Roscoe had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

Ally stood naked before him, her skin glowing in the moonlight, lips swollen from kissing. There were flecks of blue and green paint in her wild hair, a violet smudge on her chin, and whether it made sense or not, Roscoe saw his entire future reflected in her eyes. Hockey games. Trips to Maine with his family. All the art shows he was sure she’d book. Reggie’s graduation. They’d be together through it all.

It was crazy. He was crazy. But that’s how he felt. Deep in his heart he knew there would be no backing off now. No giving her space, no waiting patiently to see where this thing led. When it came to Ally Heinz, he was in.

All in.

Roscoe took a breath. Then another. He was so fucking in love with her it made his chest hurt. He had to touch her again. Kiss her. Claim her completely.

“Ally,” he breathed.

She smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes.

Something had changed.

“I, um…” She looked at the door again, then reached for the silk bathrobe hanging from a hook on the back of it. “I…”

“I don’t think so.” Roscoe leaned forward and snatched away the robe, shoving it behind his back. “You,” he said, patting the spot on the bed next to him, still warm from her body. “Bed. Now.”

She smiled again, but it was way off. She looked a little pale, too.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on? You look—”

“Thirsty.” She smiled again, a little softer this time. “And starving. You must be, too.”

Roscoe opened his mouth to protest, but his stomach growled, giving him away.

“Tell you what,” she said. “You stay here and keep the bed warm, and I’ll go down and fix us something to eat.”

“Let me.” He rose from the bed, but she waved him away.

“Roscoe, I’m fine. Seriously. Just don’t get too excited—I’m not the gourmet chef in this operation.”

“No, but you are naked.” Roscoe grinned, taking in the full view of her sexy curves, her tattoos. “Whatever you make will automatically taste better.”

She finally laughed, and Roscoe relaxed. She just needed a little refueling, that’s all.

While Ally raided the fridge, Roscoe ducked into the shower for a quick rinse, hoping whatever snack she came up with would be fast and easy. He may be the foodie of the pair, but when it came to choosing between snacks and his woman, there was no competition.

Especially when that woman was naked.

Roscoe showered in record time, shut off the water, then reached for the stack of clean towels he’d spotted on the vanity counter. But Ally had left a half-open purse there too, and his big-ass hands managed to knock her stuff right into the sink.

Not bothering to fully dry himself, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower, hoping he hadn’t ruined anything from her bag. Wallet, checkbook, and phone looked okay, along with a couple of tubes of lipstick and a lotion.

Underneath all that, a small picture frame lay face-down in the sink.

Shit. He gingerly picked it up and turned it over, hoping like hell he hadn’t cracked the glass.

Nope. But what he saw instead damn near stopped his heart.

A note, tucked into the corner outside the glass, smudged a bit from the water in the sink, but still legible.

Can’t wait for tomorrow, Allycat. —Love, D

And the photo behind it, kicking him right in the gut.

Ally, tangled up in the arms of another man. It was a casual shot, but they were dressed in formal wear, maybe for a wedding or party. Probably dancing, stopping just long enough to smile for the photographer. The dude was looking at the camera, but Ally… Hell. She only had eyes for him. Her entire face lit up, that smile stretching from here to California.

Roscoe wondered if Reggie had taken the photo. Or Clarissa. Or maybe someone else in Ally’s orbit, some other part of her life he didn’t know because she hadn’t let him in.

A stab of betrayal shot through his heart, kickstarting it once again.

Roscoe leaned back against the counter, the only thing holding him up. His heart thudded against his ribs like a damn wild animal, his head spinning. He could’ve dealt with anything—anything Ally could’ve possibly thrown at him.

But not this.

It was his worst nightmare come to life, a replay on the darkest, most painful time in his life. He tried to resist the toxic pull of the past, but he was helpless in its grip, memories flashing through his mind like a slideshow… Walking into his house after a grueling week in California, wanting nothing more than to surprise the woman he loved… Finding another man’s shoes by the door… Holding out hope that it was her brother, her father, their elderly neighbor… Following the sounds of her laughter to his bedroom…

Lock it down, asshole. Ally isn’t your ex. There’s an explanation.

Dragging himself back into the bedroom, he wanted desperately to believe it—that there was some perfectly logical reason for Ally to carry around a framed photo like this. And the note… Hell, there weren’t too many ways to interpret that.

He slumped onto the bed in his towel, still gripping the frame in his hand.

Ally finally returned from the kitchen carrying a big tray stacked with shit. She’d put on a long T-shirt, but her hair was still rumpled and wild, her cheeks pink.

I did that. Put those sexy as hell knots in her hair. That blush on her cheeks. Not him. Not this dude in the picture. Look at her—she couldn’t fake something like that.

Right?

Setting the tray on top of her dresser, Ally said, “We’ve got your standard cheese and cracker spread, some hummus and veggies, strawberries from the… Okay, you know what? I have to tell you something.”

When she finally turned to look at him, she was smiling again. Her real smile—the one that lit her up from the inside and made him feel like the luckiest damn bastard in the world. Whatever was bugging her before seemed to have vanished. She looked so peaceful now, so beautiful, Roscoe almost didn’t want to ruin it. Because once he said something, once he showed her this picture and demanded answers, what they had together would change. No matter what the explanation, Roscoe knew that things could never go back to the way they were even fifteen minutes ago—innocent and perfect. Unmarred by his doubts, however quickly they might pass.

But things had changed. Roscoe could no more erase that picture from his mind than he could erase this man from Ally’s past. Or present.

As for the future? Fuck, it hurt too much to think about that.

“Ally,” he whispered. His throat was tight with emotion, his gut churning.

Roscoe watched her eyes fill with concern, watched her smile fade, watched her gaze lower to his hands. Watched as recognition dawned, draining the color from her face.

His fingers gripped the frame so hard they were turning white.

Things were not looking good.

“Where… where did you get that?” she asked.

But Roscoe only had one word for her, soft and quiet, the stone-cold calm in his voice belying the storm of emotions swirling inside.

“Explain,” he whispered.

And please don’t let this be what I think it is.