I wish I had more experience with men, that I knew the right thing to say to make my words not bother him. The scary part is that part of me meant those big words, and as that realization steals over me, I realize that I can’t, I just can’t fall in love with a man who wants to only be friends with me; I can’t add it to my list of failures that keep piling up. Devon doesn’t have the emotional capacity to return how I feel. No, he keeps that hidden piece of him locked away in his castle, with the drawbridge up, guards around the perimeter. People leave him. Because he served up his heart to Hannah on a silver platter, and she rejected him, hurt him when he was young and had a little bit of faith in love—

“Are you going to sleep on the elevator?” Devon’s voice breaks into my thoughts. I shake my head and step off, following him back to the penthouse.

He comes to a halt in the kitchen, his back still to me, the lines of his stance tense and drawn, as if he’s battling some internal struggle. Well, that’s me, I guess. My fault.

“You don’t have to carry through with our agreement to get naked,” I say curtly as I cross my arms. I’m annoyed and hurt.

He turns around, hands clenched.

Well? my eyes say.

He stalks over to me, getting into my space, and I walk backward, my hands touching the wall for balance. His head dips, and his green eyes rake over me, lingering on my cami, taking me in all the way to my “Really a Waitress” red toes that Myrtle painted for me when she stayed over. “The problem is, Giselle, I want to be naked. I want to be all over you, inside you. I want to make you helpless underneath me, own every inch of your skin, until you smell like me, until you don’t know where you start and I begin. I’m itching, my hands, my fucking hands . . .” The palms of his hands slam the wall on either side of me, caging me in. “Want to be in your hair; they want to strip you down and make you scream my name when you come. Then, I want to do it all over again.”

My lashes flutter.

“Tell me how you really feel,” I gasp out.

One of his hands slaps at the wall, jarring and loud, but I don’t flinch, because it’s Devon, and he’d never hurt me. Low and harsh, his voice is broken, as if dragged over rocks. “This is how I feel. I’m laying it out for you so you know the truth. Fucking is just sex to me, Giselle. No feelings. None of that emotional yearning stuff from your movie. That’s who I am. Is that what you want? One night with someone who won’t care about you the next day? Someone like a guy from your app?”

“It’s not like that,” I say sharply.

“Isn’t it? That’s what it will be with me. I’d fuck you and walk away.”

My heart squeezes. “From me?”

“Yes,” he growls, running his nose up my throat, his teeth nipping at my ear. His scent wraps around me, thick and heady. “Decide. Now. Do you want to fuck?”

That dirty word, from his mouth, directed at me, sets me alight like a match to fuel. Tremors start at my feet and work their way up until I can’t form a coherent thought.

His chest brushes against mine as he presses a hot kiss to my neck, sucking at the skin. I pull his head to me, wrenching his mouth off my neck, truth staring at me, his eyes brimming with lust and promise.

I’ve made comments to him, flippant ones, about having sex just to get my virginity out of the way, but realization and clarity, and him right now, paint the truer picture. Having sex just for the sake of sex—no, that isn’t who I am, and it never was; otherwise I wouldn’t be a virgin. At any point, I could have given in to Preston’s demands, but I never went there, because it wasn’t right, a small kernel of wisdom that just knew. For months, I floated along with him, trying to extricate myself from him, not sure why and pretending like nothing was wrong. Part of that was guilt over Elena, but the rest was me, all me. He wasn’t right for me. Neither was the lacrosse player from high school or the kind of boyfriend in college.

Is it Devon? Yes, this moment, his heavy-lidded gaze on me, the visceral need that’s pouring off him, it feels damn perfect—if I want my heart broken.

My body wars with my mind, wanting him, the heat between us so hot it feels tangible. If I say yes, if I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his lips to mine, we’d be rolling around on the floor in a heartbeat. He’s ready to pounce, hanging back by a tiny thread. Desire, dark and beautiful and intoxicating, swirls low in my body, aching and pulling. He’s right here, waiting for me to answer, his chest twitching as he holds himself incredibly still. One little nod, and he’d do all those wonderful things to me, and then I’d be a nonvirgin—and very unhappy the next day. Still, still, I want him, and my body screams that it’s worth it to hold him and kiss him and feel he’s mine, if just for one night. My fingers twitch to delve into his dark hair, kiss him, and get lost. My chest inches closer to him, feeling that warm connection that drags me to him like a magnet.

I’d fuck you and walk away.

Yes, my body demands. He’s the only man you’ve ever truly felt this way about, who you dream about, who you’ve made the hero of your book.

“No,” I push past my lips, the hardest word I’ve ever said.

His breath hitches, and he shuts his eyes, breathing rapidly as he hovers over me.

Gathering strength and fortitude, I shove at him and dart under his arms. Space. I need space. My control is nonexistent when it comes to him. I have to get out of here. Out of this penthouse. I need to go for a walk around the block or get into Red—no, Cindy and family are there—or just get back on the elevator, ride up and down, and pretend I’m at a fair. I could sleep there, put down a pillow and a blanket, bring my laptop, and jump back into my story—

“Stop overthinking. Get dressed,” he tells me, breaking into my thoughts.

“What?” I call out to him as he stalks to his bedroom door. “I’m going to ride the elevator! Why would I get dressed?”

He pivots around, his jaw popping, hands fisted. “We’re getting out of this penthouse,” he snaps. “Meet me out here in five minutes.”

“It’s late!”

“I don’t care!”

I look down at the peek of his . . . member . . . from his towel. My throat dries. The top is all I see, mushroom shaped and thick and hard—holy shit, will my hand even wrap around that?

His lids open and follow my gaze. He places his hand over . . . it. “Ten minutes!”

He slams his door.

Chapter 16

GISELLE

Just pretend like that little showdown never happened. That’s the ticket, I tell myself as we walk down a mostly quiet street to a diner across from the penthouse. A few people are out, darting in and out of upscale bars and moving on. Happy, probably tipsy groups that I gaze at longingly, wishing I had those kinds of connections. Myrtle isn’t the kind who participates in bars, and shoot, I miss my sister most of all.

Devon opens the door to the diner for me, and I ease past him and take the place in. It’s cute yet classy, decorated to resemble a fifties café, with red booths, black-and-white tile, and pictures of old movie stars on the white walls. People dressed in all manner of clothing, ready to eat after partying downtown, pack the inside, and I wonder how long we’ll have to wait to be seated—how much longer I have to endure the silence between us.