He tilted his head down and kissed me on the lips, as if he’d once been familiar with my body. I leaned into him but kept my hands at my sides. My blood pulsed. His lips tasted of malt and sensuous energy. The bands twisting inside me eased a fraction, and I was on the verge of telling him he could do whatever he wanted to me.

“You taste good,” he said as he rubbed my jaw with his thumb. When he kissed me again, his right hand slid up under my shirt, cupped my breast, and teased the nipple. Desire exploded, and I hissed in a breath.

As I teetered closer to letting go, I suddenly imagined Clare standing behind me, watching, more curious than annoyed. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do?”

I ignored the voice and concentrated on his lips, that hand squeezing and fondling. Let me just have this moment.

“He’s going to disappoint you,” Clare said. “Nothing is ever as advertised.”

I stiffened, drew in a breath.

“What’s wrong?” He gripped a handful of my shirt, keeping my body anchored close to his. “You used to like that,” he said.

You. “Clare did. Not me.”

His grip on my shirt eased, and I stepped back, pulling the fabric from his slackened grip. He stabbed long fingers through his hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Did you mean me or Clare?”

“Don’t turn that comment into a thing,” he said softly. “We’re here, and we’re doing just fine.”

But it wasn’t just us. It never would be. Picturing Clare standing behind me, I took another step back. “Were we? Are we both looking for a way to bring her back to life for a little while?”

“You’re overthinking this.” Frustration leaked from the words.

“I don’t think so.”

“Clare would want you to get on with your life.”

If he thought he’d said the magic words, he was wrong. “I’m not going to do this.”

“Why not? Marisa, I know it’s us in this room.”

“No, it’s not just us. She’s here, too.”

“That doesn’t sound rational.” Nervous laughter rumbled, but the need still lingered in his gaze, and I doubted he cared whether I was reasonable.

“It’s not a day to be rational,” I said.

“I’m not looking for Clare,” he said.

I shook my head and moved farther out of his reach. “No. But I am. I’ve been searching for her for thirteen years.”

“What’s to search for? She’s dead, not missing.” His too-rational tone cracked the veneer, exposing my fragility. Maybe I was a little unstable. “I miss Clare, too,” he added.

I closed my eyes. If I were still drinking, we’d have already been in bed naked. “We need to honor that feeling and try not to cover it up with sex.”