“I’ll be right back,” I said before making my way to the back of the shop. Before I could get very far, I felt a firm hand on my waist. Then, he pulled me into Tig’s office and shut the door, backing me against it with his arms locking me in on each side.

“You think you’re the only one who is fucked up by what’s happening here?” he groaned.

I stayed silent, trying to catch my breath.

There was no light, and he didn’t attempt to find one. In the darkness of the office, I could barely see anything. I could only feel his chest against mine and his breath against my lips as he said, “You’re driving me crazy. I need to touch you. Please just let me taste you… just once.”

Bending my head back, I pressed his head into my chest as he ran his tongue slowly down my cleavage, moaning over my skin. He pulled the top of my dress down, exposing my breast and took my nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard that it caused me to squeal. The muscles between my legs were pulsating with need. Even though I wanted him inside of me, I was terrified. I suddenly moved my face away from him and began to cover myself.

Panting, he buried his nose in my neck and placed his hand over my heart. He pulled me closer to him. “God, listen to that heartbeat. You want me. I can feel it. But you’re so goddamn scared of me. Why?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

He pulled back and cupped his hands around my cheeks. “Talk to me. Please. Whatever happened to make you so distrusting?”

“I’m just afraid to get hurt.”

“Who hurt you?”

It was hard for even me to understand where this was coming from. I hadn’t even had a boyfriend who’d shattered my trust or broken my heart. It made no sense. I’d never really been in love before. The feelings that I had for Graham were new to me, but I didn’t want to admit that to him. The one thing I knew for sure was that my father was somehow at the root of my paranoia. So, I decided to tell Graham a story that might explain my fear of rejection, although I couldn’t say I truly understood it clearly myself. Anything was better than admitting to him that I’d never felt this way about anyone before, though.

“When I was about ten years old, my parents divorced. My father ended up marrying a woman from the neighborhood. Theresa was a widow. She had three daughters, one of whom was my age and went to my school…Brianna. Anyway, my dad pretty much became their father and spent less and less time with my sister and me as a result. There was this father-daughter rose ceremony and dance that the school was putting on for girls in my age group. The dads were each supposed to buy a dozen roses for their daughter and then take pictures together at the dance. Anyway, my mother had asked my father if he was available to take me. He never got back to her. So, I ended up showing up at the school, all dressed up and hoping he would turn up. And he did…with Brianna. There she was, holding the big bunch of pink roses in one hand and my father’s hand in the other. I ran home crying, and when my mother confronted him, he said that he didn’t realize I was interested in going. He said that since Brianna’s dad was dead, it was important that he be there for her. He said he thought I would understand. Anyway, this has nothing to do with you, Graham. You asked why I have trust issues, and my father is really the only reason I can think of.”

He took my face in his hands again and planted a firm and passionate kiss on my lips. My body relaxed into him, and when he pulled away, I longed for him to just keep kissing me.

“I’m sorry that happened. That is so incredibly shitty. And it does explain a lot.”

“Yeah…thank you.”

“I was pretty much an only child,” he said. “My father was never in the picture, which might have been better than a rejection later on. I don’t know.”

“So, it was just you and your mother?”

“Yes.”

“How did she die?”

“Lung cancer when I was a teenager.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” He paused then said, “It was hard. I vowed never to allow myself to become attached to anyone after that. I didn’t ever want to suffer that kind of loss again. My mother’s death is a big reason I am the way I am…closed off and cold. At the same time, it motivated me to be the best that I could be in other ways, to make her proud. So, some good and bad came of it.”

My stomach churned as I prepared to ask the question I needed an answer to. “Did you become attached to Genevieve?”

“Yes,” he simply said.