Up on tiptoe, breasts pressing into his chest, she tongued his jawline and chin, letting her hands roam up his chest. Do you think … her voice quivered, her tongue sought his … we could … she shivered; he groaned; their mouths opened … kiss like this, but with our clothes off?

Damn.

Zach pushed the memory aside and glared up at the ceiling, refusing to think of how close she was, how warm and good and right she would feel. Only an asshole would make a move on her at a time like this. Only a sick, twisted fuck would try.

“You asleep?”

His head shot up. Paige stepped into the shadowed living room, barefoot and heart-stoppingly beautiful.

Years ago, after his father—a quiet, reserved man, much like Zach—had done something stupid, Zach had been warned to stay away from Paige. Judge Avery had taken matters into his hands, and the entire school faculty, the principal, guards, and teachers, were on a high state of warning. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed her, and him, to make sure Zach didn’t come within three feet of Paige.

Zach didn’t crave that kind of trouble, so he had stayed away. But his eyes, damn them, would always find her. His hands would brush hers. His heart would pound like something mad every time he saw her. When she spoke in class, in that calm, clear voice of hers, his thoughts would scramble. He’d shift in his seat, uncomfortably aroused, and the instant their gazes met and held, it was as though his entire world revolved around her big, thick-lashed blue eyes. Eyes of a girl screaming to be kissed.

By Zach.

And he’d picture running his thumb across that heart-shaped, coral-pink mouth, sliding all ten fingers into that silky fiery hair, and drawing her close for him to smell a little, feel a little, pet and taste and lick a little. And want her so damned much.

But tonight, nobody was watching.

Zach could hear only the rustle of her movements as she skirted the sofa. His heart kicked, an animal trapped in his rib cage, as he fought the urge to engulf her with his arms. He could, Christ, he could draw her gently to his lap and say, Paige, baby, as long as I live, no one will hurt you, not again, not ever … He could kiss her softly, or hard, God, hard, and he could coax his name out of her lips … and Paige would know, she’d have to know, know that she was wanted and needed and loved … by Zach Rivers …

His stomach gripped as she approached. She searched his features one by one, somehow dissecting his thoughts and tearing him open, until he said, “No, not asleep. Thinking,” and rubbed his face with his hands.

She smiled. Venturing forward, she lifted a magazine from the floor and set it on the coffee table. “Why do they call you ‘Stalker’?”

He couldn’t understand why she felt the impulse to chat now. At eight p.m. after a draining day. When he was shirtless. When he’d been this close—this close—to storming into his bedroom, climbing into his bed, and kissing the hell out of … his girl. “Just a bad joke.”