“Like what?” I’m already breathless. It’s too tempting. He’s too tempting.

“I want you, Jane.”

Noah’s words echo in my head. “You have me.”

It’s true. Doesn’t matter whether I want to belong to Beau Rochester. My heart made the decision a long time ago. My body, too. I wasn’t consulted about the matter.

He frowns. “Then why do you look like someone died?”

“Will you come to me?”

His nostrils flare. “For what?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly. He knows exactly what I’m asking for, but he wants to make me say it. He’ll probably make me beg before this is over. He’ll have me on my knees, and worst of all, I’ll want more.

My gaze meets his. “For number five.”

His eyes darken. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.” I want this to happen because I’m asking for it. I want this to happen in my own room. He already controls too much in our relationship.

“After I put Paige down for bed.”

I leave the room, very aware that he’s watching me go. Part of me wishes I’d worn something nicer than this pair of jeans and slouchy sweater, but the heat emanating from him leaves no question as to his thoughts.

Paige needs a bath. And a glass of water.

And bedtime stories.

I have a few hours to wait. I spend them taking a long shower. Shave. Moisturize. Everything more meaningful than anytime I’ve done it before, because Beau will see me like this. He’ll touch me like this. The other times we’ve touched have been unplanned. This is different. This is my decision, start to finish. It’s at once empowering and terrifying.

I stand near the bed, feeling nervous as hell.

Why did I make that offer? It’s true that I want to sleep with him.

But I’m afraid. Afraid of what he’ll think of me after. Afraid of what I’ll think of myself. Afraid of the phantom memories who haunt this house. I’m so tired of being afraid.

“Jane.”

I whirl and face him. He’s standing in the doorframe, holding on to the top. It pulls his sweater up, revealing a small stretch of taut abs. My gaze soaks it in. I want him.

And it feels good, this wanting.

When I meet his eyes again, he has a knowing look. This is a man who knows his value. Who knows his worth. Who knows how to please a woman.

“I’m glad you’re my first,” I say impulsively, and he freezes.

“Excuse me?”

“I thought—” I stammer. “I thought you knew I was a virgin.”

He takes his time walking into the room, closing the door, and locking it. That seems promising, at least. He hasn’t left. “I wondered, though I couldn’t be sure. Some girls have sex but they don’t give a blowjob.”