When he gets in the truck, I angle my body away from him, keeping my gaze affixed to the road outside my window.

“Do you want to stop for lunch?” he asks after several hours on the road.

I don’t acknowledge him.

We stop for Swarley. I get out, not giving Jake a single glance. Not a single word.

We drive until after dark, making one more stop for Swarley to get out of the truck and do his business. When we do stop for the night, it’s a small motel in Sedona, Arizona instead of a campsite.

Still, I don’t give him a glance or a word. Even my hunger wanes under the shadows of my anger. Swarley and I sleep in one bed. Jake sleeps in the other bed.

The next morning, I wake early, slip back on my sundress, and catch a pretty spectacular sunrise from the wood bench outside our door while Swarley sniffs the surrounding area. When the sun hits its halfway point on the horizon, the motel room door opens. I lift my knees onto the bench and hug them to my chest, trying hard to ignore Jake in his jeans and naked inked chest. I try to ignore his sexy, messy morning hair and his scruffy and equally sexy face.

He stands directly in front of me, blocking my view and replacing it with his well-defined abs and low-hanging jeans.

Blink.

Blink.

I’m not going to look at his face. Nope. He can block my sunshine in every sense, but I’m not going to acknowledge his existence.

He squats in front of me, resting his hands on my bare feet, sans toenail polish. As soon as I get back to L.A., I’m going to get a mani and pedi. I’m going to get hair extensions. And I’m going to sell some jewelry to buy new clothes because I like that stuff. Screw Jake and his bullshit. I don’t want to be his perfection. It’s an impossible role. I’ll take the designer handbag.

I just …. I just wish his touch stopped at my feet. It would make it easier to step on it—to walk away. Why do I have to feel the ache of his touch behind my ribs?

“Please …” he whispers.

My eyes betray me. They meet his gaze. It’s so sad, just like the slope of his lips.

“Please what?”

His forehead rests against my bent legs. “Please everything. Just … please …”

“This is messed-up, Jake,” I say slowly … with little fight left in me. “I remind you of a woman you obviously despise.” My fingers find their way to his hair. When I run them through his thick, blond strands, he lets out a soft sigh.