“I’m taking you to dinner,” Gretch announced. “The biggest steak in Chicago.” Her smile was so open and friendly, Sean ached at shutting it down.

“I’m vegan, but thank you.”

“Well, you have to be starving. Where can I take you?”

He picked up the duffel bag Dwayne had dropped off for her almost two hours ago, and eased the strap over his shoulder. “I bought a tofu bowl a couple of blocks over before Dwayne arrived. Oh, and he said you should read his text. He was pretty disappointed you wouldn’t be home tonight. He had a surprise for you.”

She nodded but didn’t dig for her phone. “Let’s stop for a drink, then. My treat.”

“No thanks,” he said lightly. No way could he follow vegan with: “I don’t drink, either.” His body was his temple, but explaining that sure made him sound like a sissy. “I’d just as soon drop you at your hotel and call it a night.” He nodded stiffly in the direction they needed to head, and yep, he’d wiped the smile right off her face. But he was beat from last night’s insomnia, and they were still in South Shore. It’d take an hour to get home even if he were to leave right now.

“You know what?” Gretch flipped a hand. “Just go. I’ll be fine.” She reached for her duffel, but he blocked her with his body. He never wanted a repeat of this morning, thinking she’d been kidnapped because he’d let her leave the dojo by herself.

She huffed out a breath, tucked her purse under her armpit, and walked rapidly up the street. In deference to her snit, he stayed half a step behind, but when they crossed South Colfax, he pulled abreast. He’d been curious about her volunteer work since Dwayne had mentioned it yesterday morning. “How’d it go?”

She shrugged. “Like always. You try to instill a sense of normalcy into lives that are far off the normal bell curve.”

“What do you do there?”

“Mostly talk to the residents. Sometimes I give training lessons and nutritional advice.”

“That’s really cool, Gretch.”

She shrugged. The pedestrian light turned red, and Sean automatically slowed even though the street was empty. Gretch jaywalked diagonally across the intersection, and he hurried to catch up. Break rules. Bad boy. Got it. “So how did you get involved with the shelter?”

Her brisk pace and hunched shoulders clearly signaled his lame attempts to engage her were getting on her nerves instead. “I champion the helpless. Women, children, old people…”

I’ll say. “You had quite a reaction to Adyton in his shop after only meeting him once.”

The clip-clip of her heels grew more energetic. Any faster and they’d break into a jog. Her feet had to be killing her. “You know, as hot as your brother is,” she said curtly, “he’s wrong about Adyton.”

The words had the impact of a javelin, penetrating Sean’s chest. Pain propelled him to chuckle without mirth. “I bet there’s no provenance on that Quran.”

“I’m not talking about smuggling art. I’m saying his money isn’t going to that fundamentalist religion. He’s Shiʿite. ISIS would kill him if they could.”

“I didn’t know you were familiar with politics in the Middle East.” He meant it as a compliment, but by the rigid set of her shoulders, the comment had torpedoed whatever good spirits had existed between them tonight.

“This’ll probably come as a great shock, Sean, but I’m not stupid.”

“I never implied you were.”

She glanced over, her curled lip resembling Elvis Presley at his finest. “But you think I’m naïve. Going out on blind dates. Walking home alone. Flirting with a terrorist so old he needs a cane.”

He exhaled. Another conversation gone to hell in a handbasket because of his dumb mouth and her prickly exterior. “I think you’re fearless,” he said carefully, shifting her duffel bag to his other shoulder. “And sometimes it skirts a line that seems unnecessary. Almost like you’re daring yourself. Bottom line, if the FBI connects Adyton to ISIS, that’s good enough for me.” Levity popped into his brain, and he grasped it like a lifeline. “You won’t catch me kissing the old man’s cheek.”

Nothing. She marched to the curb of a busier street and jabbed the pedestrian button a few times. He stood behind her, close enough to capture her body heat and breathe her fragrance. The walk signal blinked on. She crossed without a word or a glance back.

They climbed the station platform in a silence that was fast becoming uncomfortable. The lights were bright up here, and men’s glances zeroed in on Gretch like heat-seeking missiles. Sean met every astonished look that slid his way with false confidence. Yeah, she’s mine. Which didn’t convince anyone, because she was behaving like he was gum on her shoe.

“What are the chances we can forget this conversation and start over?” he said. “Hi, how was the shelter?”

She jammed a hand on her hip and lifted her chin, looking exactly like a haughty supermodel at the end of a runway. “Who I flirt with is none of your damn business.”

Fine. Why should he put up with the bitchy, self-righteous act when he was this tired? When this many men waited like wolves in a forest for him to leave her side. “Then why am I here?” he growled.

The clickity-clack of the train in the distance caught her attention, and she walked a few paces to the right. Others shuffled forward, drawn like magnets in an invisible gamble of where the doors would open. The engineer’s face flashed past, the brakes squealed, and the train slowed. No doubt that guy had gotten a good look at Gretch too, because a set of automatic doors aligned flush with her stance. Just to prove he was right, Sean squinted at the engineer’s face in the side mirror. The man’s nose was bulbous and red, his eyes too narrow and deep-set. But his gaze was fixed and unblinking on Gretch. You can’t have her either.

Sean shook his head and followed her onto the train. Hanging around her these last two days had given him a glimpse of how effortless life was for the beautiful people. Was that why she played so fast and loose with her personal safety—bad things never happened to her? Or she somehow felt invincible in the face of a stalker and a terrorist?

He sat gingerly next to her. The hotel was one stop away, so he was fine with the freeze-out. After he dropped her off, he’d do his best to get over her. There was no way a loser like him had a shot, and it was time he stopped the pathetic mooning. Christ, he was Alfredo in Act One of La Traviata.

They walked to the hotel entrance in silence. He checked out the bright lobby through the large windows and eyed the still-busy street around them. No preppie blond dude—

“I may not be smart like you,” she said so quietly he didn’t catch the warning until his surveillance was complete. He stared into her rosy face and furious eyes. “But I know how to handle my social life. I’m fully aware of how natural it is for men to prey on women. Whether it’s me at a bar or battered women at the shelter. You’re all the same. It’s in your fucking Neanderthal DNA.” She gripped his shirt in both fists. Her clenched teeth flashed white. “I also know you want me, Sean Quinn. Just like all the others. My staying away is for your own good.”

His instant hard-on was the shameful exclamation point to the words she’d just spewed. But the passion shooting from her eyes, the feel of her pointy knuckles brushing his chest… He ached for her. “For my own good?” he sputtered. “How so?”

Her mouth screwed into a sneer. “I’d eat you alive.” She spun on her heel and marched through the whooshing automatic doors.

The primal impulse surging through him fed on his anger, the days of sleeplessness, tonight’s epic battle to be good enough for her. Women like bad boys. He lunged across the threshold, grabbed her arm, and spun her around. She collided into him, gasping. Her breasts bounced like plump pillows against his chest. He ignored his body’s heightened response and steered her backward through the lobby, where Muzak played and a ponytailed clerk answered a phone in an overly cheerful voice.

The automatic doors eased shut. Warmth surrounded them. His heart hammered. What was he doing? Her wide, chocolate eyes asked the same thing.

“Are you sure it isn’t the other way around?” Sean blurted. “Maybe you’re afraid you won’t survive me.”

Her disdain turned to surprised vulnerability. Her mouth dropped open, and he didn’t hesitate. Cupping her head, he kissed her like he did in his dreams—powerfully, passionately, conveying all his raw need. For a second she remained stiff and unyielding, and his pulse spiked in panic. Just as suddenly, she melted into him, darting out her tongue.

The feel of her, the spicy scent in his nostrils, her raw, responsive kiss, triggered a massive blood dump, and he groaned. Slanting his head, he swept into her mouth, lingering to memorize her taste. He slid his hands down the silky blouse, caressing the sleek muscles bracketing her spine, tracing the seam of her bra. She kept her palms on his pecs, like she might push him away at any moment. It was sobering enough that he broke the kiss, breathless and burning for her. Her heavy-lidded gaze focused on his mouth, her expression—if he had to guess—stunned.

“You have an unusual way of kissing,” she murmured.

Well, shit. One more thing to add to his growing list of oddities.

But wait. She’d said it differently. Like good unusual. Or had she? There was no blood reaching his brain. “I have no response to that.”

Gretch studied his face for a moment, then grabbed his hand and twirled toward the front desk. “Come on,” she said, tugging. “Bodyguard me to my room.”

He stumbled after her. “Wait,” his mouth said before his brain could clue in.

She turned, eyebrow arched.

“What will happen at work tomorrow?”

“Are you an adult?” she snapped.

“Last time I checked.”

“Do you want this?” She waved a hand down her body, like a magician’s assistant.

He swallowed. “Hell yes.”

“Then stop thinking with this head and let your other one take over.”

His mouth finally complied with his screaming brain, and he shut up. She towed him to the desk and checked herself in. The clerk went through the motions on automatic, swiping Gretch’s card and announcing the complimentary breakfast buffet in that gratingly cheery voice, not bothered in the slightest by their silence. Sean couldn’t have engaged in meaningless conversation anyway; his thoughts were like hummingbirds on crack.

The clerk handed Sean the sleeve with two keys, and Gretch bristled. Thanking the young woman, he thrust the packet at Gretch and propelled her to the elevator. She stabbed the button several times. The softly pliant body he’d held moments ago was as stiff as a steel beam. She stabbed again.

“It’s not going to come any faster,” he murmured, studying the lit numbers above the threshold descending with the speed of a glacier.

She glared at his reflection in the metal doors. “I’m trying to get to the room before my microscopic attraction for you fades any further.”

Instantly his hands grew damp. Maybe he wasn’t an adult after all, because he had an incredible urge to bang the elevator button with his fist.

What was he doing? He’d never been with a woman as formidable as Gretch. He didn’t have the suave moves or the self-confidence she was used to. Why humiliate himself any further? He turned to her profile. “Do you want me to leave?”

She swallowed, her mouth a grim line. The doors slid open.

“No,” she said in a tired voice, stepping forward. “I want that unusual kiss again.”

The second the doors closed, he dropped her duffel bag, pulled her in his arms, and put his all into the kiss. This time she moaned and clasped him, one hand sweeping up his back, the other messing up the hair on the entire right side of his head. It was a testament to his frenzy that he didn’t smooth it back down once they stumbled off.

Gretch found her room with single-minded determination. It took her several tries to unlock the door. He almost snatched her key card in his impatience. The green light finally blinked, and he shouldered the door open and ushered her in. The reading light on the nightstand showered the room in a romantic glow.

The second the door shut, she shoved him against it. His head conked wood hard enough to jolt his brain. “Ow!”

She pressed into him, gluing him to the hard panel, and thrust her tongue in his mouth. Sean inhaled raggedly through his nose, absorbing this wild, wanton fantasy come to life. Like she was devouring him with the same passion he’d held inside for her.

He followed the S-curve from her hips to her waist, the silk blouse cool and slippery in his hot palms. Just shy of the undersides of her breasts, she smacked his hands away and broke the kiss.

“Strap in,” she muttered. “You’re going for a ride.” Her eyelids were at half-mast; her focus was on his chest. Although his eyesight was hazy with lust, her face appeared grim.

Before he uttered a word, her fingernails raked down his front, just short of painful. She curled her grip in the waistband of his jeans and made short work of the button and zipper, then knelt, dragging his jeans and underwear with her.

He was about to tell her to wait. About to suggest they take it slow, maybe stretch out on the bed—

She took him into her mouth, more and more until the head of his cock touched the back of her throat.

Ho-ly shit. Currents of electricity ripped through him, short-circuiting his brain. She sucked him masterfully, aggressively. His hips surged, and his mouth sagged open as every nerve in his body funneled its way to his dick. Freaking heaven!

She pulled and sucked and milked him, her lusty technique wrenching guttural groans deep from his belly. Her clever fingers added swift caresses and soft scratches, working in perfect choreography with her mouth. His balls tightened in ecstatic anticipation. His gasps became pants. He muttered her name and feathered his fingers around her skull, trying to keep his grip loose while guiding her to the rhythm he needed. She began a quiet humming, which vibrated the back of her throat and sent mini shocks through his cock and up his spine. Her teeth dragged the length of him, evoking a full-body shiver. As she repeated the sequence, her pace increased and the humming vibrations grew.

He was lost. His orgasm shot through him like jagged lightning. He cried out hoarsely, holding her head immobile as he dumped himself into her in shuddering spasms. Her cheeks sucked, moist and warm, draining every drop until he palmed the wall to keep from pitching on top of her. Still she continued, as if she could make him hard again. The deep ecstasy turned painful and abhorrent.

“Stop!” He forcibly extracted himself, gulping oxygen like a drowning victim. “Jesus, Gretch,” he said, panting. “What the hell…” The most earth-shattering orgasm of his life, and he’d never felt so disconnected. Even counting the wall sex last Saturday.

He gazed down at her as she primly wiped the corners of her mouth with her index finger.

“Just making sure it took.” Her voice was a cold rasp.

He slid weakly down the door, his folding body forcing hers back. She looked like she was about to cry. His heart lodged in his throat. “What the hell, Gretch,” he repeated. She kept her gaze averted, head lowered, so the only thing he caught was the tremble of her swollen lips. He reached out and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. No response.

“Shhhh.” He leaned in and embraced her rigid body. “Shhh.” He ran his palms down her spine. The muscles of her back twitched where he caressed, almost like he was causing her pain. He paused. She’d wanted to do this, right? She’d invited him up here. The kissing on the way had been fantastic. She’d initiated the blow job. The mind-blowing, straight-into-orbit, best blow job of his life…

“Hey,” he said softly. “Did I hurt you somehow?”

She slipped out of his arms and sat on her haunches. Vulnerability was a good look on her. The smudged mascara and puffy lips were a master artist’s rendering of eroticism.

“It’s been a long day,” she answered. That raspy voice wasn’t right.

Sean smoothed the soft, spiky hair he’d mussed like he was stroking a skittish kitten. She did look tired. Wrecked. And as human as this made her compared to the ice-princess act, it also shredded his heart.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He reached for her hands, but she simultaneously twisted away, and his palms brushed her breasts.

She jerked back, slapping air, partially connecting with his bicep. “You don’t get to touch me!”

The shriek froze him. So did her glare. What kind of an emotional roller coaster were they on here? He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dust dry. “I was helping you up.”

She studied the carpet, smoothing her skirt in a repetitive way. Awareness emerged like prickles along his skin. He almost shuddered at the horror of his realization. Ever so slowly, he rested his hands on his knees where she could see them. His half-undressed state still hanging out right in her line of vision should’ve embarrassed him, but he couldn’t get past his suspicion. “Sex isn’t dirty, Gretch.”

Her smile could’ve won her the next Joker role. It was ghastly in the stillness of her pale face. “Get out.”

He sucked in a breath. He had to say something. This was Gretch, his dream girl. How could it have started out so great and ended like this? How could they go on from here? At work tomorrow? He had to reassure her. But words didn’t come, and he sat like a bump on a log. The longer he stayed motionless, the tighter the line of her pressed lips became.

“I said get out.”

Sean tucked himself into his pants, his fingers spastic. Her phone vibrated. She scrambled inside her purse like she was searching for an EpiPen. He zipped up, ordering his body to stand, turn around, give her some privacy, but protectiveness held him in a crouch, adjusting a shirt that needed no adjusting as he peeked at her screen. The phone number and message were upside down but legible.

Why aren’t you home? I want back in your mouth, bitch.

The final light bulb went off. “So this is what you do.” He promptly wanted to choke on the words. Her eyes flared. He almost shivered at the hatred and bleakness in them.

“Get. The fuck. Out!” She twisted, throwing the phone across the room. It bounced off the side of the bed and landed harmlessly on the carpet, message side up. “Just go, Sean.”

He couldn’t leave her like this, but by the tension coiled in her torso, she was this close to a screaming fit. Mindful of her proximity, he slid up the door and stood without touching her. He couldn’t open the door without thwacking the side of her face, though. Nothing about the distraught woman half curled on the floor resembled Gretch. His decision came easy.

“I’m not leaving.” He tensed, but she remained deathly still, her gaze far away. After a long beat, he exhaled. “Not while you’re like this. Not until I know you’re okay.”

Her shoulders slumped. She eased off those killer heels. Her feet were mutilated from the torture—blisters on her heels, red welts along the sides, and her toes were crushed and pointy, forming the shoe’s wedged shape. Why would a woman who hated sex suffer through the torture of dressing to kill and suck men off like her life depended on it? Why attract the gender she clearly reviled?

“Go sit in that chair,” he ordered. Ignoring the visceral need to help her up, he grabbed the stilettos, stepped over her hunched form, and placed the shoes side by side in the mirrored closet to her right. “I’ll give you a foot massage. That’s all I’ll do.” He adjusted a few hangers so the row was evenly spaced. “No talking, no singing. And absolutely no reciting Lord Byron. Even though I know that’s what you secretly want me to do.”

He glanced down. A faint smile appeared on her face, and for the first time in his life, he thanked God he was a nerd. Someone like his brother would’ve been halfway across the city by now, thinking he was respecting her wishes. Sean had to play this up. She had to know it was him, not just another guy. Not the guy who’d just texted that shit.

Gretch still hadn’t moved, and it shattered him to see her so broken. Still, he kept his voice brisk and emotionless. “Do you need help to the chair? ’Cause those feet look like a FEMA disaster.”

She held up a hand, and he supported her weight as she rose and walked to the teal armchair. She sat gracelessly, dropping her head back with a whimper. He’d bet his salary nobody saw this side of her, not even Hannah. Or her housemate. It was crystal clear why she wasn’t in a committed relationship. It was brave as hell of her to keep volunteering at the shelter, revisiting whatever nightmare she’d gone through.

Sean went to the bathroom, washed his hands, and filled a glass of water. After pocketing the body lotion amenity, he returned to the bedroom. She was in the same position, staring at the ceiling. On the way over, he picked up her phone, pressed the bottom button, and noted the last text’s number again. He tossed the cell facedown on the bed and held out the glass. “Here.”

As she drank, he sat cross-legged at her feet. Rubbing the lotion briskly to warm it, he cupped his hands on his thigh and waited for a foot. Like a shy geisha, she raised her right leg and slid an ice-cold foot into his palms. Gently he compressed the mangled flesh and massaged blood back into it. He kneaded her high, narrow arch with long, repetitive strokes. Her intermittent sighs and warming skin gratified him as much as when he’d emptied himself into her.

Tenderly he separated her squashed neon-purple-painted toes, unable to stop his avalanching thoughts. Who’d ruined her? When? For how long? How could he get his hands on the motherfucker? He’d gladly owe Jace favors for the rest of his life to gain intel.

At the digital clock’s fifteen-minute mark, she snored softly. He released her foot, but since she was asleep and he could give his OCD free rein, he picked up her left foot and treated it to the same thorough care. The deeper she snored, the greater his satisfaction.

After another fifteen minutes, he stood and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her face in sleep was angelic and untroubled. As horrible as this night had been and as embarrassing as work would be tomorrow, he was glad it had happened. He’d cracked through her iron shell. She could never again act like the queen around him and achieve the same effect.

Sean slipped the phone into her purse, then placed the bag and her duffel inside the open closet. Returning to the armchair, he reached for her, but hesitated. The chances of her waking to a man hoisting her into bed were too great. Leaving her in the chair sucked, but it was the less sucky option. He stripped off the coverlet and draped it around her, fighting the urge to kiss her cheek. Also not worth waking her. Besides, when was the last time she’d met a guy decent enough to leave her alone?

He straightened the coverlet until it was perfectly even. Grabbing the hotel pad and pen by the telephone, he jotted a note and left it on the floor. He flicked off the bedside lamp, and with the stealth of Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief, he let himself out.