“Cashmere,” I repeated and his eyes came back to mine. “I had a nice night,” I continued, moving directly to the door, opening it then standing wide so he had plenty of room to get through. “Thank you.”

He looked at my feet then out the open door then at me.

He hesitated what seemed like days before he walked to me and stopped close. Too close. I had to tip my head way back (even in four inch heels!) and he had to dip his chin way down.

“Outside the headache, you okay?” he asked low.

“Outside the headache, peachy,” I lied and quickly concluded. “Thanks again for a nice night.”

Raiden didn’t move.

My heart kept breaking.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told me.

Right.

“Okay,” I replied, though I didn’t know how he’d do that since he didn’t have my number. He also wouldn’t be able to do that because I was no way, no how picking up any call from an unknown number. And last, he simply wasn’t going to do that because he was totally lying.

“We’ll go to a movie,” he stated.

“Great. I like movies.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

He moved into me.

I moved back.

He stopped, his brows snapping together. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I should never drink red wine,” I shared.

Another lie. I loved red wine and it loved me, though in abundance it could make me maudlin, but I was three whole glasses away from maudlin.

Something else was making me maudlin.

“It always does a number on me,” I kept lying when Raiden didn’t move or speak. “But I just can’t seem to eat a steak without it.”

“Next time, beer,” he said.

Like there’d be a next time.

Raiden still didn’t move.

I didn’t either.

This lasted some time.

God! He wanted to “end this”? Why didn’t he end it?

“I should probably get some ibuprofen,” I told him on a prompt for him to leave.

“Doesn’t feel good, leavin’ you alone and feelin’ like shit,” he replied, and seriously, seriously, what was it with him?

He could just go.

Why didn’t he just go?

“I’ll be fine.” More lying.

“All right, baby,” he murmured.

I closed my eyes.

Baby.

“Hanna?”

I opened them. “Goodnight.”

He held my eyes and his were searching. Then he lifted a hand and tucked my hair behind my ear.

I felt his sweet touch in my scalp, down my spine and the tingles it caused exploded along the small of my back.

And there he was, Raiden Ulysses Miller, in my foyer, tucking my hair behind my ear, faking concern about my fake headache and faking that he was into me.

He wanted to fake it?

Fine.

He could fake it.

I’d give him a doozy of a chance to fake it.

And at the same time, I was going to take my shot, my last chance, the only one I’d ever have.

And I was going to go for the gusto.

I lifted my hand, wrapped my fingers around his bicep, leaned in and went up on my toes.

I pressed my lips to his.

They felt great.

So great, I couldn’t take more. That was all I was could do. That took all the courage I had left. I didn’t want to know how good it could be and never have it again, even if it was fake.

So that was it.

But Raiden…

He was good at faking.

The master.

I knew this when his arm instantly sliced along my lower back. He hauled me into his hard body and his mouth opened over mine. Mine automatically opened under his and his tongue slid inside.

His tongue felt better, tasted divine, and I pressed into him, tangling mine with his.

My last chance.

He was giving it to me.

Suddenly, I didn’t care if it was fake.

Suddenly, I didn’t care if I’d never have it again.

I had it now.

I was going for it.

I tilted my head and offered him everything.

He slanted his. I heard the soft “flunf” of the afghan falling to the floor and his free hand drove into my hair, fisting. I felt pain that should have felt bad but felt oh-so-good spike across my scalp and I pressed deeper into him, giving more.

He took it.

My hands slid up his arms, his shoulders and finally, finally, I had his hair sliding through my fingers.

It was thick.

It was silky.

It was perfect.

He shuffled me back. I hit the door, the door hit the wall and he pressed in.

I pressed up, held on and kept giving.

Raiden kept taking.

It was the best kiss of my life.

It could have been the best kiss in history.

It took superhuman effort to remember it wasn’t real. To tear my mouth from his, wrench myself out of his arms and step out of reach.

Lost momentarily, I lifted my hand to touch my mouth, my breathing heavy. Then I lifted my eyes to see his head turned toward me, his eyes on me burning in a way that made me burn, everywhere.

Really, a great actor.

Tactical error, taking my last chance.

Now I had to get this done.

I rounded him, crouched where he dropped the afghan, picked it up and moved to stand at the other side of the door, holding it out to him.

“Drive safe home,” I said and he stared at me.

“Come again?” he whispered and there was something sinister in that whisper that scared the heck out of me.

But I ignored my fear, jiggled the afghan at him and repeated, “Drive safe home.”

He approached me and I felt my body stiffen from head-to-toe.

Raiden didn’t miss it. I knew it when his frame jerked to a wooden halt and his eyes bored into mine.

“Talk to me,” he ordered, his voice now low and rumbling, but also strangely rough and commanding.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow when you call. Now I really need to get some medication and lie down.”

He lifted a hand and curled it around the side of my neck, dipping his face close to mine.

“Now isn’t the time to start playing games, Hanna,” he warned quietly.

Was he serious?

He was saying that to me?

I looked him straight in the eye and declared, “No games, Raiden. It’s just a headache.” More like heartache. “With me, you get what you see, that’s it. No mystery. No nothing. Just me.”

“You aren’t you,” he told me.

“You don’t know me,” I returned.

Raiden went silent, but he didn’t move away.

Then he murmured, “Fair enough.”