I drop my gaze to his throat.

The air starts to feel thick enough that my lungs strain for oxygen. Callan and I are absolutely still, me staring at his neck yet achingly aware of his stare fixed on me.

I go through the conversations we shared and feel more and more like a stupid girl with a crush on the guy who wouldn’t give her the time of day. The notorious womanizer everybody knows . . . seduced by drunk little me.

“Will you fucking look at me, Olivia?” he growls softly.

My eyes fly up to his. Oh god, he looks frustrated. He sounded frustrated. He said “fucking.”

I’m fucking shocked! For a man who exudes so much control, yeah, it’s fucking shocking.

He clenches his jaw, then reaches out and grabs my hand, yanking the door open with the other.

“Let’s take this outside.”

My eyes widen as he leads me down the hall, his hand warm on mine, and I know I should pry it away, but I can’t.

We step outside, onto a huge terrace with garden views as far as the eye can see.

He leads me to a lounge and tugs me down to sit next to him, and only then releases my hand. He’s staring at me, and I am staring at the expanse of skin revealed by the undone top buttons of his shirt.

It feels like we’re back in our own little world, but not quite.

I don’t know what to do with my freed hand all of a sudden, curling my fingers into my palm because it tingles. Because his touch lingers.

He continues staring at my profile in quiet desire for something. What, I don’t know.

I look at him, and he looks at me, lifting his brow.

He looks at me so piercingly I have no choice but to look back.

“So did you go? See the sights?” He shifts forward, his voice soft, barely audible in the wind.

“I went to the Art Institute. I still want to see so much more. I haven’t been out of Texas all that much. My fear of heights gives me panic attacks just thinking about flying. I can only seem to fly on my brother’s . . . well.”

I shrug, searching for the words.

“Even though I know I’ll be okay, physically my body reacts in panic,” I finish.

The attentiveness in his eyes, the way he listens, it’s hard not to notice. “What happened?” he asks.

“So, we had this tree house when we were little. I think . . .” I hesitate in continuing, but one look into his eyes and I’m done for. I add, “I think we should have a cigarette.”

He laughs and pulls one out, lights it, and we share it as I go on. “My brother built it, but he outgrew it by the time he finished, so I claimed it as mine and showed it off to my friends. One day, Jeremy Seinfield came over and tried to kiss me. I told him we were just friends, but he got very mad.” I start to laugh as I remember his red, angry face and how scared I was. “He thought I’d invited him to the tree house so we could make out. He got down and demanded I come down too, but since he was yelling and I was afraid, I told him to leave. He pulled the ladder away, and at first, I thought it was a joke and that he’d come back.”

I stop laughing and swallow, and he hands me the cigarette, his eyes glimmering in amusement as I take a drag for strength and hand it back.

“My parents were away and my brother had just gotten his first car, a Jeep. He was out with his friends and I was up there all alone, stranded until he got home and heard me crying. I wailed so much I had a sore throat for days. He told me it would be over in a second, and he got a ladder and pulled me down. I didn’t want him to let go. Ever.” I laugh again at how childish I was.

He chuckles too, but it’s a tender laugh, kind of like the one Tahoe has when he remembers that episode, then Callan sobers. “I’m sorry. I hope he sent Jeremy’s teeth flying to the other side of the sidewalk.”

“Oh, he did.” I laugh. “I guess we all have our thing.” I eye him. “What’s yours?”

“I have a few,” he says with that wicked gold sparkle in his eye. “I have an older brother. We’d roughhouse all the time. He was stronger, but I was faster. One day I decided I’d beat him. I started lifting weights, drinking protein shakes, the works, thinking getting stronger was the trick. He beat the shit out of me. And I wasn’t fast enough anymore to get away.” He laughs. “Not always the strongest win. I decided I’d rather be fast.”

“Speaking of slow, I can’t believe how slow I was catching on to who you were.”

“Slowest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t forget my bunch of freckles. That makes me unique.”

“Utterly.”

We laugh. His lips are so beautiful, more so when he laughs. “Well,” I hedge, intending to leave.

“Tell me your concerns about what’s happening between us,” he says, stopping me in my thoughts.

My eyes widen with dread.

“I don’t regret it,” he tells me.

I exhale.

“Do you?” he asks.

“Me?”

“Regret last night,” he repeats; a question.

I don’t think he’s breathing as he waits for my reply.

I know that I’m not.

I swallow. This can go nowhere, Olivia, really it can’t. I should give him a speech about how wrong this is, how this can’t be, but how can I when it feels so right when I’m with him?

I’m not sure if I end up nodding in answer or shaking my head, or a little of both. “I’m confused. I don’t know why you even gave me the time of day since that first day on the terrace.”

“I like talking to you, Olivia. Is that a crime?” he asks with a soft grin. “Because if it is, I should do it more often.”