Once more, heat flooded her face, while an ache settled in her chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, managing a somewhat lofty tone.

Tori wasn’t fooled. “Son of a bitch. You totally jumped him in the elevator.”

“I most certainly did not,” she snapped, turning her head to glare at her friend. “I in no way jumped him in the elevator.”

“Okay.” Tori waited a beat. “Did you wait until you got to your room or did he take you to his?”

To that, Ressa really had no response. Oh, she could have lied, but there was no way she’d be able to pull it off, not when the need for him was rippling through her, a need that was growing stronger and stronger—damn it, she was supposed to have gotten him out of her system.

Instead, that need was worse.

“I don’t believe this. The man spends most of his career tucked up in his cave and the one time he ventures out, you end up doing him.” Tori shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m jealous or just in awe.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ressa unlocked her trunk and shoved her bag inside. One hand braced on the trunk’s lid, she looked at Tori. “Do you want to make it to the airport or not?”

“So did you get his number?”

Can I call you?

Now that ache in her chest spread. Eyes closed, she braced her forehead on her bicep. “Tori, can we just let this go, please?”

“Hey . . .”

When Tori brushed a hand down her arm, the knot in her throat grew larger and, to her horror, she thought she just might cry. She managed to fight it back, shoving all that misery down the way she always did.

“What’s wrong? Did he just up and leave right after? Shit, he’s not lousy in bed, is he?”

Ressa snorted. “If he was, trust me, I wouldn’t be sitting here miserable. It was . . .” Now she found herself smiling, and she realized this was the first time in her life she truly understood the term bittersweet. “Ever had one perfect night?”

“Maybe.” Tori shoved long brown hair back over her narrow shoulders, then she grinned. “But if I have, I was too drunk to remember it the next day.”

Sighing, Ressa looked up and smiled. “It was probably the closest to perfect I’ll ever know. But that’s all it was. One perfect night.”

Chapter Thirteen

Hands slid smooth and agile down his chest. Followed by a warm, seeking mouth. Crazy, wild curls trailed over his skin and he let his instincts guide him. He fisted a hand in her hair as she continued to move lower, lower . . .

When she closed her mouth around the head of his cock, Trey groaned, arching up.

The snarl that ripped out of him was choked and harsh, so ragged, he barely recognized the sound of his own voice.

Don’t stop . . .

He tried to say the words.

Maybe he did and just couldn’t hear it over the roar and rush of blood.

Don’t . . .

Her laugh teased his ears as she lifted up and trailed a hand up his thigh. I won’t. I’m having too much fun.

Music crashed, cutting through the dream. Trey jolted and then sat upright in bed. The dream fell to pieces around him as he looked around the room.

It had been a month since New Jersey—over a month since he’d seen . . . tasted . . . touched . . . Ressa.

He still dreamed about her.

The theme song from Buffy the Vampire Slayer was blaring from his phone. The display had one simple word on it, and while maybe it wasn’t exactly the apocalypse, he felt like he needed to gear up for battle.

Grabbing the phone, he studied the display for a second longer and then silenced the alarm.

School.

Clayton started school today.

It was six in the morning, still too early to get Clayton up. He had wanted it that way. He needed to get his head clear, brace himself. Psych himself up or something.

The phone rang as he finished up in the bathroom and he answered with a sigh. “You realize that I can handle this myself, Mommy.”

“Fuck you,” Travis said easily. “How’s my boy doing?”

Trey smiled despite the stress that tried to chew him up inside. “Excited. If I could work up even a tenth of Clay’s excitement—hell, a hundredth of it, I’d be doing just fine with this.”

“Today will be the worst. I . . . uh. Well, I had plans to be there, maybe drag you out to breakfast or something, but work wouldn’t let me off. Bunch of dickheads.”

“It’s cool, Travis. I got this.” He moved to the window, staring out at the eastern horizon. He loved this spot—had spent many mornings just here, watching as the colors bled from deep purple to pink then gold as the sun rose higher. With one arm braced on the cool glass of the window, he stared outside. “Much as I appreciate it, you can’t always be there to hold my hand.”

Silence caught, hung there. Then Travis blew out a heavy breath. “Fuck, Trey. You’ve spent the past few years shutting down more and more. Don’t act like you haven’t. I feel it. I just . . . you’re scaring me. And don’t try to lie to me about this. I—”

“Travis. I’m okay.” He cut his twin off. Turning away from the window, he moved to his dresser and stared at the gold ring that had rested there for the past few weeks. He’d put it on for the trip home, but since then, it had rested in that very spot.

The need to put it back on any time he ventured outside, whether it was to the library, to the grocery, or even those monthly trips to church with Aliesha’s folks, was going away.

He could handle life without that shield.

He’d even handled a few mild flirtations—not on his side—without feeling like he needed to bolt.

And maybe it was just because he needed it, but it seemed the ghosts that hung around him were a little lighter.

Of course, there was a ghost haunting him. We had a good night but . . .

“Trey—”

“I’m okay.” He touched the ring. “I took my ring off. I was out running and this cute blonde started asking me about my tattoo. I didn’t turn into an Olympic sprinter in my desperation to get away. I ran into a woman in the produce aisle and she asked me for my name and I didn’t bolt.”

“Did you give her your name?”

Trey winced. “My name, yeah. But when she asked for my number . . . well. I wasn’t interested.”

*   *   *

Travis scraped his nails across the growth of stubble on his face. If he hadn’t been laid up in a hospital bed, he’d be on the other side of the Atlantic—and that had him pissed. He was more pissed off about the fact that he was laid up dealing with blood loss than the fact that he’d been shot two days ago.

Damn, but he wanted out.

He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be back in the States.

He’d wanted to be there for his twin. Had been prepared to talk Trey through this. But oddly enough, he wasn’t feeling all that conflict he’d expected to feel. He eased up on the choke chain he’d lived with and realized something was . . . different, very different with his twin.

Normally Trey felt like a barren landscape.

“You are okay,” he murmured.

“No.” Trey’s voice was honest.

“Fuck, man.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, he tried to put his finger on just what it was he felt. There was something. He could feel it. “Did you . . . hey, you finally went out with your librarian, didn’t you?”

“No.” Trey laughed and the sound was bitter, humorless. “No. That didn’t work out.”

“Okay.” He frowned, tried to figure it out. “What is it then? Something’s different with you. You feel . . . hell, you . . . aren’t as empty.”

“I’m not,” Trey said, his voice blunt. “I can’t say I’m back to normal, but I’m getting there. I’ve got a promise to keep. You, though . . . man . . .”