“Goddammit, Lucy,” he growled, collapsing on top of her. “I can’t stop this. How can I stop?”

Her brain a pile of mush, Lucy could only thread her fingers through his hair, the action soothing them both. When he started to move off of her, she locked her legs around his hips to keep him there. He looked down at her for a quiet moment, then buried his face in her hair.

Shortly after, they fell back asleep.

…

Matt slowed his hurried gait as he walked into the kitchen and found Lucy perched on the counter, wearing an oversize Syracuse T-shirt. She didn’t see him enter at first, looking deep in thought as she…roasted a marshmallow?

He shook his head and propped a shoulder against the wall to watch her, sure he was seeing things. She’d stretched out a wire coat hanger and impaled the fluffy white confection on the end, holding it over the gas burner. Beside her on the counter was an opened box of graham crackers and a king-size Hershey bar. She was making s’mores. At eight o’clock in the morning. The very idea seemed ridiculous, but when paired with Lucy, somehow it made perfect sense. Sunshine streamed in through the kitchen window, picking out the strawberry coloring of her hair, the entire scene a brutal reminder that she was everything he wasn’t. A beacon of light while he stood across the room in the shadows. Everything inside him pushed him toward her, needing to touch that light, but he rebelled against it, convinced it might dim with his influence.

Minutes ago, when he’d woken up and found her gone, he’d been unreasonably panicked. They were in her bed, this is where she was staying. She couldn’t have gone far. It hadn’t stopped him from hurriedly dragging on his pants and striding out of the bedroom in pursuit of her.

Irrational. Everything about his reaction to this girl was irrational. He hadn’t even meant to stay the night, merely wanted to hold her for a while. To know what it felt like. Next thing he’d known, he’d woken up and found her ass molded to his lap, his c**k so hard he couldn’t see reason or think straight. There had been no turning back at that point. Get inside her or die. The thought had rung in his skull, setting him on her like a starving man. He’d lacked control, dominating her, making demands…and loving the hell out of every single minute. Until he’d woken and found her gone.

He’d been too rough. Exposed too much of himself. She’d run.

He still didn’t know if that was the case. She sat with her brow furrowed, rotating the marshmallow above the flame, a gentle hum emanating from her luscious lips, but she gave nothing away. Yet.

“S’mores aren’t exactly a nutritious breakfast,” Matt remarked, walking toward the refrigerator.

“Oh!” She jerked, knocking the box of graham crackers onto the ground. With a scowl, she shoved her curls behind her ears and slipped off the counter to retrieve it, careful to keep the marshmallow positioned correctly over the burner. As she bent over, he caught a glimpse of her pink boy shorts and barely restrained a growl. “Don’t be grumpy. There’s enough for both of us.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Watching your figure?”

No, I’m watching yours. He cleared his throat and opened the refrigerator, seeing that it was empty save a carton of orange juice and green grapes. She’d gone to the store and bought the materials to make s’mores and nothing else? He sighed, shutting the fridge door. “All right. Make me one.”

Her face lit up, cutting off the oxygen to his brain. “When Brent and I were kids—” She cut herself off, her pretty gaze flying to his when she realized she’d referred to the pink elephant in the room. Her brother. His best friend. Matt felt an uncomfortable churning in his gut but didn’t say anything and after a moment, she notched her chin up and continued. “When we were kids, my mom refused to take us camping. She hated bugs. Anything wildernessrelated, really. So once a year our dad moved the table out of the kitchen and pitched a tent. We made s’mores this way.”

The way she smiled fondly at the memory made him want to dive across the kitchen and drag her into his arms, but once again, he stayed put. “Camping, Queens-style,” he said, instead.

Her eyes twinkled. “Have you ever been camping?” When he only looked at her, she paled, obviously remembering the time he’d spent overseas living mostly outdoors. “Never mind. That was a stupid question.”

Matt felt the insistent need to make her feel better. “Extreme camping, maybe. Minus the s’mores.” He waited until she smiled again. The pressure in his chest eased. “We ate MREs. Field rations. Not as appetizing as what you’re cooking, but they got the job done.”

He watched as she very carefully placed a piece of chocolate on a graham cracker, then stacked a marshmallow and another graham cracker on top. Looking satisfied with herself, she handed the creation to him. When their fingers brushed, he felt it down to the soles of his feet. Judging from her intake of breath, she felt it, too. Her tongue danced along her lips. “What was your first meal when you came back?”

Such an odd question. Hell, this whole situation was odd. So why did he feel so at home? He bit into the s’more as he thought about her question, a grunt of approval escaping him before he could stop it. Damn, it tasted good. Not half as good as her, though. “A foot-long sub sandwich. Two, actually.”

“Not something your mom made?” Oblivious to how her question threw him, she stuck another marshmallow onto the end of the wire. “I would ask for meat loaf and mashed potatoes. And several kinds of pie. Let’s just say I’d be wearing sweatpants for a while.”

He decided she could use some extra weight. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so guilty about manhandling her. Stop that line of thinking. You can’t continue to have her. Leave her alone. “My parents weren’t there to cook for me when I got back, but the sub did the trick.”

“Where were they?”

The s’more felt stuck in his throat. “My dad lost the use of his legs when I was young. They have a difficult time traveling.” Matt didn’t add that he hadn’t seen his parents since before his deployment and only spoke with them on holidays. His father had long ago become his mother’s full-time job, leaving very little time to travel. Or cook special meat loaf. Lucy didn’t need to be dragged down with that knowledge, though, nor did he know how he’d react to her sympathy. He was very much afraid he would like it and take advantage. Bask in all that light as long as he could. Quickly, he diverted the attention from himself. “What’s on your bucket list today?”

For long moments, she stared as if she wanted to question him further on his parents. He realized he was holding his breath, hoping for both of their sakes she’d let it drop. If she showed him an ounce of compassion, he’d be across the room buried in her before she could blink. He couldn’t explain it. Only knew it would undo him, and he’d never shown that side of himself to another person. What lay on the other side of exposing himself like that?

“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked hesitantly.

Now he did. Was it dangerous? It better not be. “Tell me,” he demanded.

She visibly shivered. Why? “Trapeze classes at Chelsea Pier.” Her gaze flew to the clock. “Actually, I better go. One should not be late to defy death. It’s bad luck.”