It’s…beautiful, peaceful, and welcomed. Yet I can’t enjoy it, even though I want to.

Something pokes at me, reminding me that I shouldn’t be standing here, losing myself in this man’s grip. My keys are in my purse. And my purse is still on the floor where I dropped it. I think I should reach for both, but whatever this moment is, I don’t want to let it go. At least not yet.

My father had hounded me all week. It’s not like him to call me this frequently, but for some reason he felt the need to rein me in, tug on that leash, and remind me that he commands every aspect of my life.

Well, perhaps not every aspect….

I hold tight to Curran’s gaze. What would my evening have been like without him? Likely, just as it had been these past two weeks: boring, uneasy, and almost pointless.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks me.

“You,” I admit, quietly.

“Yeah?”

I nod.

“What about me?” he murmurs.

Oh, where do I start? “I’m glad we went out,” I tell him. “I had a really nice time.”

Initially, I welcomed Declan’s invitation to dinner as a distraction from my workload and the loneliness that plagues my life. Now, I welcome only Curran: his deep voice, his hearty laugh, and his way with words. He has a way of stirring me up and breaking through the monotony and solitude of my existence, something I didn’t think was possible.

He cocks his head, taking me in. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me, but I don’t dare ask. I just hope it’s good. After all, he’s so…

He pushes off the wall and prowls forward, reaching for me and cupping my face with his large hands. His fingers thread through my hair, his light blue eyes so intense, my breath lodges in my throat and balls into a lump.

He leans in, closing his eyes. “What are you doing?” I stammer.

He pauses, then opens his eyes. “Ah, trying to kiss you.”

“On the lips?”

“I could do the forehead if you want,” he offers, slowly. “But it’s kind of not the same.”

“What does this mean?” I ask, barely able to spit the words out.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you trying to do here?”

“I told you, kiss you.” He drops his hands away. “I thought we were having a moment. But I gotta tell you, Tess. You’re kind of ruining it for me.”

“Um.” I look around, my palms unusually sweaty. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

I let out a breath. “Okay, you can kiss me.”

I rub my palms against my coat and close the space between us. You can do this, I tell myself. And you know you want to. I lift my chin, close my eyes, and wait.

Until Curran’s laughter jolts my eyes open.

My face heats, which only makes him crack up harder. “You really know how to kill a moment. You know that?” he manages between bouts of laughter.

My shoulders slump as I admit defeat. He’s right. I took a perfectly sweet moment and ruined it. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want this moment to happen, or that I’m ready to let it go. “Believe it or not, I’m trying here,” I tell him.

He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms, a big grin fixed on his face. “Let me take you back to college for a second. Think back to the night we went back to your sorority house.” He laughs when I blush yet again. “Before I ended up tied to your bed. Were you nervous?”

“Yes, I—no.” My hands slap at my sides. “A little,” I admit. “Mostly I was just having fun.”

Curran steps forward, his arm immediately claiming my waist while the knuckles of his free hand brush my cheek. “So just have fun,” he whispers.

I’m ready to tell him I’m not sure how, but his kiss immediately silences me.

At first, I think he’ll take his time, sweep his lips softly and romantically against mine, the same way he kissed my hand. I also think he’ll move his tongue to gently prod until I invite him in.

But I’m wrong.

Way wrong.

Good God.

Curran’s open mouth conquers mine, his lips fastening firmly and his tongue probing and teasing so that I easily surrender to the invasion. The Contessa Newart who’s so awkward and dorky gets kicked to the curb, succumbing to the Tess Newart who the cute guy wants, and needs, and, and— Holy shit.

I moan, my arms curling around his neck and drawing him closer. I’m briefly aware of my coat being yanked open, just as I’m aware that I don’t give a damn. Curran swears as he comes up for air before eagerly returning for more. He wants me. I know it by the possessive claim of his lips and the way his hands travel the length of my body.

His hand splays over my face, then moves down to smooth against my throat. It slides between my breasts and back up again, trailing to the base of my neck and repeating, each pass to my chest tugging at the front of my blouse.

His arm winds around my waist, gripping me and pressing me tight against his muscular body. I gasp when his teeth nip behind my ear and his movements grow more intense. He’s not touching my intimate parts, but I need him to—goodness, they’re practically screaming for his attention.

Unlike his, my hands aren’t so shy. They stroke up and down his torso, pulling at the buttons of his collared shirt. With every pass of his mouth, I grow more daring, needing to set his skin free and feel it against my palms—to reinforce that he’s real, and that this isn’t merely a dream.

I moan again when his chest shoves against mine, pinning me to the wall with his weight. But when he grips my backside and lifts me from the floor, it’s all I can do not to beg him to take me to bed, just like I did all those years ago.

And yet as I muster the courage to ask him inside, my feet return to the floor and his weight eases off me.

He steps back, falling against the opposite wall and breathing hard. Not that I blame him. As it is, I can’t control my racing heart or the harsh rise and fall of my chest.

Curran continues to stare at me. “Holy shit,” he says.

Ah, yeah.

I adjust my glasses and try to smooth my wild hair. I don’t need a mirror to know it’s a useless gesture.

“Sorry,” he says.

My hands fall away slowly. “What?”

He jerks his head to the side and mutters a curse. When he faces me once more, a slew of emotions riddle his features. I can’t make out all of them, but I do recognize the most prominent: remorse. It’s one I’m familiar with, and the one that destroys me to find in his face.

“I shouldn’t have done that. You’re my charge.”

“But I wanted you to,” I confess. “You didn’t force me. I wanted…this.”

Curran mumbles another curse. I meant to reassure him, but somehow I upset him more. “I should go,” he says.

I wish you wouldn’t, I want to tell him. But of course, I don’t. Not when he flat out told me he regrets our kiss. So instead, I nod stoically and reach for my purse. My fingers slip over my keys several times before I finally grasp them. Somehow, I manage to slip the key into the deadbolt on my first try.

Curran places his hand over mine before I can turn the knob. “Wait, me first.”

“It’s not necessary,” I say to the door.

“Yes it is, Tess. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

But you already did.

For all intents and purposes, and in every way possible, Curran did a real number on me. Maybe he didn’t mean to, but with him, I feel everything in its greatest extreme—happiness, humor, and now, sadness. He leaves me embracing every emotion, even when I fight not to.

I want to tell him as much, my need to practically thrashing its way out of me. Yet this isn’t the right time. For now, I need to let him go. I can’t have him if he won’t have me.

I step back and allow him ahead of me, wondering if I did something wrong. Yes, I’m his charge, but if he really wants me, should it matter?

“I’ll be quick,” he says, as if to make me feel better.