I did have that one night with that guy at the Medical Examiners and Coroners convention. The one who smelled like formaldehyde even though we’d been there for three days of lectures and demonstrations.

That wasn’t that long ago . . . it was just . . . last year.

Oh, crap, it's been over a year since I’ve had sex with another person.

“Zoey?” Blake questions, his voice tight and deep, and I realize that he’s waiting for a sign from me. Permission or refusal, but he’s not moving until I give one or the other.

I lick my lips, parting them, and before I can change my mind, I press them to his.

For a single second, I’m in control, my mouth tasting his, my lips pushing against his. And then his hand becomes a way for him to guide me as he kisses me, stealing my breath and then exploring with his tongue.

Time loses all meaning.

Do we kiss for a minute or an hour? I have no idea.

All I know is that every cell in my body wants to touch him, but he seems to be in no hurry whatsoever, perfectly content with kissing.

My nipples are hard pebbles that even this blah polo shirt can’t hide, and I’m clenching my thighs to find some relief. My hands grip his shirt, keeping him close, wanting this to go on forever but needing more.

I moan into his kiss, and he stops abruptly, pressing his forehead to mine. I’d think something’s wrong, but he’s panting desperately and I can see how hungry for me he is.

“Not yet. Not like this.”

I am the only other person in the room, but I don’t think he’s talking to me. Talking to himself isn’t a red flag for me, though. I do it all the time and I’m perfectly sane.

Well, mostly. After all, I don’t talk to myself but to the dead. Much weirder.

“Not like how?” I ask, wanting to understand his holding back.

“You’re injured.”

“My ankle’s fine.”

“Not your ankle, your heart,” Blake says softly, his voice trembling with want and internal conflict. “It’s been bruised and beat up a bit, but I want you to know that you can trust me so you’ll let me in.”

I can’t help but smile at his romantic notions. “I wasn’t looking for you to climb into my heart and make a love nest. A kiss isn’t a promise and sex isn’t a marriage proposal,” I say, repeating his previous words to me. “I was more thinking along the lines of letting you in my body for a few minutes because you seem less freaked out by me than anyone I’ve met in a long while, and I could really use an orgasm that’s not self-administered.”