“V.”

Retreat, retreat, my head said. I gave him my back, forcing my hands to be still.

“V?”

His hand cupped my shoulder and turned me around. “Look at me.”

No.

“Come on, look at me,” he whispered.

I sighed heavily and gazed at him. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes burned into me. “No, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For this,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist and tugging me until our chests crushed together. Then his head lowered and his mouth took mine, and there was nothing tentative about it as our tongues tangled together. Immediately, every inch of my skin flared to life. Heat. Fire. I strained toward him as if I needed him to breathe. His full lips razed mine like a man starved, devouring me with each little nip and groan that came from him. He picked me up off the ground, his arms molding me to him. He was a lusty kisser, a man who took what he wanted, who pillaged. Every atom, every molecule inside me ached to inhale him, to swallow him whole and never let him go. I imagined him as a demanding lover, one who took what he wanted as hard as he wanted, but then gave you back a thousand fold. He was exactly what I needed, and I moaned out his name, and he answered by whispering mine, his hands drifting down to my collar to push inside my robe. Yes. I wanted his naked flesh against mine. I wanted him to sink into me and take me hard, drive away the pain of my past and make me feel good. Happy.

I don’t know how long we kissed, but I burned the moment into my head, part of me afraid he would disappear, be yanked from me like everything else. I gripped his hair, my fingers threading through the strands, holding on. It may have been a kiss, but it smacked of more, of something so real I could reach my fingers out and touch it.

“V,” he whispered, his voice rough like it had been dragged over gravel. “I can’t stop.”

“Then don’t.”

He moved without taking his lips from mine, guiding me until my back was pressed against the brick of the house. I parted my legs and he settled in the middle, his kisses becoming softer. Gentle. I ran my hands over his naked chest, my fingers playing with the soft skin of his nipples. He came up for air, his hands cupping my face like I was a piece of fragile glass. He looked wild, his face flushed, lips swollen, and I wanted to bite them they looked so good. I wanted affirmation I was alive. That he was right here in front of me.

“You taste like strawberries,” he whispered as he kissed his way down my neck, sucking on my collarbone.

“Lip gloss,” my strangled voice managed to get out.

“Mmmm,” he said, spreading apart my robe and gazing down at my naked breasts. “I say we take your lip gloss and put it everywhere. Your neck, your breasts, your nipples, behind your knees, on your thighs—”

I moaned and nibbled on his lips. “Yes, it’s been so long.”

He stilled. “How long?”

“Two years … not since Geoff.” Not since the crash.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Why?”

I swallowed. “Because it hurts to care. People always leave.” Or die.

He set me down gently, took a step back and scrubbed his face, frustration evident in the way he looked at me.

“What’s wrong?”

He paced around the patio. “This—” he motioned between us “—is a mistake.”

What?

He groaned. “Don’t you see—you’re in a fragile place right now, and I’d just end up hurting you too, V. I don’t want that.”

Hurt and then anger flared. He’d brought back my music—but he didn’t want me.

He splayed out his hands. “Look, this is my fault. I just came over to get Monster. Not this.”

My chest got tight. “You should leave,” I said, pulling my robe together.

He inhaled a deep breath, his eyes seeming to plead with me. “I’m sorry, V. Promise you’ll play for me again. Hearing your music, watching how you let go—it reminds me of how I used to feel when I first discovered music. The emotion in you is so fucking visceral—”

“Stop, with your compliments. You don’t have to explain.”

Still he didn’t move, frustration flickering across his face as he ran a hand through his hair and then tugged on it as if he needed grounding. “V?” He sounded confused. “There’s something between us—I don’t know what—but it scares the hell out of me. My life … it’s crazy right now … and my ex got pregnant with another guy’s baby, and it messed with my head—”

“Just go. Please.” My voice cracked. Here I was, a silly girl who stupidly thought he was going to be the one who made me whole. Hadn’t I learned that no matter how many changes you make in your life—changing your address, dumping your boyfriend, or calling yourself by a new name, nothing ever changes.

Grief will always keep me a prisoner.

Still he stood there, his gaze darting around my face as if looking for an answer.

I gave him one. I pivoted and walked back into the house. I clicked the lights off and went to bed. He might be a rock star, but I was Violet St. Lyons and no one kissed me and said it was a mistake.

“Romeo was an idiot. He met Juliet, fell in love, and got hitched two days later.”

—Sebastian Tate

THE NEXT DAY, I stood at the dining room window, watching as V jogged past the front of my house. Walking away from her the night before had been hard, my body screaming for me to take what she’d been offering. Maybe I could have kept it casual, but my gut knew that once I let myself go with her, I wouldn’t be able to control getting in deep. Spider had been right. She was the first girl in five years who’d gotten my attention. Sure, I’d dated lots of girls, but none of them had been serious girlfriend quality, and that had been on purpose. V was everything I didn’t need right now. Relationships were all about the timing, and right now sucked.

She came to a stop just outside the gate to our house. I watched as she paced back and forth for a few moments, a little crease of concentration on her face as if she were debating. Finally, she came to a decision, swung her legs over our gate and then proceeded to march straight up our drive. I grinned but then quickly frowned. It wasn’t a good idea to have her here. My resolve was weak. I still remembered how she’d felt pressed against my chest, her tongue in my mouth, her hands clutching me. I groaned.