Ally didn’t remember packing up her paintings for the auction, or saying goodbye to their friends, or anything about the drive home. One minute Roscoe was kissing her senseless in the middle of the art room while all the Wellshire residents cheered and whistled, and then they were stumbling into her house through the front door, frantically shedding their clothes. Surely they must have come up for air during the drive over, but in that moment it seemed to Ally as if they’d been kissing for hours, the rest of the world put on pause just for them.

All that existed for her now was that kiss, the sweet press of his mouth, the heat of his breath as it intermingled with hers. Her heart hammered wildly, but this wasn’t the old familiar beat of Ally’s anxiety. This was new, louder, even more frantic, yet beautiful and strong—a beat belonging to this man alone.

I’m in love with you.

The words echoed in her memory, filling her with warmth and happiness as Roscoe lifted Ally into his arms and carried her up to the bedroom without a word.

Gently he laid her on the bed and stripped off the rest of her clothes, his eyes roving over her naked body, drinking her in like he always did. Only this time, he seemed to be seeing her through new eyes.

“You take my breath away,” he whispered.

Ally felt herself blush, but she didn’t look away. Not for an instant. She ran her paint-flecked hands through his hair, marveling once again that this beautiful, compassionate, amazing man had come into her life.

Had fallen in love with her.

Closing her eyes, she sank into the delicious pleasure of his kiss on her neck, the swirl of his tongue behind her ear, the heat of his breath warming her skin as he traveled down her chest, her belly, between her thighs.

Her legs parted easily, welcoming his hot mouth against her flesh. She was so close to the edge, so close to shattering into a million pieces, but she wouldn’t. Not yet.

She pulled back, arcing her body away from his dangerously seductive mouth. “I don’t want to come without you.”

A low, sexy growl rumbled in Roscoe’s chest, and then he was on top of her, his mouth closing over hers, capturing her kiss as his muscled body pinned her to the bed. She tasted herself on his lips, his tongue, and it made her even more wet for him, more desperate for the feel of his smooth, thick cock between her thighs.

But Roscoe liked to take his time with Ally, to draw out her pleasure until she could barely stand it, and no amount of begging or writhing would change his mind.

God, she loved that about him.

He moaned into her mouth, allowing her to savor his kiss for only a moment longer before pulling away, slowly dragging his tongue down her neck, into the hollow of her throat. He kissed her collarbone, then closed his mouth over her nipple, sucking her until she ached with need. Her core throbbed, everything in her pulsating and hot.

“Please don’t tease me,” she whispered, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Roscoe was a master at the fine art of teasing.

“You teased me all night,” he said, sliding his hand down between her thighs. His thumb circled her clit, slow and torturous. Ally closed her eyes and whispered his name, but he was relentless, fingers brushing her entrance. “Watching you paint,” he said, dipping briefly inside her, then pulling out. “You were so fucking wild tonight. Beautiful. All I could think about was taking you home, spreading you out on the bed like this. Touching you. Tasting you.”

Ally shook her head, raking her nails down his back and grabbing his ass. She arched her hips, trying to entice him closer. “I want you inside me. I can’t wait.”

“Not yet, beautiful.” Roscoe stroked her again, his thumb still teasing her clit, making her whole body shudder. “Close your eyes.”

Ally surrendered, her eyes fluttering closed as she gave herself over to his command. Roscoe sucked her nipple again, teasing her with his teeth, his tongue. She was dancing on the precipice of her release, everything in her winding tight, her core throbbing as Roscoe touched and teased and…

“Roscoe!” Ally gasped, her eyes opening wide as he finally slid inside her, so deep and perfect it nearly stopped her heart. Her body was screaming out for the pure, blissful release waiting for her just on the other side, but she held back, forcing herself to relax, to deny it, to hit rewind and make this last as long as possible. They had the whole night together, and Ally intended to enjoy every intense, seductive, red-hot moment.

Roscoe rolled his hips, filling her once more completely before pulling back out, driving her wild, inch by agonizing inch.

Without warning he grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach, then slid back into her entrance from behind, slow at first, then faster, harder. Ally pushed up onto her hands and knees and tilted her hips, taking him in deeper, pushing backward against his thrusts, her whole body begging for more.

God, she wanted it so badly—the deep ache she was already beginning to feel in her thighs, the constant reminder that would bring her right back to this moment every time she tried to sit down tomorrow. As if he could read her body’s every desire, Roscoe gripped her hips and dug his fingers into her flesh. He owned her. Possessed her so completely, Ally nearly forgot her own name.

She’d never been so excited, so wet, so close to spontaneous combustion in her entire life.

“More,” she breathed, barely able to get the word out.

Roscoe growled behind her, then ran his hand up her back, his fingers sliding into her hair, grabbing a fist full. She pushed against the headboard again, backing into him, still wanting more.

Roscoe leaned forward, sliding his hand around her front, down between her sweat-damp thighs.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear as he ghosted over her clit. “Tell me how to make you—”

“Roscoe!” Ally gasped. It was too late—she couldn’t hold back another second. Her thighs trembled as her body tightened around him, the flames in her lower belly exploding in a raging inferno as he plunged inside. Roscoe let out a final, raspy growl and grabbed her hips again, shuddering against her flesh as he rode out his own release. After what felt like an eternity, they collapsed together onto the bed with a final shared gasp of pure pleasure.

Cocooned by his strong, heavy body, Ally closed her eyes, inhaling his scent, memorizing the way it made her feel. Roscoe pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, then reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze so gentle and reassuring it brought tears to her eyes.

He was in love with her. Roscoe LeGrand was in love with her.

“Roscoe,” Ally breathed, but her voice was gone. Her words were gone. She wasn’t even sure whether her heart was still beating, her lungs still breathing, her blood still singing in her veins. All she had left was the taste of his kiss and the memory of his fevered touch still coursing through her body.

Ally smiled. Right now, that was all she needed.

* * *

Two hours and another marathon session later, spent and dizzy and light as a butterfly, Ally collapsed onto the bed and stretched out on her stomach, her hands sliding beneath the cool pillow. Roscoe lay next to her, tracing the tattoos on her back with a light touch. Ally drifted in and out, barely conscious of anything but the delicious ache between her thighs, every muscle in her body crying out with delicious exhaustion.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard Roscoe talking to her. They’d gone so long without words, it took her brain a minute to translate.

“Should I set an alarm for tomorrow?” Roscoe was asking. His voice was low and smooth in the darkness. “So you don’t miss work?”

“Mmm. Aren’t we playing hooky from real life?”

Roscoe pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, making her shiver. “This is our real life.”

Ally let out a sigh of pure contentment. It didn’t seem possible that this was her real life. She almost didn’t want to open her eyes, afraid he’d vanish like so many of the best dreams.

But the promise of seeing his face again was too tempting. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

Roscoe was watching her intently, and when she looked up at him, he grinned.

“What are you smiling at?” she teased.

“I’m sleeping over.” He sounded like a kid bragging to his friends about how he’d gotten the best Christmas present. “Right here. In your bed. With you.”

“Yes, and we’ve got the whole place to ourselves until morning. I don’t want to speak for you, but I don’t plan on getting out of this bed except for emergencies.”

“We’re so on the same page, it’s not even funny.”

They sat up together, leaning against the headboard for support. Roscoe laced his fingers through hers.

“I had a great time tonight,” she said softly.

“Me too.” Roscoe kissed her shoulder. “Ally, when you said you could draw and paint, I had no idea you could do… that.”

“Honestly, neither did I.” Ally smiled, remembering the way she’d felt in front of the canvas—like her entire body wanted to break out in song. “Guess I’ve evolved from my dead bird phase.”

“That’s an understatement.” Roscoe shook his head. “You’re amazing, Ally. You made something that could hang in a damn museum. And that was just paint night at the Wellshire community room. Why did you stop painting in the first place?”

Ally shrugged and rested her head on his shoulder. “I made other choices. Let it go.”

“But you’re an artist,” he said. It wasn’t a question, and the certainty in his voice left no room for argument.

“Wow.” Ally laughed. “No one has called me the a-word since college.”

Roscoe grabbed her chin, tilting her face toward his. “No one has seen what I saw tonight. What I see every time I look into those big brown eyes. There’s so much inside you, Ally. So much love and fire and passion and just… everything.”

Ally’s heart thumped hard in her chest. She hadn’t thought about her creative dreams since before Reggie was born. But suddenly she found herself inviting some of those dreams back in.

It was a dangerous thing, letting yourself dream. Samantha Hart might not think so, but Ally knew how fragile a dream could be. How devastating when things didn’t work out.

“I don’t know jack about painting, okay?” Roscoe continued. “But I know what it feels like to want something that badly. To get a taste of something and just know down in your bones that it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be. I saw it in you tonight, Ally. As soon as you started on that canvas, it’s like you were just… transported. Possessed. And if you’ve got something that big inside your heart, you need to find a way to get it out.”

She hadn’t thought about it like that, but now that Roscoe had said it, Ally didn’t think she could have worded it any better.

She did have things inside her, things clamoring for expression. Pain and joy and creation and love and death and life and everything in between. Life had done its best to crush her, and in many ways it had succeeded. Dan’s death had left a gaping hole in her chest—no one would ever deny that. But now Ally wondered whether there was another hole inside her, too—one she’d put there herself long ago.

She was an artist once. A free spirit who poured her creative passions out onto canvas or paper or wood or any medium she could get her hands on.

Dan had fallen in love with her then, with her art that had been so much a part of who she was. But over the years, their lives had taken a different path. Not bad, just different. He’d chosen to go into management, and she’d chosen to stay home with Reggie.

She didn’t regret those choices—never had. It was what she’d truly wanted at the time, and raising Reggie had given her life unexpected meaning and purpose and challenges she never could have predicted. She wouldn’t trade any of that—not for the world.

But just as her life had taken a new path after she’d fallen in love and married Dan, so had her life taken another path after his death. She hadn’t chosen that path—she’d been shoved onto it, crashing down on her hands and knees. But that didn’t mean she had to keep lying there in dirt, waiting for something—or someone—to come along and save her. Maybe it was time to stand up and dust herself off.

Maybe it was time to start exploring her passions again. Isn’t that what Reggie was doing? Bravely stepping out onto the ice every week, working her heart out for Roscoe and their team, coming home from practice exhausted and happy? Doing what she loved, no matter what the risks and the pain?

Tears welled in her eyes, but Ally was smiling, her heart filling up with something she hadn’t felt in years: inspiration.

“What’s so funny?” Roscoe asked. Ally was full-on laughing now, the idea taking root and blossoming into a full-blown garden in her heart, just like the paintings she’d done at Wellshire tonight.

When she spoke again, she was practically giddy. “I think I’m going to start painting again. Not just at Wellshire. But seriously.”

She bolted out of bed, not even bothering to cover herself. Her mind was too busy thinking about the possibilities. The house had a decent sized den off the living room—she could easily turn that into a studio. There was plenty of natural light, windows for ventilation, and lots of shelving for her supplies.

Ally couldn’t believe this was happening. Her art was a thing she’d locked in a box so long ago, she honestly thought she’d lost the key.

Until tonight.

Until Roscoe.

Yes, he’d taken her painting tonight, putting her in front of a canvas for the first time in more than fifteen years. But more than that, he’d inspired her. Encouraged her. Made her feel safe and whole and unafraid again.

Roscoe LeGrand had made her believe in the impossible.

And Ally had fallen madly, insanely, impossibly in love with him.

She opened her mouth to tell him just that, but as soon as the L-word formed on her tongue, she froze. Her lips went numb, her mouth dry. Behind her ribs, her heart skittered and skipped, making her feel lightheaded. With every erratic beat a new fear pulsed, warnings echoing against her skull.

Love never lasts.

You can’t have it all.

You are going to lose him, just like you lost Dan.

All the levity she’d felt, all the elation about her art and Roscoe and their bright, beautiful future vanished in an instant, and in rushed the darkness, sucking her under a wave of pure terror.

The walls were closing in, the air leaking out of the room, the lights dimming to black.

Her eyes darted toward the door, then back to Roscoe, who was looking up at her like she’d hung the damn moon.

“Ally,” he breathed.

Ally forced a smile she didn’t feel, then cut her eyes back to the door.

She had to get out of there. Right now.