I totally am, Dean. I totally am.

After a beat of heavy silence, he says, “The other night . . . at the hospital . . . you ran out of that stairwell like your life depended on it. I figured you’d decided to pump the brakes.”

“You’re taking your cues from me, then?”

He steps away and rakes a hand through his hair. “Always. I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.”

There won’t be any—so long as I keep my expectations in check. Yes, I’m terrified that Dean could one day be my worst mistake, but that would only happen if I asked for more than he’s willing to give. Whether I leave DC or not, it would be foolish to want anything more from Dean than to explore this physical attraction between us—and I’m no fool. I only need one promise from him: that he’ll continue to be honest with me, no matter what. “If we take this step, for however long it lasts, I need to know that you’re not going to blow smoke up my ass about your feelings.”

He stares at me, then falls over in laughter. “That was not what I thought you were going to say.”

I stamp my foot, though I’m grinning so hard right now. “I’m serious, Dean.”

His expression sobers. “Okay, seriously: I won’t play games with your heart. Ever. And we’re going into this with open eyes. Enjoying it for what it is. Agreed?”

This is it. I’m jumping in. “Agreed.”

His nostrils flare, and he pins me to the spot with a blistering gaze. “May I touch you?”

“Yes.”

We stare at each other, a breathless moment of indecision on his part the only delay, then he tugs me close, his fingertips ghosting over my jaw before he tilts my chin up so our mouths can meet. “Thank fucking Christ.”

My entire body shudders when his lips touch mine. Our hands tangle as they cross paths, each of us seeking to explore the other, to fit our bodies together in a way that evokes the most pleasure. Dean slides his hands to my ass while mine meander underneath the hem of his T-shirt. He flinches, as if I’ve singed him, and that small reaction sparks my curiosity.

What will happen if I lick the seam of his lips? I have my answer within seconds: He moans, filling the room with a low, melodic tone that makes his hunger palpable. And what if I rub my breasts against his chest and create enough friction to make my nipples tighten? Oh yes, that elicits a hiss, and the heightened evidence of his need ratchets up my own. I’m hot everywhere, achy with want, dizzy from all the unspent desire building inside me.