He nodded, unable to take his eyes off her face. She was stunning like this, her eyes snapping with irritation.

“You might want to reconsider that last sentence,” she said. “You feel more than I’m ready for? You know what? That might even be true, but you don’t get to say that to me. I get to decide what I’m ready for. I get to decide if I’m afraid of what you feel.”

He wanted to kiss her breathless, but he reined it in. “Yes, you do. But when your decision impacts my heart, then I get to weigh in. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”

She scowled another second more, then looked away. “Yeah,” she grumbled.

He had to laugh at that. “You sound so put-upon.”

Her lips twitched and he was hit with another dizzying wave of relief. He might have actually pulled this out of the fire. “I am,” she said. “But you’re right.” The smile fell from her face and she suddenly looked unbearably sad. Defeated. “I don’t know how to do this, Rafe. I don’t know how to be a sister to Gideon or . . . whatever it is that you need me to be.”

His heart was hurting again. “Mercy. You know how to be a friend to Farrah, right?”

A bitter huff. “Yeah, but she didn’t give me any choice. She kind of barged into my life and took over, from the moment she walked into our dorm room that first day.”

“We all owe her a debt, then,” he said seriously. “She was there for you when you didn’t have anyone else. When you weren’t ready for anything else, she was your friend.”

“Okay,” she said with a halfhearted shrug. “I wasn’t ready then. So what?”

“So you know how to be a friend, right?” He smiled, encouraged when she nodded warily. “So you can be my friend, right?”

She pursed her lips in a scowl, but he could see the hurt flicker in her eyes. “That’s what you want? To be just friends?”

“No!” he barked, and she flinched. “No,” he said more quietly, and she relaxed, but still frowned. “No,” he whispered, gripping her chin and lowering his mouth to hers, slowly enough that she could pull away if she wished. But she didn’t pull away. Her eyes fluttered closed and she waited, lips parted a hairsbreadth. Waiting.

This was what he’d wanted. Her. Willing. Open. Wanting him. He kissed her softly, intending to keep it chaste, but she whimpered and it broke his resolve. He turned in to her, threading his fingers through her hair, and the kiss turned hot and lush and . . . sultry. Because she was humming now, her hands on the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He pulled back enough to whisper against her mouth. “Touch me any time you want to. Anywhere you want to. Please.” Then he dived back in, wanting to live forever in this one moment when he felt her melt against him, her tentative fingers pulling at the buttons of his shirt. Slipping one hand beneath the fabric to stroke his skin.