“Shh. Don’t say it.”

I furrow my brow. “Don’t say what?”

“Don’t say anything. Not now.” Her voice breaks. “Please.”

She shakes her head as a tear slips down her cheek, and maybe this is why I don’t understand women. Because I’m thoroughly fucking confused. She was flirty and sweet a few minutes ago, and I was sure she wanted to have a go at a relationship. Now, she’s sad after I’ve told her I’m mad about her. I don’t have a clue what to do next, but all I know is I’m not the kind of man who can stand by and watch a woman cry. “What can I do to make you happy?”

She steps closer and whispers, “Make love to me.”

Now that . . . that I can do.

I cup her cheeks in my hands, push her to the wall by the door, and rake my gaze over her from head to toe, memorizing every curve, every muscle, every dip and valley. I don’t know the blueprint to how we’ll come together. I don’t know what happens next. But I’m crazy for her.

Running my hands from her shoulders down her arms to her waist, I imprint the feel of her. She’s mine, and she’s the one I can’t let get away.

Even though I have no answers, at this moment, I’m certain Natalie and I are on the same page. This is where we’ve never had any questions. I kiss her earlobe, tugging it between my teeth. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. “You feel like mine,” I whisper.

She bites her lip, as if she’s holding in her words. I nuzzle her neck, kissing the column of her throat, winding her up. Her moans grow louder, higher, and I lift her skirt while her busy hands yank down my jeans. This is all I need this second—nothing more, nothing less than this connection.

She wraps her hands around my cock, and I tremble. God, she feels so fucking good. She strokes me, and I close my eyes, rocking my hips into her soft hand. “Nat,” I groan, but I say no more. The lady has spoken. She wants me speechless, and she can have me speechless.

As long as she’ll have me.

Her nimble hands tighten around my shaft, and she brings me closer to her. I tug down her panties and glide my fingers across her slick heat. She’s ready for me. So fucking wet and lush. “Look how turned on you get,” I groan, because it’s too hard to stay silent.

“Wyatt. You need to stop talking and start fu—” But she stops herself, bringing her face close, her forehead touching mine, and she whispers once more, “Making love to me.”

There it is again. Those two words. She’s never said them to me before today—make love—and they let me believe she might feel the same.

I rub the head of my cock against her, and in one fast motion, I push inside. She’s so wet and tight and snug, and I love the way we fit. Like we’re meant to be. Like everything that happened before has led to this.

I want to tell her everything, how I feel, and what I want—her in my life as so much more.

“Sweetheart,” I whisper in her ear, and she shudders.

“Oh, Wyatt.” Her sweet voice is a bare whimper, and that sound touches down deep in my heart.

She clutches my shoulders as I make love to her. Even though the clock is ticking, even though this won’t last long, I take my time in my own way. I savor every sound she makes, every sweet, sexy noise, every murmur, and every sigh. I hike her leg higher around my waist and swivel my hips deeper into her. With my touch, I want to erase whatever sadness she feels.

I might have made some bad choices. I might have made some mistakes. But this isn’t one of them. She’s not going to be my checkered past. She’s my present, and she’s my future, I know that. I believe that.

Because there’s sex, there’s fucking, there’s lust.

And then, there’s this. Right now. And it’s everything, because I’m so in love with her.

In mere seconds, she grabs my ass and calls my name, and I’m right there with her. Our sounds are white-hot noises, wild groans, and intense cries of pleasure as she comes, and I join her in what I hope is the start of something new.

While she’s in the bathroom cleaning up, I flop down on her bed, thumbing through my phone, and see that my sister texted me.

Josie: Sorry. Phone took a swan dive into the batter. Anyway, listen . . . love is all about taking a chance. It’s not rocket science. Just speak from the heart, and tell her she’s the one.

I smile, and a sense of calm floods my body.

Wyatt: I can do that. I can definitely do that.

Josie: Of course you can. Just trust yourself. Your new instincts with her, not the old ones.

Wyatt: Promise. I’m a new man.

I put my phone in my pocket, take a deep breath, and wait for the woman I love. The sink is running, so she’s still in the bathroom. As I stand up, I wander past the TV console. Her phone buzzes on the wood. Glancing down, I see a 917 number on her screen. Someone from New York is calling her. It’s not my job to answer it, so I leave it alone and the buzzing stops.

Then it rattles, like the caller has left a voicemail. The sound draws my attention back to the screen for the sliver of a second.

That’s enough time for the message to flash. It’s been translated from voice into text. I should look away. I really should. But I don’t.

“. . . Rhonda Hafner from Hafner and Hickscomb, following up on our meeting. I reviewed the information you sent, and yes, you have a reasonable claim . . .”

I grab the wall as the floor buckles. What the hell? My head swims, and a strange, new nausea whips through me. I’m even sicker when I click on my phone, run a quick Google search, and find that Hafner and Hickscomb is an employment and labor law firm in New York City.