Let’s get some sleep.”

* * *

He nods off quickly, his face pressed to my hair, his breathing evening out. He’s so warm and solid, pressed to me, his skin smelling faintly of soap and spice under my cheek.

Solid and big, all hard muscle and sinew. Even though I’m not little, I feel like a doll in his arms, held carefully, cradled against his side, my legs curled up against his thick thigh.

It’s so thrilling, to be here, with him. And it touches in ways I never thought it would. I feel like my heart is cracking open, and I’m afraid to move in case he vanishes into thin air.

His words won’t let me sleep. His words, my thoughts, the events of today. How can I sleep after all that happened?

But it seems I can, because I find myself swimming through stars and glowing fish, flying over houses and trees, flying in my dreams for the first time in years—only to come awake some time later with a start.

Rough fingertips brush over my hip, under my nightie, trailing over the lace of my panties, then down my thigh.

I look up, and in the dimness of the room, the faint light coming through the window slats, I see his eyes fixed on me. He leans in and kisses me, claims my mouth in a rough clash of lips and teeth and tongue that makes me moan out loud.

“Fuck, I want you,” he rasps against my lips, gripping my leg and pulling it over his, spreading me just enough for me to feel how hard he is through his sweats. Then he kisses me again, covering my mouth with his, moving it in delicious ways, our tongues tangling as his breathing turns ragged.

Suddenly he rolls me under him and presses himself between my legs, bracing his elbows on the bed and doing a half push-up that has his hard-on right where I need him.

“Rett,” I moan, and lift my hand, stroke his face. Arching up, I kiss him, a quick brush of our lips, but his eyes flutter closed.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers.

“Why not?”

“Cuz I’m getting so damn addicted to you.” He shifts, and we both moan. Sparks explode in my belly, and my pussy clenches on nothing. “Shit, Gigi.”

“Please.” My hips lift restlessly. I loop my arms around his neck, dragging him down to me. I don’t know when I’ll have him with me here again, and I try not to think of that. I need him now, need to feel him. “Please…”

“What about your mom, and Merc? Won’t they hear us?”

“Mom’s room is far. And he falls asleep listening to music. He wouldn’t hear a bomb going off.”

He leans on one side so he can push up my nightie, and cool air washes over my bare boobs, my nipples tightening. “Damn, you’re so fucking pretty. Perfect. You’re perfect.”

I’m not, and I open my mouth to say it, but the look in his eyes stops me. They’re so dark with lust, so full of conviction.

And then he doesn’t allow me time to come up with some other reply, bending over and putting his mouth on my breast, licking my nipple, sucking it, while his fingers toy with the other one.

My God. My hands move to his shoulders, holding on as he sets me on fire. Every lick, every rasp of his tongue and scrape of his teeth on the oversensitive peak sends pleasure coursing into my core, between my legs, the pressure mounting until I’m moaning his name, begging for release.

He lifts his head, one corner of his full mouth curling up in a crooked smirk.

Then he rips my panties down my legs and goes to town on me, licking and sucking, and adding his fingers in the game to drive me wild.

This boy likes to go down on me, I think fuzzily, and it makes me smile. The moment of clarity doesn’t last, though, not with his fingers pumping deeper, faster into me.

He sucks on my clit, and I’m coming without warning, clutching at him, my nails leaving marks on his shoulders as I ride the waves of pleasure, my teeth gritted to keep from crying out.

Oh. Crap.

So good.

“Rett…” I breathe, my head spinning.

He groans softly, hauling himself back over me. He kisses me, and I taste myself on his tongue. “Gonna fuck you now, girl,” he says, his voice a low snarl that sends another pang of desire through me. “You ready?”

Never been more ready in my life. I need him inside me.

When he reaches into the pocket of his sweats for his wallet, takes a condom out and drops it beside us, I can’t wait any longer.

I rouse myself enough to help him undress. Need his bare skin on mine.

He lets me tug up his T-shirt, then impatiently grabs the hem and drags it over his head, throwing it away, then pushes down the sweats, freeing his cock.

Holy mother of mercy. How is that every time it seems bigger than the last? It’s impressive, and… hot. So sexy, where it hangs hard and heavy between us, rising and hardening more as I stare.

“It’s a beast,” I blurt out, then clap a hand over my mouth.

He chuckles. “The beast likes you.” He lowers my hand from my mouth and hands me the condom. “It also likes petting.”

I’m torn between laughter and moaning. Okay… I should tell him I’m on the pill. Ask if we’re exclusive now.

But nothing comes out.

Taking the foil package, I tear it open and take out the condom, reaching for his cock. The sight of his hard-on, this evidence of how aroused he is will drive me crazy with desire.

It sends bolts of lust through me, makes me want to draw my legs closed to ease the pressure building again inside me.

He sits back on his knees, shuddering when I put the condom on him. He’s panting heavily, his small nipples drawn into tight points, his abs clenching deliciously when I roll the latex over his cock.

“God, I need…” He barely waits until I’m done, then he pushes me back down and bends over me. “Can’t wait any fucking longer.”

I can’t, either. I run my hands over his tattooed arms, over his heaving sides, miles of smooth skin stretched over hard muscle. “Yes,” I whisper.

This time when he pushes inside me, inch by inch, I think I’ll die of pleasure. The stretching, too-full feeling is there, but it only dials up the sensations. His cock rubs me so deep inside, just the right way, hitting every sweet spot—and it’s Jarett holding himself over me, dark hair falling in his eyes, sweat rolling down his sculpted chest, muscles straining in his arms as he pushes himself up, then thrusts back inside me.

Oh my God. “Rett,” I whisper, “Rett…”

My Jarett.