I might not know all the details about her past, and I might not be the one who dragged her out of bars when she was grieving for the love of her life, but I’m here, and I care about her so much that I feel shaky when I imagine letting her go. Maybe it’s true. Maybe Rich did save her in some way, but right now—this weekend, for all its scheming, lies, and pretense—she’s saving me.

I slip a hand up her shirt, greedily skimming my fingers over the soft skin of her belly. Her sleepy moan sends a whip of pleasure down my spine. She arches into me, and my cock hardens against her ass.

My kisses on her neck grow greedier, and when I cup her breast in my hand and pinch her nipple, she gasps. Then all of the sudden she cries, “Stop!” She yanks out of my arms and jumps out of bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” I sit on the edge of the bed, facing her, and turn on the bedside lamp.

She squints against the light and blinks at me. She takes in deep, gulping breaths, like she’s trying to calm herself down.

I’m an idiot. I should’ve woken her up before touching her. I fucking know better. “I’m so sorry.”

She gulps in air and puts a hand flat against her chest. “It’s fine. I’m the one who’s sorry. I haven’t had anyone crawl into bed with me in a long time. It scared me.” She gives me a wobbly smile and steps forward. She drags her fingers over my stubble and straddles my lap. “I’m glad it’s you.” When she presses her mouth to mine, the kiss is gentle. Shaky. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

I shake my head. Will she ever trust me enough to show me all of her ugly insides? “I think . . .” I trail my thumb down the side of her neck, and she closes her eyes. I think you might be as broken beneath the surface as I am. “I don’t ever want to scare you.”

“You don’t.” She presses her lips to mine again, but this time the kiss is firm and sure. She pours herself into it.

I saw the fear in her eyes—I recognize that haunted terror as well as I recognize my own reflection—but I let her drown her fear in me. I kiss her in return. I grip her hips and rub my tongue against hers until the connection between us is all that matters.

She draws back enough to pull her shirt over her head and toss it on the floor. Before she can press her body to mine, I roll her onto the bed and prop myself on one elbow so I can look down at her. I kiss her gently. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay.” She strokes her hands down my back. “I’m fine.”

I don’t think you are. There’s more she’s not saying, so much she’s not telling me. But I won’t push. Not right now. I’ll give her whatever she needs. Distraction. Pleasure. Oblivion.