He doesn’t smile back. “Haley,” he says my name like an apology. I’m quick to kiss him. To hold him the way Aden holds me.

“You okay?” he asks me. It’s the first thing he asked when he saw me. Back when I found him years ago. As if he’d been waiting years to ask me that question.

“It’s been hard on me,” I admit, feeling the tension in my shoulders and back. It tends to sneak up on me. “All of this. You’re doing a better job than I am.”

“No, I’m not.” He kisses my forehead, his lips still slightly cool from the breeze outside. He smells like fresh air and cologne with a very faint undertone of oil from the shop. I also get a whiff of lemon from the soap he likes to scrub his hands with the best. “You’re doing perfectly, my angel.”

His mouth meets mine. I keep trying to decide which kisses I like best. Some days, all I want is something rough and biting so I can have enough sensation to forget. I want him to hurt me just a little to prove that I can handle pain—even enjoy it, if it’s at the right level. Other days, all I want is soft, tender kisses.

He explores my mouth, his hands moving to cup my cheeks, thumbs running gently over my cheekbones. It feels so good to be touched like this. To be treasured above everybody else in the world. A tiny moan escapes me, and he hums back as if he could taste it, and he liked it. His teeth graze my bottom lip, not enough to hurt, and the spark of pleasure shoots down to my core.

The way I feel when I’m with him is like nothing else in the world. I could forget all my plans. Leave those in the past, too. That’s what’s dangerous about him. He makes me want to lock the door behind us and never come out again. I could just let him have his way with me forever.

I get lost in that fantasy for a few minutes. His touch does that to me. It makes me feel like the world could be this gentle, and my life could be this gentle, if I’d only let him take me away.

I kiss him until I have to pull back for breath. His eyes are dark with his blown pupils, and when I run my fingers through his hair he shivers in a way that’s unique to him.

“It’s over now,” he reassures me. “It’ll blow over. They’ll never find out it’s us.”

“Not yet…” I murmur, feeling guilty. I’m the one who made the list. The one who planned it all.

“We aren’t done?” he asks softly, his brow arched.

I whisper back, “There’s one more.”