Stepping toward him, I place my fingers over his mouth, silencing him. Not that he was necessarily going to say anything else. He looks like he’s at as much of a loss for words as I am. “Stop talking. We’re nothing beyond the word friend, right?”

He nods, his eyes shooting daggers at me. But he doesn’t say a word.

“Friends are there for each other. And you were there for me last night.” I trace his lips with my index finger, the plump lower lip, the finely curved upper one. He has such a beautiful mouth. One I thoroughly enjoy watching when he talks, when he smiles, when he kisses me. I’m tempted to kiss him right now. Just so I can forget for at least a little while that I’m leaving and that I was robbed and that he feels this stupid obligation to me.

I’m not his burden. And that’s what it’s like—I’m an obligation to take care of in place of my brother watching over me. At least, that’s how it started out. He became my hero. Rescuing me when I thought I didn’t want to be rescued. Saving me from a life of crime, though he didn’t realize that part.

Our relationship has certainly gone beyond the brotherly-sisterly type . . .

“Jen.” His voice is deep and rumbling. I feel it reverberate through me all the way down to my bones. He touches me, places his hand on my hip, and pulls me closer to him, our chests brushing. Just like that, my skin is on fire, my braless nipples hardening against my tank top. I want him. Inside me, kissing me, pushing me toward that oblivious, blank space where I can forget everything at least for a little while.

I rest my other hand on his chest, right at the center, and I can feel his heartbeat. It’s a rapid, rhythmic pace. Reassuring and strong. Unable to resist, I lean in and brush my lips upon his flesh, right above my fingertips, and he closes his eyes, his expression agonized.

“I want you,” he whispers. “But you’re hurting from that asshole pushing you. And I can’t push myself on you. Not right now.”

“You won’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.” I kiss him again, my lips lingering on his warm, hard skin. I settle my hands on his hips, slip my fingers just beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, and touch him, my hands meeting nothing but bare, hot skin. I feel the thrust of his erection through the fabric of his pj’s, pushing against my belly, and I know he wants me.

Probably even more than I want him.

“I don’t want you to go to work today,” he says, abruptly changing the subject.

I can’t believe he’s talking about work at a time like this. “I already told you, I’m fine. Really.” Standing on tiptoe, I kiss his neck, licking him, tasting him, savoring the sound of his moan. I want to distract him, distract both of us. Talking tends to lead us into trouble, especially lately.

Having sex leads us straight into pleasure. And that’s what I want right now. Mindless, delicious pleasure with Colin.

“No.” He pulls away from me, his expression and body language downright tortured. “I’m not going to do this. Not when you’re still recovering from what happened to you last night.”

Frustration rips through me, making me angry. “I’m not some delicate doll who needs to be handled with care, Colin. I fell and scraped my knees last night. Big deal.”

“You were fucking attacked, Jen. You suffered a tremendous shock. I think you might still be in shock. There’s no other explanation for why you’re acting so odd.”

Jackass! I am so done with him diagnosing me all the time. “So you’re not going to have sex with me because of what happened last night.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“So are you,” he throws back.

We stare at each other, all sorts of tension swirling between us. I both want to jump him and smack him.

Jump him . . .

Or smack him?

Colin

I want to both jump her and smack her, which is the craziest thing ever because I have never had violent thoughts toward a woman before in my life. And hell, she was just mugged, for the love of God. The very thing I should be thinking is how much I want to shake some sense into her.

Those few weak moments when she was touching my mouth, touching my chest, kissing my neck, I was more than ready to cave. Just give in to that uncontrollable urge I feel whenever she’s with me. Where I’m desperate to tear her clothes off and make her mine. Brand her, mark her, demand that she say my name when I make her come. Then she’ll know who she belongs to.

Me. And no one else.

“You’re not working tonight and that’s final,” I finally growl out because holy shit, I have no idea what else to say to break this almost unbearable tension brewing between us.

“Who are you, my dad?” The sarcasm in her voice is unmistakable.

“No, I’m your fucking boss.” I pull away from her and exit the kitchen, needing the escape, but she trails after me, muttering under her breath.

“What the hell did you just say?” I whirl on her, anger running through my veins, making my blood boil. She’s getting under my skin, and not in a good way.

“I said that’s exactly it. You are my fucking boss. As in, you’re my boss and we’re fucking.” She smirks—actually fucking smirks—and crosses her arms in front of her chest, as if daring me to deny it.

I have no answer for her. She’s driving me out of my ever-lovin’ mind and I have no idea why we’re acting this way toward each other. As if we’re both full of hostile resentment that we’re ready to unleash on each other at any given moment.

It reminds me of a pot primed to boil over—and I think we did just that.

“Is that all I am to you?” I ask, my tone just daring her to say yes.

She shrugs one shoulder, all irritated nonchalance. “So we’ve known each other for a long time. So what? It’s not like we owe each other anything.”

My head is spinning. Doesn’t she realize I owe her everything? I care about her, more than I want to admit. The closer we get to her leaving, the more I don’t want her to go. I need to tell her. I need to let her know what she means to me, but . . .

It’s fucking hard. I’m not one to blurt out my feelings. My parents aren’t touchy-feeling and rarely talk about their emotions. I hide behind a mask most of the time. Whatever people want to see, I give it to them. With the exception of Jen.

She’s the only one who sees the real me.

“Besides, I’m nothing but a burden, right? Don’t you get tired of taking care of me all the time? Making sure I’m safe and protected and nothing bad ever happens to me?”

“I let something bad happen to you last night,” I say, my voice low, my anger barely contained. The renewed guilt I feel over what happened to her is almost too much for me to handle.

“That wasn’t your fault. You can’t feel responsible for everything that happens to me. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

“No, I don’t. I want to take care of you. Danny would’ve wanted me to take care of you, too.” It’s the least I can do. I’ve already failed her numerous times. I can think of at least three.

“Do you really believe Danny would have wanted us together? Fucking around on the side?” she asks.

I flinch. “Don’t call it that.”

“Don’t call what we’re doing what it is? Come on, we don’t need to tiptoe around the truth. We’re just fucking each other until I leave. It doesn’t mean anything. We already agreed. You can’t back out of it now.”

“Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“Doesn’t feel so good when someone challenges you, huh? I know that doesn’t happen very often,” she tosses at me like a giant bomb.

I open my mouth to retort something extra sarcastic right back at her but the doorbell rings, interrupting me. We stare at each other, her eyes narrowing, mine narrowing in return, and we’re like two gunslingers ready for a shootout at the O.K. Corral.