Heat floods my cheeks, not because of what he is confessing, but because he’s finally opening up to me, letting himself be vulnerable for me. The truth floats between us, waiting for me to react.

Of course, I suspected these things. I’ve been watching Logan every spring and summer for years. I’ve seen his transformation, the darkness bleed into his eyes, and I hoped he wasn’t struggling with addiction. I wanted him all to myself, not share him with that sinister illness.

“I don’t care,” I answer.

“You should.”

“I can’t explain the way I feel about you, but I’m drawn to you, Logan. I know that you’re struggling. I know that you’ve had a rough past, but it doesn’t change this attraction.”

He looks up at me, his face stern and his chest heaving. I take my chance to move in, a little closer until I’m standing next to him. My hand reaches out and glides across his chest and around to his back until he pulls me close for a tight hug.

“I’m afraid you’ll regret being with me,” he says, his voice thick and smooth against my head.

“I’d regret it more if I passed on the chance to be with you.” Then, I look up into his eyes, and he leans down until our lips are touching again. My body floods with heat as his hand cups my chin and his tongue glides across my lips.

He pulls away and lets our foreheads rest together. “Just this week, Sierra. This could never be anything more. Could you live with that?”

“Why?” I beg, wanting to kiss him again.

“Because you and I are from different worlds, and I’d rather have one week with you than let you ruin your life to be with me.”

I disagree with every fiber of my being, but he seems so sure. If I can get a week, I’ll take it. Plus, there's a part of me that is sure I could convince him to change his mind later.

“Deal,” I say, balling his T-shirt in my fists and trying to pull him closer.

His lips find my neck again as he whispers, “I don’t want people seeing you with me. If anything bad happens to me, I don’t want you to get involved. Understand?”

“What—”

“Don’t ask questions. Just tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” I breathe.

“And one last thing,” he says, keeping just inches between us but driving me wild with the distance.

“Yes,” I say, pressing my sex against his leg, needing more.

“No sex,” he says, and the ache grows hotter.

“What. Why?” I beg, trying to kiss him as he pulls away.

“I don’t want you to regret this week with me. I want to keep it pure.”

“We won’t make it,” I tease.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of. Tell me you agree.”

I let my head hang back and let out a moan. This one feels too hard to agree to. My body is singing with desire, and the thought of never fulfilling that desire is a crippling prospect.