“It’s just…” She shrugged. “The last time I had sex with a guy he tried to kill me.”

Now he blinked. “You said there’d been another between then and now.”

“One other that didn’t go very well. Actually, it didn’t go at all.”

His dark brows went up, hidden beneath the brim of his hat. “Why not?”

“He couldn’t. He really tried, but he… couldn’t.”

“Did you love him?”

“No. It was more like a mutual favor between friends.” She pursed her lips. “Yeah.”

Noah pushed his hat back on his head and stared at her. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, remember that doctor? The one who’d had the accident?”

“You had sex with him?”

“Well… no. Which is the point. He and I got to talking one day and I wondered if I still could. You know, if everything still… worked. He said he’d be willing to try.”

“What a guy,” Noah said dryly.

“Yeah, well.” Eve chuckled awkwardly. “It’s kind of funny now, but it sure wasn’t funny then, for either of us. I think I was more upset for him than about myself.”

“Not surprising,” he murmured.

“About a year ago he called me. He’s met someone and he’s happy. And functional.” Her smile was half fond and half embarrassed. “He made sure I knew that.”

“What a guy,” Noah said again. He hooked his finger under her chin, tugging until she looked up at him again. Then his head dipped, his mouth covered hers, and he kissed her so thoroughly her toes curled in her boots. He pulled back just far enough to see her face. “You want to dip your toe in, Eve, or do you want to dive into a cold pool?”

In his eyes was heated challenge she couldn’t ignore if she wanted to. And, to her relief, she found she didn’t want to. “Cold pool,” she said and his eyes flashed, with triumph probably. But that was okay because she was feeling triumphant herself.

Noah paused long enough to throw the deadbolt on his front door and take her computer bag and coat. Then he took her hand and led her back to his bed.

He’d had a flash of insight at Brock and Trina’s. For all Eve’s outer calm, she was timid. Terrified even. The last six years of her life had been all about dipping her toe in.

But he’d watched her when she was put face to face with people. She interacted. She came alive. She just needed that nudge. So did I. He’d needed whatever had put them together. Call it fate or luck or whatever, he didn’t intend to spend another day watching her over his tonic water.

He stopped next to his bed, set his gun on his nightstand. Then he slid his hands into her short hair and took her mouth the way he’d wanted to from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, letting her feel what he’d kept pent up for one very long year. With a low, satisfied hum she leaned up into him, grabbing his wrists for balance, then her hands slid down his arms, under his suit coat, flattening against his back. With kissing she was comfortable. He prayed she’d be comfortable with what came next.

“These are the rules of this game,” he said against her lips. “You say ‘stop’ or ‘wait’ at any time and I will. But if you say nothing, I keep going. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, her fingers digging into his back. “Just hurry.”

But he wouldn’t hurry. He’d given them the nudge they needed, but had no intention of flying so fast that they missed the trip. He spent time on her mouth, kissing her long and deep and lush until the hands that gripped his back slid up his chest and around his neck. He ran his mouth over the cheek she could feel and down the scar she couldn’t.

He ran his lips down her neck, over and past the leather choker he’d never seen her without, until he got to the collar of her sweater. She’d pushed his suit coat off his shoulders and to the floor and was tugging his shirt from his trousers and it was all he could do not to throw her on the bed and plunge deep.

But he didn’t hurry, didn’t rush. Didn’t push her. Didn’t need to. She was struggling with the buttons of his shirt and he pulled back to give her room.

She looked up, her eyes dark, intense. “My hands are clumsy.”

“I don’t mind.” When she’d finished, he shrugged out of the shirt.

For a moment she simply looked at him and he felt oddly… humbled. “I always wondered what went on under your suits,” she said softly. “I never thought I’d find out.”

“I’m glad you were wrong.”

She smiled at that, shyly, but her hands were clenched together. She was nervous again, but she hadn’t told him to stop, so he started anew. He kissed her until she kissed him back and her hands unclenched, flattening on his chest, and he shuddered.

He’d missed this. Needed this. He dropped his head to her shoulder. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” And she didn’t, fanning her palms back and forth, exploring.

He lifted his head and watched her face as she touched him. She’d needed this, too. “I like the summer,” he said abruptly and she looked up, surprise in her eyes.

“Why?”

“Because you have this shirt that you wear to the bar.” He trailed his fingers up under her sweater, along her stomach, and felt her muscles clench and quiver. “It’s cut high. When you twist a certain way, I could see part of your tattoo. What is it?”

She swallowed hard. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

“I could do that.” He pulled her sweater over her head, revealing a plain, serviceable bra that shouldn’t have made his mouth water, but it did. Gently he pushed her to the bed and followed her down, running his fingers over the skin he’d bared.

He pressed his lips between her breasts then forced himself to lift his head. “This drove me crazy all summer.” Vines crept up from the waist of her jeans, curling this way and that. Some bore tiny flowers. In some places the vines were thicker than others.

She was holding her breath. He ran his fingertip over one of the thicker vines, felt the hardened, raised skin beneath. And understood. They were the scars from the eight times she’d been stabbed. She’d turned something horrific into something beautiful.

He waited to meet her eyes, waited until he’d shoved all the sorrow and rage back deep, where she couldn’t see. Waited until the only thing left was pride. And desire. “This is one hell of a tattoo,” he said, his voice between husky and hoarse.

She breathed then, her tension ebbing. “It keeps going. You know. Down.”

Noah’s mouth curved even as his fingers itched to rip the jeans from her body and see just how far down the vines dipped. “I can see that.”

She exhaled through her teeth. “Hurry, Noah.”

But he wouldn’t let himself be hurried. He kissed the skin above her bra, then below it until her shoulders lifted from the bed, seeking more. Finally she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth to her breast and he gave in, sucking hard through the cotton, groaning when she pushed the fabric away.

She twisted higher, humming her pleasure when he took her other breast in his mouth. “More,” she whispered. “Do more. Please. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

His hands shaking, he yanked the jeans and lace panties down her long legs, leaving her naked and wide-eyed, waiting for his reaction.

He had to wait, to make sure his voice didn’t crack like a teenager’s. “I always wondered what went on under your clothes. I never thought I’d find out.”

She said nothing, still waiting, and his heart squeezed even as his body throbbed.

“Eve, I imagined a lot, but never like this. You’re beautiful.”

Her eyes closed and her throat worked. “Hurry,” was all she whispered and he knew she was terrified. Noah wanted to curse, no, to kill the man who’d left her scarred and scared. But that wouldn’t help either of them now.

No pressure, he thought and let his own trousers drop to the floor in a jingle of keys. She flinched, just a little, but he saw. So he lay down beside her and started again, kissing, caressing, until her hands relaxed and her hips lifted, her body seeking his.