“I need a haircut,” he mumbled, feeling suddenly totally out of his depth. Did he even have any depth? Was he just a fraud?

She put a hand over his, sifting through his hair herself, her fingers sure and firm against his scalp, bringing a groan of pleasure from him.

“No. I like it.” The statement was shy, but she meant it. He tipped his chin to see her face, as always, struck by how it appealed to him so deeply. “I mean,” she said, licking her lips, “if you don’t have to cut it for work or anything. It’s just, it suits you.”

“You do something to me, Ella,” he said, moving toward her slowly, not wanting to spook her but needing to kiss her.

“Glad to know I’m not alone,” she said, her lips moving against his just as he made contact.

Her taste wended through him, opening doors he’d welded shut, some he hadn’t even known existed. Like a key.

Forcing himself to take his time, he moved enough to slowly unwind the scarf she wore around her neck loosely so he could put his lips there. When he did, when he finally pressed his mouth, slightly open, to the pale expanse of skin just behind her jaw, she took in air, letting it out as a soft sigh.

She was warm there, and, as he’d hoped, sensitive. She tilted her head back to give him more access, her fingers gripped in the material of his sweater.

Slowly, drunk with her taste, his lips slid over the hollow of her throat, and she stuttered a breath. It wasn’t until he licked over the freckles just below her collarbone that she uttered his name, softly, raggedly.

It was enough to challenge his control, enough to rip his defenses to shreds. Not enough; everything.

She arched, changing their balance, and he went with it, landing on top of her, the long, wiry length of her body beneath him, her br**sts pressed to his chest.

Her eyes, which had been closed, slowly opened and focused. With her watching, he bent to lick over the exposed curve of her left breast and then the right. He’d meant to tease her, but got caught in his own trap because he could do nothing but bow his head over her and breathe in before sliding his hands up her sides. In another breath, her br**sts were in his palms, and they both groaned.

Cope had to lever up a bit, nipping her bottom lip before turning his attention back to her br**sts. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to touch your br**sts.”

“Glad you finally got to it,” she said, her voice squeaking. Her grip tightened as he slid his thumbs back and forth over her ni**les.

“How are we doing?” he asked.

She yanked at his sweater. “Huh? Shirt off. Please, Andrew, I want to see you.”

Well then, that was a good answer. He moved to kneel above her, her eyes roving over his body as he pulled the sweater over his head and tossed it somewhere behind them.

“Oh.” She sat, taking in the upper body she’d remembered from some backyard party two summers ago. It was better than she’d remembered. Forgetting her hesitation, she had to touch. Hard, acres of muscles, olive-toned skin, tattoos and . . . “You got a new piercing.”

Until she came to work at the café and saw Brody and his crowd of friends, she’d never considered piercings or tattoos to be sexy. But over time she’d changed her mind. She’d met and looked at a lot of really hot bad boys with ink, and by that point, she found it incredibly sexy.

Something about the barbell in each of his ni**les made her mouth water. It was hot. Hot, hot, hot, and he wore them with such confidence it only made him more attractive.

“About six months back.” Absently, he flicked a fingertip over his left nipple, leaving her dry-mouthed as well as achy.

Because he seemed to enjoy it and certainly because she did, she continued to touch him. Unable to help herself, she leaned in and kissed his side, her lips against his rib cage. He made a ragged sound, pushing against her.

Inside she warred with herself, because she needed him, trusted him, but she hadn’t been so unsure of any situation so important for a long time. But his skin, his hands and mouth, the sound of his voice, they lured her into him, into wanting more than she’d ever imagined.

Control slipped from her fingers, and it was delicious and scary all at the same time.

“Ah god, Red, you feel so good,” he rasped as she ran her hands up and down his torso, over the intricate lines of dragon scales of the huge Chinese horned dragon on his back and sides. Swallowing hard, she touched each nipple ring with her fingertips and had to close her eyes a moment.

When she tipped her head to look at that handsome face again, he was looking down at her. “You like what you see?” he asked with that quirk of the mouth that showed the dents of his dimples.

Her eyes widened as she remembered her fantasy of a few months ago, when she’d imagined nearly this same thing, though she was bolder in her imagination.

“What is it, baby?” He arched into her touch. “God, I love it when you touch me. So long, so long I’ve wanted this.”

When he said that, it always stunned her. How could he have felt this way for years, and she never noticed? She’d wanted him forever it seemed, and now he was there and her hands were on him. How funny life was sometimes.

If her imaginary Ella could be bold, why not the real Ella too? At least a little?

“I had this fantasy about you. Well, okay, so I’ve had way, way more than one, but a few months back I was imagining you. You and me together, and you asked me if I liked what I saw. Just a little déjà vu, I guess.”