My heart skittered. This was what I wanted to hear. What I’d dreamed of hearing. That it had all been a big misunderstanding.

But it hadn’t been. He’d said so himself. There was no other way to interpret what he’d said.

His lips moved to my neck, gliding along my pulse, registering my reaction. He moved to my throat, light kisses that sent my pulse racing, but I stayed stiff in his arms.

He rose, face coming to mine. “I didn’t walk away from you that morning, Hope. I ran. Turned tail and ran. My problem. But it won’t happen again.” His hand moved to the side of my face, fingers brushing my cheek. “I came back, and I’m staying.”

His mouth came down to mine. The kiss started slow, almost tentative, as if testing his welcome. When my hands went to the back of his head, it was like a watershed breaking. He grabbed me, and rolled us over, moving on top of me, his weight crushing in the most delicious way.

When I gasped, he thrust against me, all smoothness gone as he fumbled with the front of my jeans. He cursed, as if undoing a simple button was beyond him, as lust-clumsy as any teenage boy, and I was thrown back to that night in the pool, that first kiss igniting, Karl pulling back, struggling to be suave, to be gentle, to be a perfect lover, only to be swept up again and finally giving up, slamming me against the side of the pool. Brutally passionate and unforgettable.

And how many nights since then had I spent trying to forget it?

How many nights would I spend trying to forget this one?

When I broke the kiss, he hung there for a moment, panting. Then he looked down at me and blinked, and I knew he saw the truth, that I didn’t trust him. His lips curved in an oath.

He cupped my face, lowering his until he was so close I could see only his eyes. “It won’t happen again, Hope. It was my problem.”

“And that problem was…?”

“Later. I’ll explain it all later.” He brushed his lips against mine. “I need you. Now. Please.”

I shivered, eyelids fluttering. God, how many times had I dreamed of hearing that? I could look into his eyes, and see it. He wanted me. Desperately. And I had to talk about it first? Was I crazy?

I squeezed my eyes shut. If I said yes, I’d never get that explanation. Right now, he might honestly intend to give it, but come morning, he’d brush me off with a, “Don’t worry, it wasn’t about you.” That would be that.

Every morning after, if I went to sleep beside him, I’d worry he wouldn’t be there when I woke, because I didn’t know what drove him away the first time.