But I can’t fucking stop. I can’t stop kissing her. I can’t stop squeezing her tits. I can’t stop myself from leading her to the bed and lowering my body on top of her. My cock is pinned between our bodies, a heavy weight on her flat stomach, and the base of it grinds against her clit as we kiss so deeply it’s like we’re trying to swallow each other up.

Stop this, a sharp voice reprimands.

Hell, I can’t. I want her too much.

Stop. This.

Yup, that voice is my conscience, trying to prevent me from making a serious mistake. So why can’t I listen to it? Why can’t I—

Grace breaks the kiss and looks up at me with hazy brown eyes, and suddenly all her bravado is gone. The confident, sexy woman who mauled me at the door has transformed into a shy, blushing girl who says, “Um, so…listen…I’ve never had sex before.”

Oh fuck.

Those five words crack my heart in two.

Son of a bitch. No way. There is absolutely no way I can do this to her.

Fooling around with her when I know I’m going to end it? Reprehensible. But taking her virginity? Unforgivable.

Oh, and my place in hell? Still solidly secured.

Silence stretches between us as I struggle for the right words to say. Which is damn difficult when we’re both naked. When my dick’s so hard it could cut a diamond in half.

She lets out a shaky breath. “Is that a problem for you?”

I open my mouth.

And say, “Yes.”

Grace looks startled. “What?”

“I mean, no. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin. But…we can’t do this.” I stumble off the bed with as much grace as a newborn foal. Seriously, my legs are wobbling all over the place as I hurriedly scan the room for my pants.

I can feel her watching me. Her eyes boring into me. I don’t want to look over because I know she’s still naked, but I can’t stop myself from sneaking a peek, and her hurt expression rips my chest apart.

“I’m sorry,” I say roughly. “I can’t do this. This is your first time, and you deserve something—someone—so much better than me for your first time.”

She doesn’t utter a word, but even in the darkness, I can see the deep flush on her cheeks. And she’s biting her lower lip as if she’s trying not to cry.

Her silence deepens the guilt coursing through my veins. “I’m in such a fucked up place right now. I have a lot of fun with you, but…” I swallow. “I can’t give you anything serious.”

She finally speaks, her voice tight and laced with embarrassment. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Logan.”

“I know. But sex…sex is serious, okay? Especially for a virgin.” I trip over the words, feeling like a total asshole. “You don’t want to do this with me, Grace. I’m screwed in the head, and I guess I’ve been trying to distract myself from all the bullshit in my life, and trying to get over someone else, and—”

“Someone else?” she interrupts, and now there’s a thread of anger in her tone. “You’re interested in someone else?”

“Yes. No,” I say quickly. Then I groan. “I thought I was, and maybe I still am. I don’t know, okay? All I know is that this girl has had me tied up in knots for months, and it’s not fair to you if we…do this…when I…” I trail off, too confused and uncomfortable to go on.

Avoiding my eyes, Grace bolts off the bed and grabs a T-shirt from the back of the desk chair. “You were using me to get over someone else?” She yanks the shirt over her head. “I was your distraction?”

“No. I promise, I like you a lot.” I cringe at the pleading note in my voice. “I wasn’t intentionally using you. You’re so fucking amazing, but I—”

“Oh my God, no,” she cuts in. “Please…just shut up, Logan. I can’t handle the it’s not you, it’s me speech right now.” She rakes both hands through her hair, her breathing becoming shallow. “Oh God. This was such a mistake.”

“Grace—”

She interrupts again. “Will you do me a favor?”

It’s difficult to speak past the massive lump lodged in my throat. “Anything.”

“Leave.”

The lump damn near chokes me. I inhale deeply, ignoring the burning sensation in my throat, the ache in my chest.

“I mean it, just leave, okay?” She meets my gaze head-on. “I really, really want you to go right now.”

I should say something else. Apologize again. Reassure her. Comfort her. But I’m terrified she might slap me—or worse, break down—if I approach her.

Besides, she’s already walking to the door and throwing it open. She doesn’t look at me as she waits.

Waits for me to leave.

Fuck. I screwed up so badly. My heart physically hurts as I stagger to the door. I pause in the threshold, finding the courage to meet her eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be.”

The last thing I hear as I step out into the hall is the sound of the door slamming behind me.

13

Logan

I’ve always refused to use alcohol as a crutch. If I’m sad or upset or hurting, I avoid it at all costs because I’m terrified I might rely too heavily on it one day. That I might become addicted.

But goddamn, I could really use a drink right now.

Fighting the urge, I bypass the liquor cabinet in the living room and sprint to the sliding door in the kitchen. Cigarettes. Equally destructive habit, but it’s the lesser of two evils at the moment. I’ll just flood my veins with nicotine—maybe that’ll help with the huge ball of guilt taking up residence in the pit of my stomach.