He sank into the chair, stretched his legs out far, and examined some clippings for a while.

He was going to find her father’s killer. Paige had no doubt, could sense it in the way he concentrated, surveyed, studied. He was beautiful. Sinewy, seething with restrained power. He was a quiet one, wasn’t he? Kind of shy.

A deep, fierce throb built inside of her as she watched him rise, large and gorgeous and lonely. Or maybe it was she who felt lonely.

He moved to a sofa. The soft glow of a nearby lamp gleamed richly on his hair, dusting across his face and his taut, corded forearms like gold.

In a single fluid move, he wrenched his shirt off, and Paige’s tummy tumbled. Her lips tingled, suddenly aching to … to … trace all that bronzed flesh? Press heated kisses against his sinful mouth?

He lowered himself to the couch and her breasts pricked. His abdomen was carved with slabs of muscle, his ribs perfectly delineated—scattered with scars.

He extracted another gun, a smaller one, from his ankle, and let it drop on a side table. Then his silky dark head fell back on the couch, and he groaned. The long, drawn-out sound reverberated in her bones, and Paige sealed her eyes shut, wanting to moan, too. Stop this!

Gathering her wits, she sat on the foot of his bed, stiffly at first. She removed her shoes and began to scoot up and up until her head was nicely cushioned. His room was … simple. His pillow … She rolled her head and took a whiff. Clean and masculine. Yummy, actually. She began to snuggle, arranging the pillow just so, hitting it equally on either side, lifting it to manually plump it up. Her eyes widened at the sight of a picture lying on the sheets.

It was her senior picture.

Heart stopping, she studied her own smiling face and fingered the worn edges, guessing that once, the photo had been tucked in someone’s pocket.

She didn’t know why she flipped it over, but she did—to find the shockingly familiar sight of her own neat handwriting.

So you’ll think of me.

Every second of the day, I think of you.

Paige.

Her hand flew to her mouth, and she said, “Oh.”

Zachary, tell me again you love me.

I love you, Paige.

Eyes closed as he stood in her embrace, Zach groaned heatedly, feeding from the sweet, scalding nectar of her mouth, sliding his hands under her snug T-shirt. Her breasts filled his hands, firm and round, the tiny nipples poking into his palms. He slanted his head, searching feverishly into her mouth as she curled her tongue around his.

With trembling hands, he eased the fabric of her bra aside and squeezed both those little pearls at the same time. Her hold firmed around his neck, and she squirmed against him, gasping. Everything … everything hurts.

He slowed down. Slid his palms down her torso, her ribs, and held her waist. He kissed her temple. Her cheek. Held her body against his and struggled to breathe as he tenderly nibbled her ear. We hurt because we want each other.