I’m smiling, but I realize I’ve made some mistake when his playful expression goes slack and he just stares at me.

I quickly rewind what I said in my head, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Did I hurt his feelings about the soup? He can’t think that— Oh, shit. Now it hits me. I realize what I’ve let slip out. The L word.

That’s not at all what I meant to say. Even if it’s the truth.

“Nat . . .”

I put my hand to my mouth and sit up. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what? Didn’t mean it?”

“I didn’t—” I shake my head. I’m not going to lie. That’s not fair. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“But did you mean it?”

“Monroe—”

“Because I so fucking love you back,” he says, taking my hand.

Now it’s my turn to gawk like an idiot. “Wait, what? You do?”

I feel like I might throw up. In a good way.

He laughs, sounding more than a little relieved. “Of course I do. Can’t you tell? You think this is still one big, long hook-up?”

“I—I don’t know. I wasn’t sure—”

“Then be sure now, Nat,” he says, kissing my knuckles and meeting my eyes. “I’m completely stupid over you. Like, losing-my-mind into you.”

I can’t even speak.

“And now it looks like I’ve freaked you out.”

I stare at him a moment longer. Then I tackle him.

We crash into the sand, and I kiss him with everything I’ve got. I’m not even sure I’m landing my mouth in the right places. I’m murmuring I love you, love you, love you in between. Hands go everywhere and soon we’ve moved from yay-we-love-each-other making out to something more urgent.

His hand slips under the neck-tie of my bikini top, and the string slides free of the knot. My body goes hot and the waves seem to increase in volume. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Or maybe it’s blood rushing through my ears. His kisses trail down to my breasts, my nipples hardening in the night air and begging for his mouth. We’ve never done this, not on the beach.

But it’s a private beach for residents, and it’s late and dark. I haven’t seen anyone out here for at least two hours. And right now, I kind of don’t care if we’re seen. It’s too good to want to stop.

Monroe rolls me beneath him, putting me back on the blanket I’d been sitting on, and kisses down my body. We’re moving fast and frantic, but it feels so right. When he reaches the apex of my thighs, he runs his tongue along the outside of my bathing suit, the heat of his touch burning through the thin material like a firebrand. I make a desperate sound and angle my hips upward without conscious effort. His finger plays at the edge of my bikini bottoms and he looks up at me. “Trust me?”

I know if I say I’d rather move it inside, we will and he won’t mind. But I don’t want to. I want to be with him on this beach where we’ve spent so much time together. I want to taste the salt-laced air and hear the ocean as he moves inside me, as we make love. But then a practical thought gives me pause. “Condom?”

He smiles. “I have one in my pocket. Call me hopeful.”

Relief moves through me. “Then I don’t want to be anywhere but here.”

And that is as true a statement as I’ve ever made. Here . . . is perfect.

He kisses my hip and eases my bottoms down. The warm breeze coming off the ocean is like a caress to every naked spot on my body. Everywhere Monroe has kissed lights with awareness. And then he’s over me and pushing my hair off my face, looking at me in a way that says he loves me more than words ever could.

I don’t want to cry. I want to hold on to this moment and not have it be filled with tears. He runs his hand along my thigh and opens me to him. We’ve spent so many nights together this summer, but when he pushes inside me, it feels new all over again.

He touches his forehead to mine and smiles that bad-boy smile of his. “Want me to give you a ride, princess?”

I wrap my arms around him, loving the weight of him against me, the scent of him, the feeling of being so completely his. “Nah, I think I’ll just wait for Autoland. You look like trouble.”

“Oh, I most definitely am.” He sinks deep inside me and his lips brush my ear. “And so are you. Sweet, perfect trouble.”

Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next Loving on the Edge novel

CALL ON ME

Coming July 2015 from Berkley Books!

Chapter 1

“Are you touching yourself?” The voice in Oakley’s ear sounded labored and overeager—like a Saint Bernard attempting phone sex. He was probably drooling, too. Lovely.

“Yes, you make me so hot”—she quickly checked the sticky note she’d put on the kitchen island—“Stefan.”

Stefan. Literature professor. Single. Six foot five.

That was the info he’d given her. Which probably meant: Steve, unemployed, married, and five-six on a good day.

He groaned. “You’re so sexy.”

Sexy? Two points off for lack of originality, Mr. Lit Prof. Though even the suave guys tended to forget their vocabulary when they got to this point in the conversation. Oakley covered the mouthpiece on her headset and turned off the timer on the oven. If nothing else, she was impressed the guy had lasted through the full baking time.

“Thanks, sugar,” she said, letting her tone drop into a lower register.

“God, your voice is so fucking hot.”

That she heard a lot. A record company exec had once deemed her voice “smoky, X-rated perfection” when he’d heard her demo. At the time, she hadn’t considered how inappropriate it’d been for a grown man to tell a fifteen-year-old kid that. But her raspy voice had gotten her the gig then, and it’d gotten her this one now. Though, admittedly, the bar wasn’t set quite as high for this current one.

“I’m gonna give it to you so hard, Sasha,” Stefan ground out. “I can feel your hot mouth closing around me.”

Oakley donned oven mitts and leaned down to pull out the tray of brownies. The smell of chocolate and the heat of the oven hit her with full force. She inhaled deeply. “Mmm, that’s so good. I could just lick up every last bit.”

“Yeah,” he panted, the sound of his slick, pumping fist obscenely clear through the receiver. “That’s right. Show me how much you want it.”

There you go, Steve, you go on and get your money’s worth. Oakley set the tray of brownies on a trivet and tugged off the mitts. Her stomach rumbled. She’d stayed up late enough that her body was looking for dinner number two. But these weren’t for her.

She glanced toward the darkened hallway and the stairs beyond. Well, maybe one little corner piece wouldn’t be missed. She cut a small square and dipped her fingers in to grab it. But as she lifted the brownie, her knuckles grazed the searing hot pan.

“Ah, shit!” she hissed, jerking her hand back.

“Oh, yeah, let me hear it,” Stefan said on a moan. “Come with me, baby.”

Oakley shook out her hand, sucking air through her teeth, and tried to keep the pain out of her voice. Her phone companion thought she was mid-orgasm. She threw in an oh, oh, oh and ran to the sink to plunge her fist into the dishwater she’d drawn to soak the mixing bowl.

Stefan made choked sounds as he reached his own release. In another world, maybe it could’ve been an erotic moment. She’d talked a guy into an orgasm. He was calling her name. But the name was fake and so was the talk. And though she held nothing against the guys who called—they helped her pay the bills—her libido had long ago crawled into a dark corner to die a peaceful death. Even if she imagined the guy on the other end of the line looked like Johnny Depp or Justin Timberlake or something, she couldn’t drum up one ounce of interest.