As he kisses me, I rock my hips, creating friction between our bodies. He groans, which just fuels me. “Lila,” he mutters against my lips. “Stop, or we aren’t getting any further than this tonight.”

“Blake,” I pant, needing him . . . wanting him. Tilting my hips toward him again, I elicit another throaty groan.

“That’s it,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. He throws me down on the bed, watching me with raw hunger in his eyes while he undoes the button on his jeans. I squirm against his soft cotton comforter, admiring the way the streetlights cast a glow on his well-sculpted body. He’s easy to get lost in, and once I do, I never want to be found. Not by Pierce . . . not by anyone.

When his knee hits the end of the bed, my eyes make their way up, locking with his. Intensity burns like a wildfire between us. I grip the comforter tightly, anticipating his hands on me—the brush of his cool fingertips against my skin.

“Blake.”

He presses two fingers to my lips. “No more talking.”

I wither beneath him, waiting for that moment when I feel the weight of his body on mine. The moment I feel him pressing into me, filling me. It’s the only time when all the other bullshit between us seems to melt away.

He pulls off my leggings in one swift move, leaving me bare, then pulls on my arms to lift me up. Within seconds, we’re facing each other, completely naked. Weeks of memories—some good, some I wish I could erase—flicker in my mind, but I push them all away. The world stops spinning. It’s just me and Blake in this moment.

I want to stay here.

Live here.

To always breathe the air here.

His palm presses to the center of my chest. I feel my heart beating hard against it. And more than that, I feel warmth building within me—inside the cage. Love isn’t easy—no one ever said it would be—but maybe if it withstands this torrential rain, it’s worth fighting for. Not just once. Not until I’m badly bruised, but until my last breath.

Blake is worth it.

He lowers me to the bed slowly with the soft press of his hand. He kisses me, leaving nothing behind. His tongue traces the seam of my lips—exploring and tasting—before dancing its way to mine.

I lift my hips, craving all of him, but he ignores it, kissing his way down my throat. My hands slide up and down his spine, smoothing over his rigid muscles. When his mouth covers my breast, I whimper. The pressure between my legs is undeniable.

“Please,” I whisper. His fingers curl around my head, massaging my scalp. Maybe it was meant to pacify me, but every nerve in my body is lit.

His lips travel lower, trailing toward my stomach, while his hands slip from my hair. His hot mouth covers the pulsing spot between my legs, and his fingertips trace my nipples. It’s sensational overload. It wasn’t enough, and now it’s too much. He alternates between sucking and flicking his tongue against my center.

“Blake,” I moan, reaching for his hair. I hold it between my fingers, pulling it as I lift closer to heaven. And then he pinches my nipples, and I fall apart. He holds me down, his fingers burning into my hips as I scream out his name. The entire way through, he stays with me until all that remains is the rapid drum of my heart.

“That will never get old,” he murmurs as he kisses his way back up my body.

I dig my fingernails into his shoulders. “What?”

“Hearing you scream my name.”

He softly kisses my lips, and without warning, he thrusts into me, filling me in one quick motion. “Tell me he’s never been in you like this.”

I look up into his eyes. He stills above me. “Only you, Blake. Since the day I met you, only you.”

He pushes back in—all the way in. I feel the burn in my chest . . . I love him. On our good days and bad days, I love him.

And this time, it’s different than the others. It’s raw. It’s sensual. It’s two souls searching at the same time, slowly finding their place in this world.

My legs wrap around his waist.

His lips cover every inch of my neck.

I fall apart first, my body squeezing his. He’s only moments behind, filling me. Our bodies tremble as we hold onto each other tightly. Right away, I want to do it all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I cradle his face in my hands. “For what?”

“For letting you go. For leaving you. The moment I walked out that door tonight and saw you with him, I saw my life without you. I hated every second of it.”

I shut my eyes then open them, staring him straight in the eye. “I won’t leave you unless you leave me first.”

He pulls out of me, rolling to my side and wrapping his arms around me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A smile curls onto my lips as I rest my arms on his. We lie together, drawing off each other’s warmth, and drift to sleep.

ONE AMAZING NIGHT WITH an amazingly unconventional guy has me waking up with a huge smile plastered on my face. The first thing I realize is his body isn’t pressed to mine like it had been yesterday when I woke up. I miss it—crave it like an addict. Rolling over, all I see is an unmade bed.

My heart shrinks until it’s invisible. My stomach clenches in the worst possible way. I listen for a sound—anything—but there’s only silence.

He’s left so many times. It’s the first place my mind wanders off to . . . the worst-case scenario. He made a promise, but I learned way back when I was still with Derek that those mean nothing.

I crawl off his bed, tiptoeing naked toward the kitchen. The hope of finding him seated at the table eating breakfast dissipates, and then I start to think that maybe he left me to get coffee up the street. There’s no note, but I still hold on to hope—barely.

Deciding I need something to keep my mind occupied, I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash over my skin. I let memories of last night consume me. The way he made me feel so much by barely touching me at all, the pads of his fingers brushing against my skin. It was lustful worship, a feeling of complete appreciation. He filled my heart without using any words at all.

As I turn off the shower and step out onto the soft cotton mat, I pretend Blake is out there waiting for me because in my mind, he is. He has to be. I take time drying myself off and throw on my clothes. While I work on my hair, I think about all the things I’d want to do with Blake today when he gets back—it’s Christmas after all.

With hesitancy, I walk back out into the living room. It’s just as I left it before. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he’ll walk through that door at any moment with a ridiculously sexy grin on his face, but I can’t escape that feeling that something is wrong. I can’t help but wonder if it had to do with last night. Was it too much, too soon? Did we cross a line he wasn’t ready to cross?

I can’t sit around all day wondering. I need answers. Walking back to his bedroom, I look for anything that might tell me where I can find his studio. Mallory won’t tell me so this might be my only hope. Searching the top of his dresser first, I find nothing but loose change, receipts and an old White Sox baseball cap. I open drawers next. The top one holds nothing but an old, tattered picture. It’s a woman about my age. She’s sitting in tall grass in a white sundress, her arms hugging her knees. Her long, dark hair blows past her shoulders from a light breeze. She looks content—contemplative. As I trace the edge of the picture with my fingertip, I realize I’ve seen her before. She’s the woman in the painting that hangs in the corner of Blake’s studio. There are things I know now that I didn’t know then. Things that give new meaning to the painting. She has to be Blake’s Alyssa, and to hold on to something like this, to still have the painting . . . she still means a lot to him. She’s more than just a faded piece of his past.