Lizette, the cute single mom from Clayton’s play group, had ended up finding another group after their disastrous date and he couldn’t blame her. He’d gone to kiss her and she’d closed the distance and he’d just . . . locked down. Completely.

Then there was the debacle with his neighbor Nadine. Their pathetic date still made him cringe.

It wasn’t just guilt—the psychologist had told him it was normal to feel guilty—normal although there was nothing to be guilty about. But it was more than guilt. Trey didn’t even want women touching him now.

Even theoretically, it wasn’t appealing.

Or it hadn’t been, until he’d met Ressa.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ring he’d all but ripped off his hand. It gleamed at him from the table. Sweat built at the base of his neck.

Swearing, he shoved up and paced the three steps across the floor and grabbed it, hurling it across the room. The platinum and gold band hit the wall and then fell.

It lay there, on the far side of the room, glinting at him, the gold and platinum shining in the dim light of the room. Mocking him.

That didn’t change anything.

*   *   *

It took twenty minutes and a lot of sheer determination to get to the room set up for his panel. He kept his head down, his sunglasses on, and his hands jammed into his pockets so he wouldn’t see his naked left hand.

He kept his mind focused on a plot kink in one of his side projects. The heroine was difficult, fighting him. Too much in her past was just not coming together and he couldn’t figure out why.

That was enough to keep him distracted until he found the right room, trying not to notice the long line that had already formed. A few people saw him and when he heard the speculative whispers, and more than a few whispers of his name, he hunched his shoulders and just moved faster, letting the door all but kick him in the ass as he ducked inside.

Once there, he just stood, took a deep breath. The scent of coffee—

“Mr. Barnes.”

Blood drained, slowly, from his head all the down to pool in his groin at the sound of her low voice—smooth as honey, potent as whiskey. He hadn’t craved that in years, but now, he had a need to taste it. On her.

He had another need, too. The one that seemed to flood him whenever he was near her. Muscles tensed and tightened and it was, yet again, just sheer will that allowed him to blank his face as he looked over at her. He could stand this close to her and still feel it, that need to touch, to taste, to take . . .

Yeah, theoretically, he wanted her.

And fuck the theory—he just plain wanted. Wanted her with a need that bordered on obsession, and it all but blinded him as she stood there, giving him a polite, professional smile.

He cleared his throat and managed to return her smile.

“Ms. Bliss. Ah . . . how are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

Trey found himself trying not to stare at the way the high-waisted skirt she wore clung to curves so lush, they were all but imprinted on his brain already.

Remember item number four on your list . . . try not to drool.

He could all but feel his smile wobbling on his face now and he looked around, half-desperate. Spying the coffee urns lined up on a table at the far wall, he nodded at her. “Ah . . . I need coffee.”

Coffee. Coffee would work—if it didn’t focus his brain, he could dump it on himself and use it as an excuse to run back upstairs and change. Getting through the panel with a hard-on was not going to—

“Morning there, Barnes. You look nervous. Guess those movie star genes from your brothers weren’t passed onto you, huh?”

The sound of Baron’s voice scraped against his already ragged temper and raw nerves. But it served to cool the flare of heat that had been burning through him. Heat faded, replaced by irritation. And the irritation wasn’t just because Baron stood between him and caffeine.

Teeth bared in a mockery of a smile, he met Baron’s gaze. “What makes you think I’m nervous?”

“A little red in the face, looking kind of desperate.” Baron shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Not like you do public appearances. These sessions are being recorded, you know. Streamed live, and then shared later for those who couldn’t attend. Has to be nerve-wracking—”

Trey started to laugh. As he edged around Baron, he said, “Thanks to one of those movie star brothers—and actually, Zach didn’t do movies, he did TV—but thanks to Zach, I was used to growing up around cameras and having people ask me crazy questions. I probably had more screen time by the time I was fifteen than you’ve had in your entire career.”

There was a soft laugh from the back of the room. He ground his teeth together and focused on the coffee setup over at the side of the room.

*   *   *

The forty-five minute panel passed in a blur.

There were laughs from the audience, there were questions and grins from the panelists—Ressa remembered that. She did her best not to think about the cameras—there wouldn’t be a day when the thought of those wouldn’t turn her stomach, but she kept her body angled to the side and went with the flow.

When another assistant signaled it was time and she had to tell everybody they had to wrap up, there was a groan that echoed through the crowd.

She took that to mean she’d made it through another one.

Half the time she felt like she was faking it and more often than not, she didn’t even remember exactly what had happened until she listened to the podcasts or watched the videos that streamed out in the days that followed these sort of events.

As much as she hated the videos, she always watched.

But she didn’t have to look at a video or listen to a podcast to know how this one had gone.

One look at Max’s face and she knew.

He caught her hand as she stepped back from the podium. “You knocked it out of the park, sweetheart. Good job.”

Rolling her eyes, she blew out a theatrical breath, although she really did need the oxygen. “Thank you.”

As readers started to approach, she moved away. She’d done her job, now she was going to stand by and watch as the people at the table continued on with theirs.

*   *   *

“How long has it been since you did this?”

Trey studied his numb hand closely. Yep. Still shaking. That had been . . . kind of a rush, he decided. Nerve-wracking in a crazy way, thus the shakes. But fun. Tucking his numb, shaking hands into his pockets, he flashed Max a grin as they moved out into the hall. “About six and a half years. I had that three week tour when Odd Girl came out.”

Neither of them mentioned the conference he’d been at when Aliesha was in the wreck—he’d barely even had time to meet a few people, talk to some of his fellow panelists, before he received the call.

Eyes squinted in thought, Max stared at nothing in particular for a long moment. “That was your first one, wasn’t it? First tour?”

“Yeah.” He sighed as the adrenaline started to drain away, as if those words had just pulled some unseen cork right out of him. “First and last.”

“It’s only been your last because you have too much going on in your life,” Max said softly. “Hard to handle that sort of thing when you got your son to take care of. Can’t really spend two or three weeks flying around the country when you got a young son, now can you?”

“Some people think I can.” He jerked a shoulder in a restless shrug, thinking of the publicist he’d fired only six months after Aliesha’s death. The son of a bitch had insisted it was time that Trey start focusing on his career again—enough time had passed, right?

Max clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You put your son first. You still do. Not a thing wrong with that, Trey. You’re all he’s got and he needs you.”