He was touching me. Like he meant it. Like he wanted it. I gasped for breath and his hands fell away.

“I remember the first time I saw this city,” he murmured, still behind me, gazing out at the view over my head. “I had just sold my first code. Took the summer to travel across Europe and started here. Still had about a year until college. I wasted a lot of time that year, but it was the most memorable of my life.”

The display before us seemed otherworldly—all gold, silver and red, like Christmas in fairyland. I remembered the glass of wine in my hand and shakily downed the rest of it. Adam took the glass from me and set it down on a nearby table. When he returned, he stood behind me again, so close he almost touched his chest to my back.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, I leaned backward into him, craving the contact. He exhaled in surprise but said nothing. I shook, feeling every nerve ending where my body touched his. And suddenly I was aching to have his arms around me. “I wanted to do study abroad when I was an undergrad, but the scholarship didn’t cover it. I’ve only been in Europe less than a day and already I’m falling in love with it.”

“It’s easy to do. And you haven’t even seen France yet.”

Paris. God, I’d love to see Paris. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against him. No gasp of surprise this time. My shoulder blades pressed into his hard pecs. His head tipped down, his mouth pressing to my crown. Energy crackled right through me like a live electric tower. Fear was there, too, lurking in the background like a clammy mist.

Then he reached up and tangled his fingers through my hair, pressing along my scalp. I tensed and jumped, instantly reminded of another man’s hands wound tightly there, pulling with all his strength, forcing my head down.

Icy terror sliced through me. I gasped, my heart beating its way out of my throat in cold fear. I struggled, pushing away from him, my breath not coming fast enough.

“Get away! Don’t—” The world twisted around me and I hit against the railing, holding my hands up to protect myself from him. He’d hit me—so many times—grabbed my long hair and wrapped it around his hands like rope, pulling so hard—so hard. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get away.

“Emilia—Mia!” Adam’s voice cut through the fuzzy haze of panic that clouded my thoughts. He approached me slowly, eyes wide with concern. Spots formed at the edge of my vision and I felt like I might faint. Breathe! Breathe! I couldn’t draw the air in fast enough.

“Mia—My God, are you okay? What is it?”

I put my face in my hands, shaking so fiercely I didn’t think I’d be able to talk. “Emilia…do you hear me?”

I turned away from him and closed my eyes. I was safe, a distant voice tried to tell me. I wasn’t up on the Ridge, alone and begging Zack not to hit me again. I was with Adam. I was safe. I couldn’t stop shaking.

“Mia,” he said again, quietly. He stood closer now.

“I’m… fine…”

“Like hell, you are.”

“Please,” I said, putting an icy hand to my cheek. My heartbeat danced in my throat and I could hardly catch my next breath. I reached up and smoothed my hair. It was all still there. There was no blood. I was safe. There’s no way Adam could have known—hell, there was no way I would have known that him putting his hands in my hair would do this to me.

“Emilia. Slow down. If you keep breathing like that you’re going to pass out.” He took my arm gently and turned me toward him. “Gently. Hold your breath. Close your mouth. Look at me. Look in my eyes.” The panic receded as I stared into his dark eyes. He held both my shoulders now. “You’re safe, Emilia. There, breathe in through your nose. Keep your mouth closed.”

I shook my head, my eyes squeezed tight. “Just…” My voice faded, the cold fear dissipating slowly but leaving an oily trace in its wake. I took a deep breath and continued when I could. “It was just a bad memory. That’s all.”

“You’re white as a sheet. What did I do wrong?”

I shook again and he moved closer, quieting me while I shook in his arms. He pulled me to him and I pressed my face to his shoulder. “I’m sorry—so sorry.”

“There is absolutely nothing to apologize for,” he murmured.

“I just…I don’t like my hair pulled.”

There was a long silence. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged my quivering shoulders. “You didn’t know.”

He cleared his throat. “We shouldn’t do this.”