“Let’s go home.”

In my dream I’m sitting in a back alley behind a restaurant, waiting for Helen, curled up on the step. Fear runs through me like a current, tension and exhaustion born of uncertainty about tomorrow. Where will I end up? Will I be safe? Will I have money? Where will I sleep?

Will she be okay?

Then I’m blinking, and there’s Amber. Amber… Her face doesn’t fit in with my memories, and yet seeing her calms me down and wraps a warm band around my chest.

Still… Can’t recognize this place. The steps are all wrong, and what is she doing here? My brain’s muddled from sleep and I’m disoriented.

I should… Should be careful. Walk away. My jaw hurts, and my ribs smart. Not a good sign, and it’s the kind of pain my nightmares feed on. It’s probably why I have so much trouble getting my brain to let go of the dream.

But her hand is on my arm, fingertips digging lightly into my muscle, and I let her pull me to my feet, bracing my other hand on the wall. The street lights blind me as I stagger down the steps, following her onto the street. The headlights of a passing car stab my eyeballs, and I curse under my breath.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in your bed?” she asks, her small hand slipping down to slide into mine, and I curl my fingers around it, a weight lifting off my chest—as if I’ve caught a lifeline in the storm.

“My bed.” My apartment. What the hell? I was back on the streets for a moment there. Kinda missed a whole year of my life. “I don’t…”

Memory returns in fits and starts, and I bite back a groan. Oh yeah, I remember now. Dammit.

She glances at me, probably waiting for an answer.

“Shit happened.” Real enlightening, J, very smooth.

“I thought you’d still be at work at this time.”

“Yeah, well, I left early. Had something I needed to do.”

“And did you?”

“Nope.” That’s the problem. Everything went wrong, every single damn thing, tonight of all nights. A night that’s bad by default.

Except for Amber finding me and putting her hand in mine. Yeah, that’s the only thing that gives me hope, though for what, I can’t imagine.

The rest of the way I turn the night’s events over and over in my head until it hurts like a mother, and I barely notice when she stops at a building entrance and unlocks.

That’s when I realize she hasn’t led me to my apartment, but to hers.

Thank fucking God.

“Have you eaten anything tonight?” she asks, and I take a moment to figure out she’s talking to me, too distracted by her scent and the warmth of her skin against mine as we go up the steps.

“Don’t think I have.” As a matter of fact, I can’t recall eating anything after a hurried breakfast. Had to leave early for the shop. Taking on Seth’s shift means I don’t go running as often as I’d like to, but hey, cleaning is a decent workout, I guess.

“Come on in.” She tugs her hand free of mine to open the apartment door, and I resist the urge to snatch it back.

“Kayla in?” I amble into her living room and switch on the lights. It’s tidy and clean and smells of some floral cleaner.

“She’s out.”

“Just you and me, then, kitten?” I flash her a grin when she turns to give me a look from where she’s hanging her purse on a hook behind the door.

“Cut it out, JJ.”

Still not taking my shit. I almost reel with relief. Back on solid ground after a night of spinning like a damn merry-go-round.

“I know.” I wink at her and lick my lips. “I’m a big dick.”

Doesn’t stop a flush from rising to her cheeks, and I grin wider.

Gotcha.

I love getting under her skin. Fuck, I love getting skin-to-skin with her even better, but after our last encounter and the way it ended… Because of my knee-jerk reaction to anything having to do with Helen and my past.

“I wouldn’t know the size of your dick,” she deadpans, slipping off her sandals and padding quietly across the room to close the curtains on the two windows facing the street below. “But from your need to talk about it constantly, I’d guess it’s very small.”

“What?” I sputter and cup my crotch protectively. “This is small? Who the hell said that?”

“So you’re big. Just how big are you?”

I gape at her, even as my dick starts getting interested in the proceedings, hardening against my palm. “Big.” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with her, with Amber. My gaze strays to the swell of her tits under her tight, green top and my dick jumps under my hand, making me hiss. “Big enough.”

“We’ll see about that.” She winks at me heading to the kitchen, and I choke on my inhale.

What the fuck just happened?

What happened is I walked right into that one. Shit, that’s a first. This girl’s messing with my head, throwing my teasing back at me.

That’s a first, and damn if I don’t like it.

* * *

“Is it good?” She pushes a glass of juice toward me as I inhale the last of the spicy tuna rolls she put in front of me less than a minute earlier.

“Terrible,” I say with my mouth full and lick hot sauce off my fingers. “A health hazard. I think you’re trying to poison me.”

She giggles, but then her eyes focus on my finger-licking and widen a little before she turns away.

“I’ll let Kayla know how much you hated her rolls,” she says.

“Oh, she made them?” I could have eaten another ten of the tiny things, but I gulp down the juice instead. “They’re really good. Maybe she could show me how to make them one day.”

“You want to learn how to cook?”

I put my glass down, shrug. “Yeah. Is it weird? I’ve watched Mel at the taco stand, but I can’t eat tacos every night.”

She blinks at me, looking confused. “Can’t you cook something else?”

“If I knew, I would.” Now my belly’s full, my eyelids are drooping. I stifle a yawn. “It’s strange, having a kitchen, you know, where you can store food and cook and stuff. On the street you just grab what’s cheap and ready.”

Her face falls, and yeah, I’ve shoved her into the shitty reality of my past again. I keep forgetting most people have no clue what that’s like.

Not sure whether I should say I’m sorry for speaking out or cut my losses and shut up.

But then she says, “I’m sorry.”

What is she sorry for?

“Well, I’m not. Having a kitchen is damn cool, let me tell you that.”

She huffs a little laugh and pushes at my shoulder with her hand. “Shut up. You know what I mean.” When I stare at her, lost, she swallows hard and sits back down across from me. “I’m sorry you had to live like that before. It makes me sad.”

I hate pity. All my life I’ve fought it. I’m a proud person, although I’ve had to crack down on my pride quite a few times to avoid checking out of this world. Still… I’m glad she’s not pitying me, because otherwise I’d be out the door already.

And thinking she’s sad on my behalf sends those bands of warmth tightening around my chest until I can hardly breathe.

“Today…” I turn the cool glass in my hands, making it squeak on the table. “Today’s Helen’s birthday.”

I have no clue why I’m telling her this, sitting at the little table in her bright kitchen, spilling my guts out. I haven’t talked about Helen since the day she vanished. What’s wrong with me?

And worse still, why can’t I seem able to fucking stop?

“I always toast her with a shot of brandy on her birthday. She liked the stuff. I save a bottle in my room for special occasions.” I force my hands to still on top of the table. “I asked Mel to let me leave early. Not because of Helen, just…”

My fists are so tight my nails bite into the flesh of my palm, and yet I can’t feel any pain. Numb.

“What happened?” Her hands slide over mine like cool water, covering my fists, until I relax them and let my hands lie flat on the table. “When you got home?”

“Things went to hell before that.” I draw a breath and find myself trembling, so I pull away my hands and let them fall on my thighs. “On the way, I met Jason. He’s a hooker, still works the streets. He’s the one who found me that night when I was attacked, three years ago.”

“The night you got the scars?”

I find myself scratching at them unconsciously, and make myself stop. “Yeah. Jason has been on my case since then to report what happened to the police. I refused. Guy who cut me up is a gang leader. He’ll have my head on a spike if he finds out.”

She pales as she bows her head, taking this in. “I understand.”

Not fucking likely, not without knowing the whole story, and fuck if I’m ever telling her.

“Yeah, well. Jason insisted I should report the guy, said he’s been harassing everyone in the neighborhood. Harassing people I know, that I lived side by side with.” I heave a breath that seems stuck in my chest. “Jason was right. The guy attacked another homeless boy early this morning, cut him up. Kyle is his name. He’s at the fucking hospital. I don’t know the boy, but if I had reported the sicko back then, if I had done something… this wouldn’t have happened. Fuck, this is on me.”

A screech alerts me to the fact she’s pushed back her chair. I look up to see her walk around the table. She kneels at my feet. I have no clue what she’s doing, not even when she takes my hands in hers and squeezes.

“And then what happened?” she asks softly, so softly that I have to tell her, have to keep talking, because for once in my life someone is paying attention. Yeah, Zane and Rafe and the guys asked me some questions, but they mostly let me be, and I was grateful.

But now it’s not enough. Not anymore. I need… someone to know, to understand. I need Amber to understand. It’s never been so important to me before.

I want to wrap myself in her and just be.

“Then I returned to the apartment. I went to get my bottle of brandy, and it was fucking gone. Fucking roommates.”

“They took it?”

“Assholes.” What a clusterfuck. I can’t look at her, too raw, too pissed. Tonight of all nights… “They can’t respect my stuff. It’s not the first time. Just because they have money and can buy more of whatever they feel like at any moment doesn’t mean I can, too. Fuckers.” I realize I’m shaking again, and I don’t know why. “I punched Gage, and he gave as good as he got, then Travis got between us. Sorry, Embers. I’m just…”

I shake my head, unable to explain anything, and turn my baseball cap around, hiding my face in the shadow of the brim.

She squeezes my hands again and I force myself to lift my head and meet her eyes. She doesn’t look upset by my cursing and strange mood. She only looks… thoughtful.

“Come with me,” she says and gets to her feet, pulling on my hands until I get up and follow her. She leads me out of the kitchen and into the empty living room. My feet drag, heavy as stones. I’m suddenly so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open as she tugs me to the sofa and pushes me down on it.

I land with an oof on the lumpy cushions. “Decided to satisfy your burning curiosity after all?”

“Curiosity?” She doesn’t join me on the sofa, which should be a big fat hint she isn’t really interested, but I’m too tired to care and to stop my mouth from spewing words.

“About the size of my dick.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt you are a big dick.” She shakes her head. She’s a quick study, this girl. “Stay here.”

I open my mouth to ask where she’s going, then openly stare at her pretty ass encased in a mini-mini jeans skirt as she leaves the room.

She returns, holding a bottle in her hands.

A bottle of brandy.

This time she does climb onto the sofa next to me, curls by my side like a cat, tucking her feet under her, and unscrews the top of the bottle. She raises it toward me, and there’s a sadness in her eyes that resonates inside me, because my heart hammers against my ribs.

“To Helen,” she whispers, and I take the brandy bottle blindly from her hand.

Saluting her, I take a long swig straight from the bottle to drown whatever it is that’s welling inside me. It feels like a tidal wave that’s gonna pull me under.

“To Helen,” I say.

Thank you for saving me when I had nobody. I won’t forget you.

* * *

“Do you have to work early tomorrow?” She’s curled under my arm, just like a kitten, big blue eyes staring up at me. The brandy bottle has ended up half-empty, and I’m clutching it at my other side.

“Nah. Did my two cleaning shifts this week, and I have no training tomorrow.” I let my head fall back on the backrest of the sofa. “Dammit. Zane’s pushing me to do more pieces, and I’ll fuck up, I just know it.”

“He’s your teacher. If he thinks you’re ready, then you fucking up is his problem.”

“Yeah, right. You think if I lose him a customer, and worse still, if I give his shop a bad name, he won’t chuck me out?”

She sits up and makes a grab for the bottle. I let her have it. After all, it’s hers. “No, I really don’t think he’ll chuck you out. What’s more, I don’t think he’ll let you do any real damage. He’ll be there, won’t he?”

She has a point. How can I make her understand my fear? “I always screw up. I was placed with a couple families over the years.” I roll my head away from her. “They couldn’t deal with me.”

“Bastards,” she mutters, and I blink in shock. I turn back toward her, needing to see her face, sure she’s making fun of me.

She looks dead serious and kinda pissed. Cute, too. Sexy.

Damn.

“They were good people. They took in lots of kids. I caused too much trouble.”

“You are trouble.” She puts the bottle down on the coffee table and places a hand on my cheek. Soft. Smooth. Warm. “I can’t imagine anyone giving you up, though. I wouldn’t want to.”

“You’re drunk, kitten.” I smile, turn to kiss her palm, and see her eyes darken.

She lets her hand drop on my shoulder. “If I am, you have to trust me. Drunk people always tell the truth.”

Hell, I feel like I’m cracking open for this girl.

“Why…?” I shake my head. “Why are you saying these things? Why do you keep asking me questions and… and being nice to me?”

She kneads my shoulder, and my eyes all but roll up in my head with pleasure. “Because you’re interesting.”

“I’m not interesting, Embers. I’m just fucked up.” And that’s the sad truth.

“And kind. And funny.” She leans into me, her warm breath caressing my neck, and lightning bolt desire shoots down my balls and into my dick. “And I like you a lot.”

I tighten my arm around her, sliding my fingers over the curve of her hip, and lick my dry lips. The need to kiss her is staggering, huge. Impossible to resist.

She draws back. “Come to bed, JJ. We both fit there, and Kayla won’t wake you up when she comes in at some ungodly hour.”

My brows shoot up to my hairline. She’s drunk.

I shouldn’t.

But she doesn’t even slur her words, and when she gets up, she seems perfectly steady. It occurs to me I was the one holding the bottle. She only had two to three sips this whole time, so maybe…

“You sure, kitten?”

“Yes, come. I have a spare toothbrush you can use.”

Toothbrush. Last thing on my mind.

She grins and pulls on my hand, small, sharp tugs. “It’s late. Let’s catch some sleep.”

Only problem is, I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to go to sleep with her lying by my side.

* * *

Her bedroom is small, done in shades of cool purple and red, from the drapes at the window to the bed cover and carpet. Books line the two shelves on the wall, and a closer inspection reveals books about art, jewelry, artisanal beads and strings, and fittingly, traveling. Escaping.

I’m thumbing through an account of a journey to Borneo—is that in Africa? Not sure—when a pendant hanging from a nail on the wall catches my eye.

A copper wire, and threaded on it is a small stone carving of a lion, no bigger than the tip of my thumb. The stone is black and shiny, and cool to the touch.

I don’t hear her until she’s right behind me and touches me on the small of my back, making me jump three feet off the floor.

“Jesus! Warn a man first. Fucking hell.” I clap a hand dramatically to my heart, and she snickers.

“Your turn in the bathroom. I left the new toothbrush there.”

I’d answer, but my tongue is currently busy being stuck to the roof of my mouth. Holy motherfucking shit. She’s changed into tiny red shorts and a loose white blouse that is so soft it molds to her tits and hips, and I’ve gone from soft to hard in a heartbeat.

I stifle a moan as I reach down to adjust myself inside my jeans, and fuck if her gaze doesn’t follow the movement, widening a little.

Yeah, see what you do to me, kitten.

“You, uh…” She tears her eyes off my crotch and gestures at the pendant. “Like it?”

“Uh, yeah.” I realize I’m still staring at her pretty tits, and it’s my turn to force my gaze away. “It’s a lion.”

“Yeah. I made it, years ago, when we left to go to Chicago.”

“You said you left because of the bullying.”

She flinches at the word, and unconsciously I reach for her. I pull her against my side, curling an arm around her slender frame, as if I can protect her from any hurt.

“Yes. My parents decided leaving would be best. And they were right. It gave me the space and peace I needed to rebuild some of my confidence and self-esteem.”

I tighten my hold on her, the thought of anything bad happening to her hurting like a jagged glass stuck in my chest. “Good.”

“That was when I started getting seriously interested in art and crafts. My dad, he comes from the East Coast, from Rhode Island. He had this stone he found on the shore when he was little and other kids picked on him. He was a scrawny thing, unlike me.”

“Good,” I tell her truthfully. “I like you the way you are. You’re perfect.”

She snorts, and I bury my nose in her hair. It smells of coconut and sunlight. “Anyway, he got the stone and convinced himself it was some sort of ancient talisman that could protect him from any violence. Its shape already roughly resembled an animal. He gave it to me, and I carved and polished it, hung it around my neck.”

“But you’re not wearing it anymore.”

“I’ve come a long way since then,” she whispers and leans her head on my chest, over my heart. I wonder if she can hear how fast it’s beating, what her closeness is producing in me. “When I realized I don’t need it anymore, I took it off.”

“It’s beautiful.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “You know what I said, about a toy I had?”

“Embers,” she says softly. “You said it was the only thing you had from your childhood.”

She remembers. The realization makes my eyes sting, and I don’t know the hell why. “Yeah. I guess the color was golden, like embers from a fire. It was a stuffed animal. A small, filthy thing without eyes or a tail.” I glance again at the pendant. “A lion.”

She makes a small distressed sound, and I pull away to look at her. But before I do, she ducks under my arm and jumps on the bed.

Hiding from me, and I’m drawn to her more and more, and I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s the pain of her past, the bullying, the loss of her belief in herself. The move away from her childhood, the fear of losing it all. The fear of never being able to trust anyone ever again.

I know that feeling. I know that pain.

Fuck me. I think I know now why she felt so familiar from the start. I didn’t meet her before, and she doesn’t remind me of anyone else I know.

She reminds me of myself.

* * *

Teeth brushed, face splashed with cold water, I’m standing in Amber’s bedroom, leaning back on the closed door. Clutching my baseball cap in my hand, I hesitate, not sure what she expects of me. The buzz of alcohol is fading, and I’m hyper aware of her soft, sexy body curled under the covers.

She sits up, and the golden light of her bedside lamp catches the sweet curve of her cheek, her soft lips, the pale roundness of her breasts over the neckline of her blouse.

Mouth gone dry, I stare, my pants growing tighter by the second, my dick so excited you’d think I’ve never seen a chick before.

Ridiculous. Fucking hilarious. Jesse the manwhore, hesitating to jump into bed with a girl. Only, I’ve never been in a bed with a girl, and let’s face it, never a girl as pretty as this. As kind as this. As smart and funny, getting under my skin, making me fantasize about her. Making me feel.

Damn.

If I get into her bed, we’ll have sex. I know it by looking at her face. She wants it. Wants me. Her chest is rising and falling fast, her breathing ragged. As for me, if I climb under the covers and take her in my arms, I won’t be able to stop myself from taking her hard.

And then it will be over. She’ll be just another girl, another fuck.

I don’t want that, and it scares me shitless.

You don’t mix sexual fantasies with feelings, ever. Feelings are… dangerous. Like her. But it’s too late. I can’t stop feeling when she’s around, and it fucking hurts.

“JJ?” Her voice is low and light, wrapping like a fine thread around me, tugging me toward her.

I kick off my shoes, take off my socks, undo my belt and push down my pants, letting them pool around my ankles. Her gaze follows my movements as I step free, then I tear off my T-shirt as I walk toward the bed.

Her eyes are dark pools in the dimness. She scoots back, giving me space to climb in beside her. I expect her to touch me, say something, but she lies on her side, watching me as I stretch down and fold an arm behind my head.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her bare, long legs. Her tits fight to be free of her top, soft and so unbearably close. One second more of this and I’ll roll over, grab her and—

Her hand alights on my chest, and I still. The warmth of her palm sends a shiver of fire all the way to my balls.

“What do you need, kitten?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Say it.”

She shakes her head and bites her lip.

I should close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep, but I can’t look away. She’s a contradiction—shy and yet quick to reply, pretty and yet unaware of it, scared and yet courageous. Sexy. Distant.

So damn close to my raging hard-on, and yet so damn far I could weep.

“Embers—”

“Your turn,” she says ands sits up, the covers pooling at her waist. Her dark hair tumbles around her face, on her shoulders, and her eyes… Fuck, they’re like mirrors. Mirrors reflecting me. “What do you want?”

She looks nervous. I open my mouth to give her a flippant reply—but I can’t find the words. What is she doing to me?

So I do the only thing I know how. I twist and slide my hands under her blouse, finding her lush tits and thumbing her nipples which harden. The breath leaves her lungs in a whoosh and she falls back against the cushions, her eyes wide.

“JJ…”

“I’ll take care of you, kitten.” I drag her blouse up and off her, and put my mouth on her pretty nipples. I love her sweet taste, her scent of caramel and the fainter whiff of coconut from her hair. My dick jumps and twitches between my legs as I lick and lightly bite, then switch to her other breast and repeat. Fuck, I’m so turned on I’m in real danger of coming from this little taste. “Let me.”

She moans something, writhing as I slip her tiny shorts and lacey panties off, then dip my finger into her tight heat.

Christ.

Getting chicks off with my hands, yeah, I’m good at that. An expert. Been doing it all my life. What I need… Hell, who cares what I need? What she makes me want and wish for. It’s easier to fall back into the role I know by heart, the one expected of me.

She convulses, letting out a mewling cry, and I bow my head, sobbing for breath, my dick throbbing and weeping inside my briefs, aching like a bitch for release.

What the fuck am I doing with this chick—in her bed, for chrissakes? I never do this shit. I need to get out before I give in and fuck her. Fuck her up, like I do with everything that means something to me.

But before I roll out of bed to search for my clothes and run like hell, she grabs my arms and holds on with surprising strength.

“Where are you going?” she asks, her voice a bit raspy, her eyes heavy-lidded.

I swallow hard. If possible, she looks even sexier now, loose-limbed and disheveled, her tits exposed. Looking at her rosy nipples makes me lick my lips, hungry to taste more of her, taste the sweetness of her pussy, make her scream—only I never go down on chicks, and that’s a rule I’ve never broken.

“That wasn’t fair,” she whispers. “I asked what you wanted. You, not me.”

What is she talking about?

“I don’t…” I have to clear my voice and try again. “I don’t understand.”

Because I really don’t.

When I worked the sidewalk, the women who went with me had specific ideas in mind of what they desired—fantasies their husbands couldn’t give them. Mostly it was me, fucking them hard against the wall, in the kitchen, on the sofa. They paid me to play out a role and make them come, and I did.

Afterward, the chicks I’ve been with also knew what they needed. They told me how to get them off—hands or cock—and the shortest way to get me off, too. We never kissed. Never held hands. Never hugged or touched otherwise. They thought that’s how all guys think, that they’d win points with me for not wasting time, racing toward pleasure.

They didn’t win any points. They never thought to ask. They never…

“You always ask what I want,” she whispers, her lashes casting impossibly long shadows on her cheeks, her wild hair framing her face. So goddamn beautiful. “What about what you want?”

I could still make fun of it, laugh it off, ignore the strange twinge in my chest at her desire to please me. Tell her I want to bury myself balls-deep inside her and fuck her until I come. I could tell her she’s stupid for asking.

But that’s not what comes out of my mouth.

“I wanna kiss you,” I breathe. “And hold you.”

The fuck?

Her eyes widen, and we stare at each other, both shocked at my words. I’m sure she’s about to laugh, or sneer, or ask me if I’m serious—am I?

Instead, she bends over, brushes her lips over mine—and I’m gone.