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My words surprise even me. Dale just told me he wants me, and I could be kissing him right now. Feeling his hands on my body, undressing me. His lips on my hard nipples. We could be a tangle of limbs on that messy bed of his, and I’d be in heaven.

Why do I choose this moment to push something he’ll never agree to?

“Not tonight,” he replies. “Tonight I take you here. In my bed.”

In my bed. Were any more delicious words ever uttered? Especially in that red-wine voice? The color swirls around me, cloaking both of us in its darkness.

Something dark lives in Dale. I sensed it the moment I saw him, but never was it more clear than that first night when he showed me the vineyards.

If only he could embrace everything about himself and learn to love what’s right in front of him.

Not me, though I want that more than anything.

No. That person he sees in the mirror each morning. Because though he’s brilliant and talented and he knows all this, something in his sense of self is missing.

Something inside him is broken.

I want so much to heal that part of him. It’s not his heart, I feel certain. He’s made no bones about the fact that he’s pretty inexperienced in ways of the heart, but that’s not the issue.

He’s broken somewhere else.

And he’s broken deeply.

I gaze into those mesmerizing green, symphonic eyes. So much to see in them.

Les yeux sont le miroir de l’âme.

The old proverb I learned long ago in French class. The eyes are the mirror of the soul.

I see lust and desire in those green orbs, but I also see sadness. Perhaps even some hopelessness.

I cup his stubbly cheek, let my fingertips scrape over its roughness—a roughness that seems so natural in Dale.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

I expect him to say, “fucking you,” or “nothing,” or something else that won’t tell me anything.

For a while, he stays quiet as I continue to thumb his cheekbone.

Then, “I’m thinking about how I’ll never have what I truly desire.”

I stop my eyes from widening.

How do I respond to such an enigmatic statement? My body is throbbing, reacting to his nearness. I drop my gaze to his crotch. The bulge is still there. He hasn’t lost his desire for me. So why open this can of worms?

He doesn’t pester me for a reply. Good, because I don’t have one.

Finally, I say, “Does anyone truly get what they ultimately desire in this life?”

I’m waxing philosophical, which isn’t my intention. But it’s a valid question.

He sighs. “I believe my parents have. At least my father.”

“Not your mother?”

He breaks our gaze and looks at the floor. “I believe she wants a different kind of relationship with me.”

I slide my hand from his cheek to under his chin and nudge his head upward to meet my gaze once more. “She adores you, Dale.”

“I know that. And I adore her. But…she always wanted us to be closer.”

“Then be closer with her. You have that power.”

He shakes his head. “Actually, I don’t.”

My body is still prickling with desire for him, but I don’t want this conversation to end. I’m willing to forego the sex I yearn for if it means Dale will open up to me, which he seems on the verge of doing.

“You do,” I say. “You have the ultimate power over who you choose to be.”

He scoffs. “I’ve heard all that before, Ashley, and it’s not true.”

“Of course it is.”

He sighs and brushes my hand from his face. “You’re so young. So innocent.”

I stop myself from guffawing. Young, sure. I’ll take it. Innocent? Not in this lifetime. You don’t grow up homeless and retain innocence for long. And sexually? I’m no innocent there, either.

I’m not sure what to say to his comment, so I simply smile.

“My mother and I… I don’t know why it’s the way it is. We’ve both gotten used to it over the years. I’ve talked at length to—”

I trail a finger over his forearm. “Why did you stop so abruptly?”

“I don’t talk about this. To anyone.”

“You just said you’ve talked at length—”

“Shut up!” He rakes his fingers through his mane of honey hair. “Just shut the fuck up, Ashley.”

“But you—”

He slams his lips down on mine. My lips are parted, and he dives in unapologetically.

Gone is questioning Dale.

Now he’s punishing Dale once more. This kiss is raw and angry. Oh, it’s full of desire and passion as well, but at its core, I feel rage. Red rage. Not the silky dark red of Dale’s low voice.

This is bright red. Raging red.

He’s angry. At me? At himself? At the world?

My guess is all three.

I care. I care so much, but the thought is fleeting as I melt into the kiss. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s angry.

But it’s also firm and drugging and perfect in the most precious way.

Though I’m not angry, I press into the kiss, giving as good as I get. Our tongues tangle and duel. Our lips slide together. Our teeth clash.

The red rage merges with the burgundy that surrounds Dale always. What results is a clash of color so vibrant that it takes over my senses. Takes over my libido.

It forces me to take the lead, and I break free from the passion to inhale a desperate breath.

“Bed,” I say breathlessly.

He pushes me down onto his mattress. “Take off your fucking clothes.”

One day, I hope Dale will undress me seductively. Make love to me slowly.

Tonight is not that night.

Though I want to go slowly, make him wait to discover each additional inch of my flesh, I can’t. I grope at the garments binding me, releasing myself from them as quickly as I can, until I sit naked atop his bed, his green comforter cool against my bottom.

But not for long. The fabric heats from my body, and soon I’m sitting on lava.

Dale lowers his eyelids slightly, and a growl vibrates from him.

I open my mouth to demand he undress as well, but then shut it quickly. I want him to stare at me, to rake his gaze over every square centimeter of me. All that I have is his, and I want him to see it.

See all of me.

If I could open my chest and let him look into my heart, my soul, I would.