“—presentable for going to town.”

He exhales, and nods quickly. “Right.” And I realize that wasn’t the reason at all, and I think of that trip, of the drive up to the lookout, with the bonfire, and I realize he sure as hell wouldn’t have taken Anders up there.

“Well,” I say, “if I have any say in the matter, I like you this way.”

I bend and kiss him, and he kisses me back, a kiss that gets deeper by the second, until I accidentally wince as my chest wound stretches.

“Goddamn it,” he says, backing up.

I start to slide out of my shirt again. He hesitates and then yanks it down, growling under his breath.

“Am I being difficult?” I say.

“Yes. Very.” A mock scowl as he moves me off his lap.

“Huh. It’s been a long time since I’ve been difficult. You’re good for me, you know that?”

He shakes his head and retrieves his shirt. When he comes back, I whisk it out of his hands and sit on it.

“I like you better that way, too,” I say.

He gives a growl of frustration.

I widen my eyes. “What? You’re always telling me I should want more. Now I want something. Badly.”

He picks me up. Carries me to the balcony and deposits me on the mattress.

“Mmm, even better,” I say. “Fresh air and—”

“Your neighbours are out.”

“Ask me if I care.”

He tries to give me a stern look and then bursts into a snorting laugh, sits down beside me, and pulls me over to him.

“The answer, Casey Butler, is no. You know it is, and you’re having some fun with me, which is …” He lowers his face until it’s right in front of mine. “Fucking wonderful to see. Also, very hot. But the answer is still no. Now, do you want me to finish my story about the fox?”

“Um, no, I want you to—”

“After.”

I lift my brows. “After as in ‘after the story’? Or as in ‘at some distant point in the future’?”

“After the story. Not sex, either, because once we start that, as gentle as I might plan to be, there are going to be stitches ripped. Guaranteed.”

I grin. “Oh, I like the sound of—”

“No. But if you’re still interested after the story, I’m sure I can find something less strenuous to help you sleep.”

My grin grows.

“I take it that’s a yes,” he says. “Good. Now lie down and get comfortable. And not one word—or anything else—until the story is done.”

Seven

I wake on my balcony with the birds singing, sunlight streaming down, a brisk breeze bringing the tang of evergreens and another smell, an unfamiliar one, the sharp smell of soap, from the arms wrapped around me and the bare chest against my cheek, and I stretch smiling, only to realize my sweatpants are still on, which means…

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“Mmm?” Dalton says.

“I fell asleep.”

A chuckle ripples through his chest. “Yep.”

I lift my head to look up at him. “You knew I would.”

He arches his brows.

“That damn story went on forever, and you knew I’d fall asleep.”

“You needed your rest.”

“Yeah? You know what I needed even more?”

I arch my brows, and he laughs.

“Oh, that’s funny, is it?” I push up. “You know what I call it? A tease. Offer a girl—”

“Still stands.”

“What?”

He pulls me down again. “Offer still stands.”

He tries to bring me into a kiss, but I resist, my eyes narrowing. “Let me guess. If I listen to another of your interminable stories—”

“I thought you liked my stories.”

“Not as much as I like what you offered after it.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think I specified the nature of that offer.”

“Anything will do.”

He laughs then and pulls me up onto him as he rolls onto his back. “I like the sound of that. So you still want to take me up on the offer? No story required.”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Then tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”

I grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Casey?” a voice calls. It’s Beth, coming through my bedroom door. I scramble off Dalton so fast I nearly double over in pain.

“Goddamn it,” he says, catching me and aiming a glare through the balcony glass.

“You forgot to lock the front door,” I say.

“Doesn’t do any fucking good.”

The morning sun must be casting a glare on the glass, because Beth opens the balcony doors, squinting with a tentative, “Casey?” Then she sees Dalton and recoils fast.

“Does anyone in this goddamn town know how to knock?” he says, brushing past her as he stalks inside to grab his shirt.

“I did,” she says. “No one answered—”

“Then take the hint.” He yanks on the shirt and heads for the door. “Check Casey out. I’ll start the coffee.”

He’s gone, and she’s staring after him. Then she turns to me, and I feel like I’m sixteen, caught with a boy in my room.

“Sorry,” I say. “He was, uh, staying to make sure I was okay. We went outside to see the, uh, fox.”