Owen’s standing over Gia’s shoulder, watching her cook, and I’m a couple feet behind taking in the sight.

My attention keeps drifting down her tan back. She bought a dress at one of the markets when we were out today. It’s killing me that Owen is seeing her in it. It shows off too much skin. It’s silky and thin, with big bright flowers, and almost her entire back is exposed. She’s also not wearing a bra.

When she bought it, she said she wanted to look the part, to feel Cuban or something. I can’t remember her exact words, because I was too distracted by the little dimple that popped in her right cheek when she smiled so damn big.

I didn’t know cooking could be sexy. Then again, she does so many things that turn me on: the way her nose pinches together when Owen says something funny, or how she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth when she’s looking at me.

I still can’t believe I told her about Samantha, that I opened up about my past . . . a past where I let a woman die because I was too busy trying to impress my father.

I didn’t notice Samantha was in trouble, that she was an addict. I was too self-absorbed to find time to notice anything.

Until today, no one other than my father knew about her.

I don’t deserve redemption, but I can relate to what Gia’s going through. Her guilt.

“So, this special dish you’re making is basically chicken and rice.” Owen grins and faces me.

I swallow the rest of the Sangria Gia made and head for the pitcher to refill my glass. As much as I wanted Owen as a buffer yesterday, now I’d prefer he disappear. I don’t want to share Gia with anyone. I don’t know how much time we have, and I need to soak in every minute, to kiss every inch of her skin.

Gia sets her spoon down and presses her palms to her apron, wiping her hands. “This was my mother’s favorite dish.”

“And it’s Cuban?” I approach the full-range gas stove and inhale the garlic and spices.

“There are different variations of this recipe all over Latin and South America, but my mother preferred to make the Columbian version.”

“Any reason why?” Owen leans against the kitchen island, his eyes assessing the scene—basically, Gia and me. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was happening between the two of us, though. Hell, he called me on it last night.

“Columbian food is good, so I hear,” I say, as she reaches for the wooden spoon again and dips it into the frying pan.

“My Spanish isn’t that great—not as good as my Arabic. But I’m pretty sure arroz con pollo still translates into rice and chicken,” Owen says.

Gia mutters something under her breath, probably in Portuguese, and offers me a taste. She holds her hand beneath the spoon, our faces close together and my eyes on her, as I take a bite.

The flavors hit my tongue, exploding in my mouth, but it’s hard to pay attention to how good it tastes when there’s so much damn desire inside me, making me want to go ahead and kick Owen out right the fuck now.

“It’s good.” I rest a palm on the counter.

She reaches for my mouth, touching my lip. “There was some sauce.”

I fight the urge to lick my lip and catch her finger between my teeth.

But Gia is right about the food. It’s definitely not like any chicken and rice I’ve ever eaten. It’s a hell of a lot better, in fact.

A little while later and after we’re almost done eating, she asks, “Did either of your mothers like to cook?”

Owen looks at me, but I don’t say anything. “My mom thinks she can cook, but she’s not that great. She usually burns her toast.”

A soft laugh rolls from her mouth and hits my chest.

“At least your mom tried. My mom didn’t even know where the kitchen was.” Maybe an exaggeration, but not by much.

I pause for a second as I think about my childhood, sorting through dozens of memories, trying to snatch a good one that revolves around Mom. Nothing comes to mind.

“My mom didn’t give a damn about us. I’m pretty sure she only had kids to keep the money and business in the family. My parents’ marriage was practically arranged between two wealthy empires, and my dad tried to force me to do the same.”

Fuck me. Did I just—

Owen blinks a few times and guzzles the rest of his drink.

Gia’s hands slip to her lap. I think I’ve made her uncomfortable. I’d blame the truth dump on the Sangria, but I was opening up before that. Plus, it takes a hell of a lot more than three drinks to get me talking.

“My mother liked to say that people tend to act one way on the outside when they’re really the opposite on the inside.” She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Maybe your mother was not good at expressing her true feelings. Maybe she didn’t know how to show her love, especially if she never had a chance to find her own true love.” Her emotions swim beneath the surface of her eyes. “I’m sure she cared about you.”

Owen clears his throat after a few seconds. “Well, this has been fun, but I, uh, think I better go do a perimeter check.” He stands. “I could be a while.” He smiles at Gia. “Thank you for dinner. It was fantastic.”

“You’re welcome,” she answers.

Owen makes eye contact with me next, and it doesn’t take a genius to read his hard expression.

He’s giving me the green light for something, but it’s not to hook up with Gia. No, it’s to try and get her to open up more, to find out why Mya’s in Brazil. But I don’t answer to him. He’s getting paid by me.

Once he’s gone, she stands and starts removing the plates, so I follow suit and trail after her into the kitchen with the rest of the dirty dishes.

She drops the plates into the sink and faces me.

I set what I’m holding on the marble island and back up to take all of her in.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly, concern resonating throughout her voice.

“I’m great. You?” I expel a deep breath.

“Yes,” she almost purrs the word, which has my body tightening with need.

“Then take off your dress.”

She squints as if it’s bright in here. Her lips tuck in, a little shy, unlike how she was last night, and she hooks her fingers beneath the thin sleeves. The dress drops to her bare feet.

I lower my forehead, observing her smooth center. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

“I wanted to be prepared.” She tugs her plump bottom lip back between her teeth, chewing on it.

“And Owen was in the room.” My voice grows tense. “Don’t do that again,” I grind out, maybe rougher than necessary.

“Okay,” she whispers and takes a step forward, over her dress.

I hold up my hand. “Stop.”

A dark brow arches in question. “What?”

“I just want to look at you for a second.” I start at her painted black toenails. The color would normally be fitting for her, but I like the idea of her sporting a red or pink—something bold and bright to match who she is on the inside.

From her slim ankles to her bronzed and toned calf muscles, she’s absolutely stunning. And once I reach her full tits, my mouth starts to go dry.

“Do you like what you see?”

I take a slow breath and try to calm my heartbeat, to force myself to do this right. She deserves sweet. She deserves the fucking world.

“You’re not saying anything.” Her hands clench at her sides, nerves striking her. Her inexperience is obvious.

Can I really do this? Well . . . that’s what I should be asking myself. But I’m not.

I stride forward slowly, half expecting her to stumble back as if I’m the lion on the inside of my arm—dangerous.

Fuck. Is she dangerous, like Owen said? Or am I?

Maybe we both are.

I reach out and drag my knuckles up the middle of her breasts before palming her cheek.

She arches against me, her nipples brushing against the fabric of my T-shirt.

“I want this to last as long as possible. I want you to remember everything.”

She nuzzles her nose up against my palm before kissing it. “I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to forget tonight. But maybe we could go to my room, in case Owen comes back.”

I assume he’ll be a while, but the thought of him waltzing in while she’s naked, sweaty, and riding me—no, I can’t take that risk.

I drop my hold of her and pat my front pocket to ensure I remembered condoms.

“Go ahead. Let me grab your dress and some water.” I shouldn’t care about hiding the evidence of what Gia and I do. It’s not Owen’s business, but he’s putting his neck on the line for us, so I’ll try to respect that.

“Okay.”

Her slim waist and an ass I want to sink my teeth into hold my attention as she moves across the room and to the stairs.

Once I have the dress and bottle in hand, I rush up after her.

When I enter the bedroom, the curtains are pulled open, allowing the moonlight to wash over the room and across her body, which is splayed out on the bed, her hand on her stomach, her head on the pillow.

She’s a masterpiece. A work of art. And I already know that one time with her won’t ever be enough.

“I need you. So goddamn much.” With a twist of the lock and the bottle and dress tossed to the floor, I pull my shirt off as fast as possible.

She pushes up, resting back on her elbows, and studies me.

I’m already barefoot, so once I place the condoms on the nightstand by the bed, I unbutton my jeans and slide them and my boxers down in one swift movement. Her gaze drops below my hips to where my hand is, to where I’m pumping.

My eyes adjust to the light, and I notice her thighs squeeze together, so I kneel on the bed and drop over her, caging her with my body. She looks up at me while her fingers caress the edges of my muscled arms.

I would give anything to drive into her right now, to spread her legs apart and take her all at once.

I lower my hips so she can feel my hard length against her, and she immediately meets my body, grinding against me, letting me know she wants me as much as I want her.

I keep one hand braced over her shoulder to keep my weight off her, and then our lips meet.

Slow, I remind myself.

A soft mewl escapes her mouth and her fingertips bite into my shoulder blades. She’s hanging on to me tight as if I’m already plowing deep.

I lift up to break the kiss, so I can look into her eyes. “If you want this to last, you need to slow down. I have control, but if you keep rubbing against me like this, I’m going to lose it.”

“Mm.” She wraps her hands around my neck, tugging me closer, and she bumps her slit against my tip.

She’s playing dirty.

“Gia,” I warn, as my hand drops down between us and my thumb rolls over her, feeling her wetness.

She gasps when two fingers slide inside of her.

A slur of syllables, or maybe she’s speaking Portuguese, escapes her mouth as she tips her head back, still hanging on to my neck, and I thrust my fingers in and out of her again and again. “Please. I don’t want to come without you being in me.”

I drop my head closer so she can feel my breath at her ear. “Baby, you’re going to be coming all night. Don’t worry.”

And within a minute, her hips are gyrating against my palm, and she’s crying as shudders rock through her body. When she lowers her ass back down on the bed, I shift up to my knees and stare down at her.

Her eyes are closed, her breathing heavy. Her nipples are tight and perky like she’s cold. And so, that’s where I decide to take my time next.

I cup her breasts and massage, the pressure in my balls building.

When her eyes find mine again, there’s a hint of a smile there. She’s ready to go again.

That’s my girl.

She reaches between my legs for my shaft, and I grunt and almost drop my weight onto her as she fists me with both hands, moving up and down.

I release a hand on one of her tits to hold my weight up, and I glance down between us at her hands before catching her eyes.

I lean forward and kiss her, missing the taste of her tongue in my mouth, and my other hand shifts beneath her ass cheeks, digging my fingers into her tight flesh.

“I want to get you off, too,” she cries against my lips a few minutes later.

She has no idea how strong I am—that there’s no fucking way I’ll bust my load for the first time with her in any other way than being inside of her.

“Later,” I murmur.

She pouts, and so I nip at her lip and tug at it for a moment as her hands release me and slide up my abs.

She starts rotating her hips again, begging for my touch, and I want to give it to her—but the wait . . . the agony of the wait—is something that will only heighten her pleasure, and so I push back up and slide off the bed into a standing position.

She sits up, her brows knitted. “What are you doing?” Worry flutters across her pretty face.

“I need you as ready for me as possible before I fill you. It’s going to hurt.”

“I am ready.”

“You’re almost ready.” I grab a foil pack, but I’m unable to take my eyes off her as she watches me roll the condom over my length.

My thighs are tight, the muscles tense and almost achy. And I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. I’m going to give her the control.

Well, in a minute, at least.

First I’m going to drive her goddamn wild.

“I want you to hold the headboard.” I tip my chin to the black metal rods that look like a gated fence. “Get comfortable, grab hold of the poles, and don’t let go.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” I join her back on the bed as she settles down and does what I ask.

A guttural moan slips free from her when my mouth presses to her center, my tongue darting up and down, stroking her already sensitive flesh. I need her to be as wet as possible to reduce the pain.

When her hands thread my hair, I shift up just enough to say, “Get your hands back on the headboard.” I wait until she’s done what I’ve demanded and continue to torment her with my mouth.

“Cade,” she says my name in a frenzied panic. “Cade, please.” More panting. “I. Want. You.”

She’s close. Too close. And so, now is my cue.

“And you can have me.” I move next to her, and she sits up. “Right now.” And I need it to be now, before I do, in fact, lose my mind. “But I want you to be on top. I think it’ll hurt less.” I’ve never been with a virgin, but I’m assuming that if she’s in control of how much pressure she can take, it should be more comfortable. And I’m not sure if I’ll be able to hold back from pushing too hard.

“But, I . . .” Her eyes are pinned to my massive erection.

“Do you want to stop?” My heart finds my throat.

“God, no. I just don’t know how to—”

I grin. “It’ll come to you. I promise.” I reach for her and pull her on top of me, too damn anxious to wait any longer. I need to feel this woman as much as I need air to breathe. Probably more.

“If it hurts, just—” Before I can finish, she sits on my shaft, swallowing every fucking inch of me in one quick movement, and my head nearly melds into the pillow as she cries out.

“Jesus, Gia,” I rasp.

She doesn’t move. Her body is completely still, and I’m so deep inside of her that our hip bones are touching.

“Are you okay?” I look at her face, and her eyes are closed. Worry crawls through me, but before I get a chance to digest the moment, her eyelashes flutter open, and she starts to lift up slowly, before crashing down hard. “Holy fuck.”

Her palms are on my chest, her fingertips digging in, and she starts moving up and down, faster and faster.

Every sensation, every movement of her body—I feel like I’m fifteen again, losing my own goddamn virginity.

This is . . . new.

And unexpected.

She’s so damn wet around my cock. Her chest rises and falls, and she leans forward more to connect even deeper.

“Cade,” she drags my name out in one long breath, and everything inside of me is burning to be on top now.

I lift her up and pull out before flipping her to her back. She wraps her hands around my biceps and squeezes in preparation, and I thrust inside of her hard and fast without thinking. She bucks up off the bed, and we crash into each other.

And I pull back and do it again.

She’s so wet. Much looser now. And she’s enjoying it, which means there’s no pain—and so I don’t hold back. Hell, I can’t hold back.

She curses and then bites my shoulder as she comes, her body moving with mine like a dance that only we know.

I fuck her until I can’t see straight, and then, and only then, do I allow myself release. I allow myself to give in to what this is—to give in to her.

I remain inside of her, worried about how sore she’ll be, and I want to ease out of her, just in case. Of course, as hard as I was pumping before, I’m worried about whether she’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

I drop my face to her ear and whisper, “Are you okay?”

She turns and kisses my cheek. “You have no idea just how okay I am.”

“Oh, I think I do,” I say with a smile and slowly pull out and roll to the side.

I place my hand between her legs, but she flinches and faces me.

“Are you in pain?”

She chuckles. “Not yet, but I’ll probably be tomorrow.”

“I’ll be sure to give you a morning-after treatment.” I wet my lips, and she squeezes my hand with her thighs. “Mm. Maybe I don’t want to wait for the morning.”

And I don’t let her.

After another hour of our bodies tangling together in ways that should far surpass the books she’s read, I wake to the sound of a vibration beneath the bed.

I glance over at Gia. Her arm is draped over my chest, the silk sheet below her gorgeous round tits, so I move her arm and pull the sheet up beneath her chin to keep her warm.

Rolling out of bed, I look beneath it to find the source of the noise.

A small red light gives way to the object thrumming against the wood floor.

I reach out and snatch the object, then head to the connecting bathroom.

Who would be calling this late at night? And what the hell is Gia doing with a phone under the bed?

I close the door and answer the call.

My heartbeat escalates when I hear a familiar voice on the other end of the line repeating Gia’s name over and over.

“It’s not Gia. It’s Cade,” I finally say.