I want to retort. I want to say … something. Anything. But I can’t because I’m stunned. He smells unbelievably good, too. Dark but slightly lemony. The idea of speech right now is laughable. I just want him to lie on top of me, so I can breathe him in.

“Slade,” I manage to stutter, my voice scratchy. I need him—so badly. My core pulses.

“Lauren, we’re not doing this tonight.”

“Yes. We should.” I nod my head because this is a great idea. I need to forget.

“Look, I know tonight was intense. You’re going to have a lot of emotions. But this”—he gestures between us—“isn’t happening.”

His face is completely relaxed, as though his mind is totally made. I search his eyes to see if there’s more behind his words. But he’s unreadable; I can’t tell.

I feel as though I’d been slapped. My fragile ego trembles. But, considering what I’ve been through, I decide I’ve got nothing to lose.

“I’m an adult. And I know what I want and what I need. Right now, after what I’ve been through, I’d like nothing more than to lose myself in you. We’re good together. You turn me on like no one else.”

I pull his shirt off of my body, trying not to wince, and touch my breasts, warm and full. I tweak my nipples, and they immediately harden. I know from the night of Vincent and Eve’s wedding that he’s a boob guy. Throwing myself at a man is completely out of character for me, but my body has a mind of its own right now.

He lets out a hard breath with no words, and it spurs me on.

“Don’t deny this. If tonight’s events … if they hadn’t happened, we’d be in this room anyway.” I barely sound like myself, but I can’t stop.

His eyes flicker, roving across my body. He wants this. Wants me. I crawl to the side of the bed. At this point, I’m not above begging.

He raises his hand up, stopping me in my sex-crazed tracks. “I’m no saint.” He takes the shirt from the top of the pillow and slides it back over my head. “But you aren’t the type of girl to fuck after an attack of that magnitude. If we had sex, you’d wake up upset tomorrow. Plus, your arm is hurting. So, let’s not do this.” His face is set to marble.

I swallow hard. “Well, can you at least hold me?” A shiver runs through my body. I need touch. I want someone to remind me that I’m alive. I need—

“Yeah,” he sighs, sternly pressing his lips together. “I can do that. But first, clothes.”

I feel like crying again as I slip my arms through the shirt’s sleeves. I lie down on my side, facing away from him when he turns off the TV and then the lights. He moves behind me. Even though he’s huge, he repositions himself with so much agility that he barely shakes the mattress. My back sets against his warm front, and my entire body feels safety, security, and all good things.