But there is so much to talk about still, and we have a week of playing an adoring couple. It won’t be hard to do if we stay on this side of our mutual lust. But going too far, too fast, and breaking her vulnerable little heart?

As much as I need her, I will not do that.

“You’re a very good girl,” I growl against her ear. “Showing me fearlessly how sexy you are. Such a good girl for me. But it’s time for you to go to bed.”

She howls in protest. “Jacob—”

I kiss her, cutting her off. I kiss her until she goes soft, then I brush my lips against her forehead. “We have to go snowboarding in the morning. You need your sleep.”

“You’re ridiculous. And I don’t care about snowboarding.”

That makes me smile. “You love it.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you know that?”

“I remember everything you say.”

“That’s news to me.”

“Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was obsessed with you when you worked for me.” I tug at the blankets, and she climbs under them obediently. “Besides, don’t you want your family to like me?”

She snorts. “Why? I like you enough for the entire world, and that’s never been enough. So if my family likes you, too, that makes all of this that much harder.”

I freeze. “I don’t want this to be hard on you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come here.”

I rock my jaw back and forth, then go for the truth. Because she deserves it. “I couldn’t stay away.”

“That’s fucked up.” She glares up at me. “We’ve spent almost every day together for two years. You had no problem giving me a lot of space every time we almost got close over that time.”

That’s true. And I don’t look away from her stormy, accusing gaze. “Because you were my employee. And when I hired you, you were a teenage girl living in a van. I couldn’t let myself be close to you the way I wanted. But I did. I do. Even now, when I find out that you’ve been lying about me behind my back for months. I want you so fucking much it hurts.”

“I wasn’t lying about you!”

“You told your family I was your boyfriend.” I yank her blankets up to chin.

She shoves them down again. “Not exactly.”

“Then what, exactly?”

“I invented a fake boyfriend. When they were starting to get concerned that I was…” She closes her eyes and swallows hard. “Tangled up over you. So I told them I met a guy named Jake.”

The way she says that name, with a tender fondness, hits me right in the chest.

Is it fucked up to be jealous of myself? Of a fictional variation of me who isn’t cold to her?