I scratched her head on the way past, walking to the guest room on unsteady legs.

The floor lights lit up with motion, the sconces on the walls already on. Photos from the past five years lined the walls in the hallway in a mishmash of vintage frames. Me outside the bakery, before it was redone, posing with the ‘sold’ sign. Various group shots of Tina, Tiffany, Fiona and me. Ansel was in a few from when he came to visit. It was my very curated timeline of my life with large chunks noticeably missing. Namely my entire childhood.

I didn’t know whether Rowan was inspecting them or not because I didn’t look back. I didn’t trust myself to.

The guest bedroom was beside my study and had a window that looked onto my vast property before the rugged seaside took over.

I’d taken great care in outfitting it in the same kind of elevated, vintage style as the rest of my house.

“So, there’s a bathroom in here.” I walked in, switching the light on, checking that it was appointed with towels even though I knew it was.

The walk-in shower was tiled in forest green slate. The waterfall showerhead was brushed brass as were all the fixtures.

“Extra toothbrushes in here.” I opened the cabinet in the vanity, pointing to the toothbrushes, still in their packages along with various mini versions of my favorite toiletries. All manner of things a person sleeping over at my house might need.

I liked to be a good host. Liked to separate myself from my childhood as much as I possibly could.

On that thought, I slammed the cabinet shut and walked out of the bathroom, moving to switch on the lamp that sat on top of the bedside table.

“TV.” I pointed to the large armoire against the wall. “Inside there. Remote in the drawer.” I patted the bed with the plush green, velvet comforter and ornate brass headboard. “Fresh sheets. Everything you might need, I guess.”

I was so entrenched in going through my hostess motions—or maybe I was clinging to them so I didn’t have to focus on Rowan—that I hadn’t realized the way he was looking at me.

His hands were clenched by his sides, so tightly the cords in his forearms were protruding. His posture was rigid, tight. The expression on his face could only be described as hungry.

Ravenous.

And I was the feast he was craving.

My fingers bit into the inside of my palms. Need thrummed in between my legs.

“Nora,” he ground out my name as if he were grappling for control. “You need to get out of this room right now.”

My knees shook. I stayed rooted in place. “Why?” I asked in a low whisper.

He swallowed. Visibly swallowed. I watched his Adam’s apple bob with the motion.

“Because I’m in a room with you. Where there’s a bed.” He nodded to the bed in question. “Because your cheeks are flushed, because I’ve been dreaming of what your lips taste like. Because I can barely fuckin’ control my need to claim them. Taste you.”