Old habit.

This was his way.

This was how he dealt.

Jam all the personal, private information into his mind vise, then crush it and let the tension live in his bones for years, like a coiled spring. The one time lately he hadn’t felt like a taut power line was when he’d given John the initials he’d gotten from his mom. Instead, he’d felt a sense of freedom from the weight of the past.

The memory of that feeling was a soft knock on the door. A gentle reminder that he’d gotten in this predicament with Sophie by keeping his secrets airtight.

Maybe it was time to try a new approach.

“So here’s the story,” he said, then told them about the only woman he’d ever even started to let into his heart. He kept it short and simple, sticking to basic facts.

When he was through, Shannon slammed her hands against his chest. “You ass.”

He stumbled into the pool table, surprise racing through him.

Brent cracked up. “She doesn’t pull her punches. You gotta watch out for Mrs. Nichols,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” Ryan said, straightening up.

“Why are you here? Seriously? Go,” she said, pointing to the door. “Go find her and tell her you weren’t using her, and that she’s the first woman you’ve ever felt a damn thing for, and that you’re all sorts of messed up in the head,” she said, tapping her temple, “but that you want to try for her. Or maybe do you want to wait ten years for her to come back into your life?”

Brent raised a beer. “Can’t think of a better advertisement for going after the woman you want this very second than our example,” he said, gesturing from Shannon to himself. “Go get her now, man. Get her now.”

Shannon turned to her husband, and the look in her eyes and the smile on her face said it all. They were in mad love.

He didn’t know if that was what he was pursuing with Sophie. It felt more like…possibility.

And hell, possibility seemed worth it. When it came in a package of brains, beauty, and heart, wrapped up in a peach dress, it seemed worth it for sure.

He searched through his mental files, trying to remember where Sophie said she’d be on Saturday. Something about the fundraiser. Doing some work with her ex. Was she at home? At her office? He snapped his fingers when he remembered.

“Fine,” he said, then leaned closer to Shannon and whispered, “But can you give me that dress?”

She smiled widely. “Of course. It’s in my car.”

He turned to the rest of them. “All right. Wish me luck. You gonna stay here and keep Johnny Cash company and eat the sandwiches?”

“We are, and then we’re going to spend the day in your pool and wreak havoc,” Colin said. “Leave now so we can start this pool party.”

* * *

The ballroom at the Venetian was perfection.

Sophie had just walked Clyde through a quick rehearsal of his opening remarks, showing him where he would enter the stage, and demonstrating how the podium would be set up for his introduction at the fundraiser.

She thanked the operations manager for the quick use of the room and then headed to the elevator with the event’s biggest donor. Clyde wagged a finger at her as they stepped into the elevator. “I can’t wait ’til next Saturday.”

“It’s going to be a great event,” she said with a bright smile she hardly felt.

Inside, her mind was a cluttered mess. She still didn’t know what to make of Ryan, or whether she wanted to keep moving forward with him. Too bad relationships weren’t math problems with precise answers. They were essay questions in a philosophy class, and they came down to judgement.

She wasn’t sure what choice she wanted to make, or even if there was a choice anymore. For all she knew, Ryan might have closed the gates on that flicker of possibility she’d sensed last night. Shut it off like a switch. She was willing to bet he was good at that. That the man had a built-in eject button, and could easily parachute himself to a soft landing far away from her.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant that I’m looking forward to meeting your gentleman at the event,” Clyde said with a wink, mentioning the man in limbo in her life. “The man who has captured the attention of Las Vegas’s most eligible bachelorette.”

Oh God. She cringed, absolutely cringed from head to toe, and stem to stern, at that designation. The feminist in her wanted to brandish her claws. The shrewd businesswoman in her affixed her best shiny, happy face. “Oh Clyde, you do shower me with compliments,” she said as they reached the ground floor. She attempted to steer him back to the matter at hand, so she could avoid the issue of her date, since she might not have one anymore. “I’m glad everything is in order for the benefit. Thank you again for stopping by on a Saturday morning to have a look-see.”

He was undeterred. “Sophie, I want to say, if it doesn’t work out with this fellow for whatever reason, you have an open door with me to connect with Taylor.”

In the blink of an eye, her wishes went from blurry to crystal clear.

She didn’t want an open door with Taylor. She wanted Ryan. She wanted the one and only man she’d felt such passion and lust and desire for.

There it was. Her answer. Her choice. This relationship was a math problem. Two plus two equals four, and four was Ryan Sloan.

Now she needed to figure out what to do with the result of her simple addition.

“You are so very sweet. And now I have an appointment I must race to,” she said, and pointed down the hallway.

Once out of earshot and eyeshot, she breathed a huge sigh of relief and headed to the Grand Canal Shops to meet Holden for a cup of coffee and some much-needed retail therapy. A beat of happiness played in her heart as she neared the cafe—she’d always enjoyed Holden’s company, and she needed her best friend even more today. Over lattes and quality time with Kenneth Cole, Coach, and Christian Louboutin, she caught him up to speed on her latest news, showing him Ryan’s photo from his corporate website.

“I hope it’s not over,” she admitted.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how much do you like him?” he asked as she tried on a peep-toe silver stiletto with a strap over the heel.

“One hundred,” she said, peering at the red-soled shoe in the mirror of the boutique. “But I don’t know where we stand.”

He met her reflection in the glass. “Those look amazing. And honestly, it sounds more like you’re in a holding pattern.”

“I detest holding patterns. I hate uncertainty. Not to mention, the whole thing just makes me feel stupid.”

“So tell him as much. Tell him what you need. That he needs to be open with you,” he said, as she slipped off the shoes and gestured to the counter so she could pay for them.

“And I feel stupid, too, because Clyde is breathing down my neck. It’s like everyone is using me. I’m sorry if that sounds dramatic, but Clyde clearly has his sights set on me because he thinks I’ll never try to touch his money. And then I have to wonder if Ryan had his own agenda.”

“Did it seem like that?”

As the saleswoman rang her up, Sophie let the reel of her time with Ryan play before her eyes. Date by date. Night by night. Email by email. Moment after moment of intoxicating, inescapable pleasure. Ryan had always seemed focused on her. Only her. Her pleasure, never anything else.

She floated back to the diner and his heady words.

If you were mine, I’d never let you want for anything. I’d take care of you, and all your needs. All the time. Anytime. Whatever you needed, I’d give you.

A current of longing swirled inside her. Of missing. Of wanting.

“No,” she admitted, taking the bag from the employee. “I was his only agenda.”

“Then,” he said, as he patted her shoulder, “it seems you might want to let him know you’re falling for him. Especially since I think he’s here right now.”