Damned if she isn’t in my arms, seeking a kiss, a stroke, a tight clasp, and so much more.

Damned if I’m not getting harder than ever.

It takes more control than you think to breathe evenly, to hold back emotion, to hide how you truly feel about someone you love.

Love.

There. I thought it.

Too bad I’m too much of a coward to say it.

I can be in a room with people I loathe and they’ll never guess how I really feel. Managing expressions, respirations, tone of voice — that’s child’s play compared to this.

Because when you dislike someone, all you have to do is cover up the negative.

When you love someone, you have to cover up your heart. And unlike anger or disgust or irritation, the feelings the heart emits don’t cover easily. They bleed through, pumped in an unremitting, steady stream that pushes through every defense and reveals itself in every action.

My throat won’t stop tightening, as if my heart is crawling up my chest, seeking Carrie. I let go of the glass and let the words come into my mouth, feeling them there like her lips, her tongue, the soft sweetness of her neck against my cheek as we played earlier.

This isn’t pretend, my tongue wants to say. This is anything but pretend.

“Ryan?” Her voice makes me jump, and now my heart is in my cheek, tucked there as it pounds mercilessly against my jaw. I do the best I can to make myself able to speak.

“Yeah?” I grunt out, the sound bizarre to my ears.

That was about as far from This isn’t pretend as you can get.

That’s it. I square my shoulders and taking in a long, deep breath. I ignore the flurry of rejections past. I push away the images of bullies who told me I was lesser. Weak. Not worthy.

The man I am needs to connect with the woman she is. It’s time.

It’s past time.

She yawns, rolling over onto her back just as a strand of moonlight makes her gown translucent, one breast hollowed out from the fabric, ripe and lush. It’s a work of art. I can’t help myself.

I stare. The words disappear in the distance between my eyes and her fine skin.

“Thanks for doing this, Ryan. I know it’s not easy pretending. Thank you for everything.”

And with that, she rolls over, her breathing slowing.

“I — ” Choking out a sound that isn’t connected to anything but my own desperation, I grab the window for support. What the hell is wrong with me? No other woman makes me feel like this. Not one. Why can’t I just say this?

Because Carrie isn’t just any other woman.

Slowly, with great purpose, I make my way to my side of the bed. Her back is to me now, the raised curve of her shoulder cutting through the view of the sea outside. As the waves start to match the rhythm of her breathing, I pull back the covers, sliding one leg in, then the other, until I’m on my back next to her, fingers threaded behind my head, staring straight at the ceiling.

Touch her. Touch her. Touch her. My heartbeat suddenly has a mantra, a voice.

It sounds like hers.

“Carrie?” I whisper, ready to try.

Silence.

I fall asleep to the sound of my coward’s heart beating like a drum of warning, off in the distance, muted but carrying a message of the inevitable.

* * *

I wake up to the intoxicating aroma of faint perfume, silk, and sweat, with Carrie pushed up against me, spooning. She’s curled into my arms and her ass presses against my front in a way that makes me suddenly hold my breath and tense, like I’m a wax statue.

With a sword between my legs.

I don’t want to wake her up. Actually, I do want to wake her up. My arm is wrapped around her and the gentle weight of one of her breasts against the bones of my hand is killing me. Electricity shoots through me, from the root of my cock into the top of my head as I close my eyes and nuzzle her neck, breathing in the scent of the possible.

The scent of now.

And then I remember.

I know it’s not easy pretending.

My gut curls in, away from her body. She moves backward instinctively, seeking me out, her hand finding my hand and pulling me in.

If I go by her words, we’re just friends.

If I go by her body, she wants more.

Tap tap tap.

I startle, half flying off the bed as someone knocks on the door. Racing to answer, I open it a crack and find a big grin on the other side.

“Slacker. It’s seven. Get your ass out here for a run and some lifting. Unless you already worked those arms with some pushups over Carrie last night?”

Zeke.

“Shut the hell up,” I snap, closing the door in his face. But I grab my water bottle and socks and shoes, then slip my cardkey in my pocket. I know how this works.

He’ll wake her up if I don’t get him out of here.

I’m in the hall in seconds. Zeke’s inspecting me like I’m a medieval bride and he’s looking at the wedding-night sheets for proof of sex.

“Nice tent. I take it you struck out.”

I suggest he have sex with himself while I get my socks and shoes on.

“I don’t have to, mate. I can always find a filly happy to ride me.”

“You’re comparing yourself to a horse?”

“I’m hung like one.” He shrugs and laughs. “You look like shit. You get any sleep?”

“Some. Not much,” I admit, as he takes me down the stairs and out a door to a trail that runs just above the beach.

“Your bedhead could win awards. You spent all night in bed with a woman and didn’t sleep or get laid?”

“You planning to flap your lips or run?” I challenge as I stretch.

“Seems like the only lips in your life that are flapping are mine.”

And with that, I sprint, because it’s either start running or start punching.

Chapter 10

CARRIE

When I wake up, the room is quiet. The kind of quiet that lets you know you are completely alone. I squint at my phone and see it’s 8:15 in the morning.

Ryan’s gone.

Where is he? His side of the bed has been slept in, but I don’t remember him next to me. Last I recall, he was standing at the window, back turned, mind elsewhere as I undressed just a few feet away.

“He slept next to me all night and never even touched me,” I whisper slowly, trying to make sense of what’s happening.