“Or maybe I’m just being nice to you because you’re following those guys for me,” I said, returning to our familiar way of teasing. In a flash, he dropped the blueberries from his hand into the bowl, grabbed my wrists, and pinned me. Flat on my back on the couch, my breath came fast as he hovered over me.

  “Take it back,” he said, his dark gray eyes locked on mine. “Take it back or I’ll have no choice but to show you why you like having me around,” he said darkly, pressing his groin against me in demonstration.

  My skin heated in an instant. I was sure I was burning up all over. “Show me,” I whispered, daring him on. He wedged a strong leg between my thighs, spreading my legs open. He lowered himself to me, grinding his pelvis against me in the most excruciatingly slow tease. My brain cells decamped, and rational thought fled the building. Here, on my couch, with music playing faintly in the background, the sounds of Los Angeles evening traffic from the nearby avenue filtering through the open windows, all I wanted was him. He hadn’t even kissed me, and I was desperate for more.

  “Take it back,” he said again, his voice a hot whisper on my neck. My eyes fluttered closed with the scratch of his stubble against me, and the slow grind of his hard-on against the fabric of my jean skirt. I willed him to push it up, to gather my skirt at my waist and tug down my panties, but that was the hormones talking. I knew I wasn’t ready to be naked with him.

  Yet.

  But even as lust clouded my brain, I managed to speak. “I’m just teasing. I like you, William,” I said, laying out the truth. I opened my eyes and looked into his, and they were filled with satisfaction, but happiness, too. “You know that, right?”

  “I know. I just like hearing it,” he admitted.

  “And I’m really glad you’re following them. Not only because I want to know what they’re up to but because I like that we’re working together,” I said, looking up at him. I was still pinned, my arms above my head, my wrists in his hands, and I loved every second of this position.

  “Me, too,” he said softly.

  “I feel like we’re partners, and it means a lot to me that you’re doing this and helping. I know you’re trying to get a job with your uncle’s firm, so the fact that you’re doing all this for me means so much.”

  “I want to help, Jess. I want to help you,” he said, his voice sweet as he spoke in a bare whisper. Gone were our usual playful barbs and snark; in their place was only honesty and vulnerability. Those twin emotions scared the hell out of me, but they also felt good. I wasn’t accustomed to being vulnerable and letting down my guard, but I’d come to trust William. And I was starting to see—or to feel—the benefits of letting him in. This afternoon at the diner, he’d been so caring. Like he was now, too.

  Which made me realize that was yet another trait he had in the positive column.

  “I like it when you help me,” I whispered, and he let go of my wrists to bury his hands in my hair and kiss me. It was a tender kiss, one that made me tremble as he swept his tongue across my lips, taking his time before he deepened the kiss, all while running the pad of his thumb along my jawline. There was something so gentle, but possessive, too, about the way he touched my face as he kissed me. My heart leapt in my chest, like it was trying to get closer to him.

  As soon as that thought touched down in my head, I tensed. Because I was falling for him. Big time. I had no clue what liking him this much would do to me. To my control. To my studies. To my quest to stay healthy. To my future. Especially when his future was so uncertain. I stopped the kiss. He pulled back.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, brushing my hair away from my cheek.

  “Yes,” I said, then swallowed. I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t reveal all that I was starting to feel.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t look okay,” he said, moving off me to lie next to me. “What happened? I think you kind of checked out. I’m a terrible kisser, right?” he said, flashing me that trademark grin that melted me all the way to the ends of my hair and the tips of my toes. That feeling—like happiness flooding through my veins—was enough to make me talk. I didn’t want to lose this sensation, even for a moment. It was a feeling that wasn’t borne from doing well in school or nabbing a photo or checking off another item on my to-do list. It was from falling.

  “You know I love kissing you. I was just thinking about what happens when…” I let my voice trail off.

  He picked up the thread easily. “When I might have to go back to England?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me, too,” he said in a soft voice, as if the question weighed on him.

  “I mean, I like you. But what can this even be? It’s so hard to find a job.”

  “I know,” he sighed heavily. “Trust me. I know.”

  “Do you even think you’ll stay?”

  “I want to. So much. And I like you. So much,” he said, and stopped to look at me, his eyes hooking into me. “And maybe now you’re yet another reason I really want to stay.”

  My eyes widened, and I felt the breath knocked out of me. “I am?”

  He bent his head to my neck, pressing a soft kiss against my skin before he looked back into my eyes. “Yes. Does that scare you?”

  I shrugged. “A little. I mean we only met three days ago.”

  “I know,” he said, running his hand along my hip. “And I have no clue what’s going to happen. All I know is I enjoy hanging out with you immensely, and I want more of you.”

  A ribbon of worry cut through me. More of me. Did I have any more to give? I was stretched thin with work, and school, and volunteering, let alone going to medical school next fall. How on earth could I ever give any more of myself? But yet, I couldn’t deny that being with William was the one pure spot of pleasure in my life. He was chocolate, he was cake, he was ice cream, and I wanted to gobble him up. The moments with him were the times when I wasn’t wound tight. I could let go with him. I wouldn’t be able to let go at all next year, or for the next four years once medical school started. Maybe more of him was exactly what I needed right now. A finite amount of more. Not a commitment. Not a promise. Just a smidgeon. He gently took hold of my hand, threading his fingers through mine.

  “I want that, too, but getting close worries me,” I admit. “I don’t want to relapse or anything.”

  “I completely respect that. I truly do, but you’re stronger than you think, Jess. I know you worry that you have to have the world rotating at the perfect pace and everything going a certain way. But if anyone has it together, Jess, it’s you.”

  I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I soaked up his words and the way he seemed to know me so well already. Maybe I could have it all. Maybe I was stronger than I thought when it came to guys and food. Maybe I was on the other side of my eating disorder.

  “And look,” he continued. “I don’t know if I’m staying or going. I have no clue what happens. All I know is the last few days with you have been fantastic and I would love to keep seeing you while I’m here. I would love it if you’d be my girlfriend.”

  Girlfriend. It was as if all the sound zipped out of the apartment at once, turning the air silent. I hadn’t been anyone’s girlfriend in a long time, and my body froze at the prospect. But then I thawed because being with him was safe. I wouldn’t let myself get too close with him possibly leaving, and with me starting school next fall. Maybe I could truly have my cake and eat it, too.

  Him.

  “You’re kind of like cake,” I murmured.

  He raised an eyebrow in question.

  “You’re like cake to me and I want cake,” I added.

  He laughed, a deep, rumbly belly laugh that seemed to echo in the room, filling it back up with noise and the sweetness of laughter. “Knowing how you feel about food, I will happily be your cake.”

  “Then come back on top of me because that felt pretty good, what you were doing earlier,” I said, and in a heartbeat he was over me again, his hard body aligning with mine.

  “Hi,” he whispered.

  “Hi,” I said back, and something about this moment felt like we had stepped over a line and onto the other side.

  He rocked against me, his erection pressed hard into my thigh. I shivered as a wave of goosebumps rushed over my skin. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, giving in to the letting go.

  “I love touching you, Jess. For so many reasons,” he said as he rubbed against me. “But especially because I like watching you let go of your grip on the world.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes,” he said, thrusting against me. “I do. I love it. I love how it’s the one time when you let yourself feel good. I love that you do that with me.”

  “You make me feel good,” I said, my breath feathering against his cheek.

  “I would love to make you feel even better,” he said, and a flurry of white-hot sparks ignited in my belly with the suggestion. Heat pooled between my legs, and I was dying for him to touch me.

  “How?” I asked as I looped my hands around to his ass, dipping them back into his jeans once more.

  “However you’ll let me,” he said, his voice turning low and husky and so full of need. He wanted me to feel good, wanted me to let go beneath him, and that sounded pretty damn appealing to me, too. Better than cake, better than chocolate. Touching him was like having all the things I kept at a distance.

  “What you’re doing right now feels pretty fantastic,” I said as we rocked together, my hips arching into his erection. “But maybe just take off my skirt,” I whispered.

  In seconds, he’d unbuttoned, unzipped, and tugged off my skirt. I lay before him on the couch, wearing only my tank top and a simple pair of cotton boy shorts in dark blue that hugged me low on my hips.

  “Fuck,” he hissed out as he looked at me, and I couldn’t help but thrill at his reaction. His raw, unedited reaction to seeing my panties. Such a simple moment, but such an intimate one, too. “My favorite color on you,” he rasped out as he ran his fingers against the cotton panel of my panties, feeling where I was wet for him. “You’re so hot,” he said. “I love that I did this to you.”

  “You did. Now do more,” I instructed as I grabbed him by the hips and yanked him down against me. I wasn’t ready for his hands in my pants, or his mouth. But the feel of him against me? That I could manage, and that’s what he gave me as he began grinding against me.

  I moaned with every move he made, arching my back, and gripping his butt hard as he rocked perfectly into me. So damn perfectly that I could feel that delicious start of something. The slow, sweet spread of pleasure all throughout my body. The sensation that a decadent release was within my reach.

  “William,” I moaned, rocking into him, as waves began to crest inside me.

  He said something in Italian. I had no clue what he was saying, but it sounded dirty, and I loved the possibility of the words. He rained kisses on my bare skin, brushing his lips against my throat, my neck, my ear as he moved his body against mine in a dizzying pace, his hard length doing wonders to me even through the layers between us. It didn’t matter that our clothes were on, it didn’t matter that his skin wasn’t touching mine. I was close, so close, and nothing was going to stop this orgasm that hovered on the edge of my evening with him.

  “Oh God,” I gasped, opening my legs wider and wrapping them around his hips. “It feels so good,” I moaned.

  “I want you to feel amazing.”

  And I did feel amazing. Absolutely out of this world incredible as I started seeing stars, bright and beautiful, like the way I felt when I was with him. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, pulled him as close as he could possibly be, and my mouth fell open into an O as my body went there, too.

  * * *

  William

  * * *

  So. Yeah. That was hot. Like, crazy hot. I was dying to slide my hand inside her panties, to feel how wet she was, to have her rock against my fingers. But all I really wanted was for Jess to feel good, and for me to be the one to make her feel that way. For her to come just from the friction of our bodies made me want to pound my chest.

  But I wasn’t that type of guy. Instead, I kissed her more because I couldn’t resist. Her lips were delicious, her skin was divine, and her body melted whenever I touched her. Nothing was a bigger turn-on than when the girl you like loses control as you touch her. Jess was like that with me, and the way we connected in the bedroom—okay, living room—was yet another reason I wanted more and more of her.

  “That was so fucking hot,” I said after I broke the kiss.

  A faint smile curved her lips, and she still wore the afterglow of an orgasm on her face—flushed cheeks, plump red lips, and eyes hazy with desire fulfilled. “It was so fucking hot,” she repeated, and I loved that she wasn’t embarrassed or shy from coming while I—let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?—dry humped her.

  She roped her arms around my neck and pulled me back in for more kisses, looping her legs tight around me again. Maybe she was ready for another, and hell, I was up to the task. Very, very up to it.

  “You liked my legs, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “Hmmm?” Her question didn’t compute.

  Then in seconds, she gripped me with her thighs and flipped me with those strong legs. I was on my back, and she was wedged along the couch by my side. Her hands were fast, and she moved quickly, unzipping my jeans and grasping my hard-on through my boxer briefs.

  I groaned loudly, my eyes floating closed as she touched me. She felt so incredibly good, her quick hand rubbing me. I was reduced to nothing but the desire for her to touch me more. Fortunately, she didn’t need me to tell her that. She knew, because she tugged at my jeans, then my boxers, pulling them down far enough to take me in her hand.

  Holy fuck. Her soft fingers wrapped around me, and all the air escaped my lungs as she stroked me. “Your hands are like magic,” I rasped out as I rocked into her palm.

  “They’ll feel even better like this,” she said, breaking the contact for a second. I opened my eyes to watch her lean across me and grab a bottle of lotion from the coffee table, and pump some into her hand.

  “Always thinking,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

  “Lubrication works wonders,” she said, returning to my erection and gripping me harder.

  “That it does, Jess. That it—” I stopped talking when she started using both hands, stroking and tugging in ways that made my whole body vibrate. I sank down into the couch, giving in to the moment with her, to the way her talented hands worked me over.

  “God, I want to fuck you so badly,” I said to her in Italian.

  “I have no clue what you’re saying, but I bet it’s dirty,” she said, laughing as she grasped me in such perfect harmony, using both hands. Sheer pleasure ricocheted throughout my bones and blood as she pumped her hands over me, on me, against me.

  “So fucking dirty. I am dying to be inside you, to feel you come on me, to have you under me,” I said in that language, too, another groan working its way up my throat as her hands flew faster, the lotion doing its job of turning friction into wonderful abandon.

  “I love that you talk in Italian when you get turned on,” she said, and this time it was her voice, her hands, the fresh memory of the sexy way she’d arched against me, that set me off into a fantastic climax.

  I bit off a string of endless curse words as I thrust hard into her hand.

  Minutes later, when we’d both cleaned up, I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in close. “See, and that’s another reason why I hope I can stay in America. All that cake.”

  She tensed for the briefest of seconds, then relaxed into me.

  I had no idea if she wanted the same things I did—more—but for now I had her, so I’d take what I could get.

  FRIDAY

  FRIDAY

  Weather: 70 degrees, Sunny

  7

  Jess

  * * *

  I stretched out my hamstrings at the foot of the trail as I listened to my most upbeat pre-running playlist. There was nothing quite like a jog on the trails as the sun rose. Plus, I was even more energetic than usual. Having a fantastic orgasm last night delivered by a hot guy I was crazy for might have had something to do with the good mood that fueled my morning. He’d already texted me at the crack of dawn. His message had sent flurries down my spine.

  HBG: Hi. I think I’m still high this morning on you. Can we have a repeat tonight?

  I’d said yes, of course. That man had worked his way into my heart, and somehow he had the secret key to unlock my body. Because the simplest touch from him turned me all the way on. Even his notes unleashed goosebumps in me.

  Another note arrived as I moved on to calf stretches.

  HBG: Will start the tail soon. Uncle James has demanded I appear at his office this morning. Says he needs to review wedding plans, so at least my delay is for a good cause.

  I wrote back: A very good cause.

  While bouncing on my toes, my phone rattled in my hand once more. Sliding my finger over the screen, I expected another text from William but instead opened a message from my dad.

  Guess who’s history from The Weekenders?? Nick Ballast. Otherwise known as Nick Balloons!

  My Hollywood-gossip-loving eyes widened to full saucer size as I read his note, and the way he’d used the tabloid moniker my shots had inspired for the once tubby Nick. I tapped out a quick reply.

  Nick’s been cut from The Weekenders? Did the studio boot him?

  Ever the early bird, my dad replied quickly.

  The director nixed him. Your mom heard about it this morning from a friend who’s an agent at WAM, since a WAM client has been recast in Nick’s role.

  I gulped, a new fear swooping through me as I dialed my dad—the possibility that I was to blame. “Already? The studio already recast the part?” I asked, quickly segueing from text to talking.