“McClain.” I supplied.

“Haven McClain.” He repeated it softly, testing my full name on his tongue. “Pretty.”

When Andrew said it, it did sound pretty. Beautiful even. “What’s yours?”

“Foster.” A low chuckle softened his face. “I can’t believe we are now just finding out each other’s last name’s. Then again our courtship has been anything but slow.”

Andrew, a rare romantic, believed in the power of the written word and used words like courtship. While I loved that side of him, he had wooed me enough. I was ready to get naked with him. Nonetheless, for better or worse, Andrew stood by his convictions. A trait both admirable and incredibly frustrating rolled into a neat package. After that steamy preview of what I was in for this morning, I could practically taste him on my lips and feel his hard thickness between my thighs, pushing me to the edge of nirvana.

Worry lined his mouth. “Shit, did I say too much? Sometimes, I get overly passionate and scare girls off.”

If only Andrew knew where my mind had wandered. “Not at all. I like how passionate you are.”

He beamed, capturing another piece of my heart. Andrew broke the chain of our linked hands and dropped his arms to his sides. “Come on, I have a piece of cake with your name on it.”

“Why do you have cake?”

“I bake when I’m stressed.”

Another trait to add to his growing list of skills. At this rate, I would be shocked if he wasn’t talented at something. In all likelihood, Andrew spoke French and read textbook-sized novels straight out of the womb. I felt smarter just being in his presence.

He held open his apartment door. “Did I mention there is thick fudge frosting as well?”

I sat at Andrew’s marble slab kitchen island, drinking a cold glass of almond milk. The cake had put me into a glorious sugar coma. Andrew was on his second slice. It was unfair how much he ate without compromising his godlike physique.

He licked frosting off the fork. “My mom was given this recipe from her grandmother. It has been in my family for generations.”

“Wow. I don’t have anything that resembles an heirloom in my family.”

“Really?”

“My mom wasn’t the sentimental type.”

“How ‘bout your grandmother?”

My mom had left home when she was sixteen and never looked back. I had no idea where my extended family lived or if they knew I existed. Whenever I asked, my mom had told me they weren’t worth my breath. Picking up our dirty dishes off the island, his question went un-answered.

I could feel his weighty stare through the thin cotton of my t-shirt. “When did your mom marry Sumiko’s dad the first time?”

Wincing, her name was like a paper cut. Nonetheless, their wedding was one of my greatest memories. I had finally gotten the sister I’d always wanted. “They married when I was five. It lasted for about six years.”

“And the second time?”

“The second time was when I was twelve. That lasted for three but by then Sumiko and I were blood sisters. On our eighteenth birthdays we got matching tattoos.”

Andrew appeared beside me and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. “What did you two get?”

“The symbol for forever.”

My hand instinctively moved to the side of my rib cage, where the two interlocking circles with three swallows were inked. Sumiko had drawn the design herself.

His eyes followed my hand. “Is that where it is?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can I see it?”

I hesitated. Underneath my clothes was a map of my childhood scars. Whenever, a guy and I had sex, there were three rules they had to abide by: lights off, no touching, and shirt stays on. They were usually more than happy to oblige. While cold and meaningless, it worked until it didn’t anymore. Andrew glanced away and turned on the dishwasher. I could tell he perceived my silence as mistrust. Upset, his shoulders tensed. If anybody could cut away the barbed wire fence around my heart, it would be Andrew. Might as well start now.

I lifted my t-shirt, exposing the bottom half of my chest. “Sumiko and I wanted to add beauty and hope to an otherwise ugly reminder.”

Andrew’s gaze landed on my rib cage. I turned my head away unable to witness his reaction. Light as a butterfly’s kiss, his fingers brushed over the puckered red scar that the tattoo was inked over and I jolted.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“When I was four, I got in the middle of a fight between my mom and her boyfriend at the time.”

“It looks like it was done by a knife.”

“Yeah.”

Murderous rage raided off of Andrew. “Where is he? I’ll chop his balls off.”

Titling my chin, his gaze pinned me to the wall. There was no doubt in my mind if Andrew saw Doug on the street, he would have cut his balls off.

“He’s dead,” I said. “Hit by a truck on his motorcycle.”

“Good.”

“I don’t blame him.” When he tilted his head as if to question me, I explained. “My mom brought out the worst in people. Her favorite past time was pushing buttons until she got the reaction she sought. I don’t remember much of the fight but I do remember Doug’s remorse and my mother’s indifference.” His attention on the story, I let go of my shirt and obscured the rest of my scars.

“How can a mother act indifferent to her child getting slashed by a knife?”

It was a question I’d turned over in my head for the last nineteen years. I shrugged. “I have no idea but she is the reason I have this scar. My mom didn’t want to go to the hospital. Doug was a nurse so he patched me up the best he could.”

“I’m sorry but from what you told me, your mother sounds like a horrible person.”

Up until eight hours ago, I would have argued with Andrew, throwing out excuses for her behavior like toilet paper. Now though, Big Ted had shattered the illusion my mother loved me. Her one true love was drugs and dying was her own selfish way of getting out of the mess she created.

My voice was sucked dry of any remorse. “She was.”

With the pad of his thumb, Andrew swiped away a tear that escaped. He titled my chin up and brushed his lips against mine. While brief, it was electrifying.

Andrew’s gaze was a concoction of endearment and lust as he pulled back. “You’re mother did do one thing right.” He smiled. “She had you.”

I stared up at the ceiling, restless and unable to sleep. Andrew had generously given his bedroom to me while he slept upstairs in his office. Frustrated, my feet shoved the covers to the end of the bed. The kiss we’d shared gave me a worse caffeine jolt than coffee. I felt energized from head to toe. Also, it didn’t help matters that his room smelled like his cologne. Spicy with a hint of danger.

“Damn it,” I groaned.

Why did Andrew have to be such a gentleman? It was as if he was born in the nineteen hundreds or something. Having sex wouldn’t ruin anything between us, unless it was bad. I could say with one hundred percent certainty though—it would be the opposite of bad. His lips were just as talented as his hands. I should march up to his office and claim the orgasm I desperately needed. Flipping over on my stomach, I threw a pillow on top of my head. My two-year dry spell was turning me into a crazed lunatic. A couple beats passed as the ache at the center of my sex ebbed.

Dishware crashing sounded from the kitchen. Nerves skittered down my spine as I sprung upwards. I cocked my ear thinking I was mistaken. Another crash was heard but this time it sounded like glass shattering. My street kid instincts kicked into high gear. On the balls of my feet, I walked across the hardwood floors and cracked open the door. Andrew’s apartment was pitch black. Grabbing the nearest object, an umbrella, I ventured into the hallway. Adrenalin sent my pulse to rise. If Big Ted was in the apartment, he was in for a surprise. I raised the umbrella like a baseball bat as I neared the kitchen. Muttered curses floated in the air. The voice sounded male, although, it was hard to distinguish whom it belonged to. My money was on Big Ted because why would Andrew be burglarizing his own apartment at 3:00 a.m.?