He could not tame his heartbeat, find calm, even if on the outside his voice was strangely disembodied. “No thanks necessary.”

He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable in his jeans. They were stretched to their limits. He hauled in a calming breath, but he could still feel her rubbing against him. He could still see the car screeching by inches away from her, could still feel the panic and terror clawing his gut.

He wanted someone’s blood. He wanted sex. He wanted …

Paige.

Needed her.

Long ago, he’d envisioned roses, wine, the best for Paige Avery—now he just wanted. Nothing mattered. She was here. If he never saw her again, if she never remembered him or felt again what she once had for him, she was here. Right now. In the shadowed little motel room. Where he could keep her safe from anyone but him.

Zach, touch me, touch me there …

Here? Where it’s wet and tight and hot for me?

Zach!

“What is this place anyway?” Paige glanced around the room with increasing curiosity. She studied the mirror behind the bed. The mirror above the bed. The basket of condoms on the nightstand. It was all so tacky and, in her fine eyes, probably not too clean.

“Somewhere he won’t look for you,” Zach said curtly.

Her eyes widened as though a thought just socked her. “Is this where people come to … to …”

“Fuck?” She gaped in shock, and Zach spread out his arms apologetically. “Depends. On whether or not they feel like a fuck.”

She went statuesque, like a Venus about to be beheaded. A panting Venus.

A queen bed occupied most of the room. It was more than they’d ever had before. And Zach wanted her more than he’d ever wanted her.

A year of foreplay—months of holding back, being gentle, being patient—and a week of torture knowing it would happen Friday, a week anticipating, panting, sweating, wanting … He’d known their lives would change that Friday—and their lives had changed, all right.

She’d never come back to him.

Restless, he rose and propped a shoulder against the wall. His eyes, traitors, kept falling to her chest. Her blouse was damp, the lace collar soiled, and two soaked circles delineated her breasts. It was a trial not to stare at the creamy rise of flesh visible through the moistness, impossible not to notice the faint dusky hue of a nipple. Christ.

“Get in the bed, Paige. Catch some sleep.”

She offered a shaky smile. “Oh, I’m not tired.” By the nightstand, head bent so that the tips of her hair tucked under her chin, she seemed inordinately interested in the bountiful condom basket. “Can you believe some of these are flavored?”

God. Zach crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his armpits, trapping his fingers. “Your shirt is wet.”

She tensed in surprise, glanced down at herself, then up with a gasp.

He signaled with one unsteady hand. “I can see your …” Pink, stiff, beautiful nipples. The blood rushed up to his head, dizzying him. “Get in the bed. Cover yourself.”