“So you two just hit it off?”

  “Something like that. This is a big place, and she didn’t really have anywhere else to go that wasn’t with her brothers, both of whom recently got married and are trying to start their families, so she’s staying for a while. She gets me out of my shell. In fact, we went zip-lining earlier today.”

  “You?” Trace looks stunned.

  “I know. She sweet-talked me into it. I think tomorrow I’ll teach her to surf. That will keep her occupied for a while.”

  “She cooks?” my mother asks.

  “Yeah. That’s the other reason I was happy to have Harlow stay. She makes a mean pork roast.”

  Trace adjusts in his seat and murmurs for my ears only. “I know that’s not the only reason you want her around.”

  I smile blandly as my mother pretends she didn’t hear a word. “She makes you smile?”

  “Yeah.” Sometimes she infuriates me too, but if I didn’t care, she’d never be able to get a rise out of me at all.

  “Excellent. And she gives you pleasure?”

  Trace almost spits out his water. “Makuahine, what a question to ask.”

  “What? It’s important. They must have more than a meeting of minds.”

  I feel myself turning slightly red. “Yes, she does. Can we drop it?”

  Harlow sprints down the stairs in a pair of flowing pants and a shimmering black tank. It’s somehow casual and elegant, especially with her smile firmly in place. “Sorry about that. Let’s try this again. I’m Harlow. It’s nice to meet you, Trace. You and your brother look a lot alike.”

  Trace shakes her hand, eyeing her with a grin. “We get that a lot. Great meeting you. And I swear, if Noah will keep his promise to call in the future, I won’t drop in unannounced.”

  “Mrs. Weston, hello. It’s lovely to meet you. Can I get you a drink?”

  My mother looks her over with an approving little nod. “I’m Malya.”

  “I got them something. Sit and join us.”

  She does, and for the next two hours we chat about everything—places we love visiting on the island, the fact that everyone except Makuahine hates poi, what it’s like to grow up here versus moving to Hawaii from the mainland. We talk some about my career, Harlow’s plans to pursue speech pathology, and Trace’s on-again-off-again interest in leaving his current job to pursue something that makes more money.

  The easy conversation buoys me. It’s as if Harlow fits right into my family. She and my mother bond over their mutual passion for home decorating shows and The Rock. My brother and I both shake our heads.

  When Makuahine sets her coffee aside and stands, she takes Harlow’s hand. “It was lovely to talk to you, but it’s nearly ten o’clock—way past this old woman’s bedtime. I hope we meet again.” She turns to me. “Walk me out, keikikane?”

  “Son,” I interpret for Harlow. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Nice to meet both of you,” Harlow says to my family as she takes the dirty cups and empty bottles to the kitchen. “’Night.”

  I follow my brother out as he helps our mother navigate the path to the car.

  “She’s awesome,” Trace says. “You seem really…complete when you’re with her. Don’t let her get away.”

  Complete describes how I feel with Harlow. His observations validate my feelings. “Thanks, bro. I’m going to try like hell.”

  “She likes you but she’s reserved.” My mother shakes her head. “Afraid.”

  “Yeah.” But I’ve got to keep trying.

  “I think she could make you very happy, keikikane. But you’ll have to reach her heart and make her feel secure first.”

  So everything I’ve suspected and believed about Harlow is spot on. Now that people more objective about our relationship have confirmed that, I’m feeling way better about where I’m at with her. “That’s what I plan to do.”

  No matter what it takes.

  Once my family leaves, I return with my gaze locked on Harlow. Regret is all over her face. “I’m sorry. I never thought trying to seduce you on your patio would embarrass you in front of your family.”

  “You didn’t, baby. It’s fine. They like you.”

  She relaxes a bit. “I liked them, too. Your mom really loves you. She’s so proud.”

  Something about the envy in her tone gives me pause. I don’t assume again that her mom is proud of her, not after she corrected me once. “Have you talked to your mother since last weekend? I know she wanted you to marry well and now you haven’t.”

  Harlow shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, but I think, deep down, it does. “Running out on the wedding is just the latest in a long line of disappointments I’ve dealt her. I didn’t want to be the star of Ms. Hattfield’s Dance Academy when I was six. I didn’t want to be a child model when one of my dad’s Hollywood clients mentioned that he could get me work. I didn’t become Miss San Diego County when I was eighteen because I couldn’t stand the artificial bitchery of a contestant who was sleeping with two of the judges to ensure her win, so I rubbed icy hot in her bikini bottoms. In general, I didn’t add any razzle-dazzle to Mom’s name so the rest of her country club friends could ooh and aah when she walked in the room. I’ve learned to live with the fact that she’s always going to think that I’ve failed to live up to my full potential.”

  Harlow gave me more information than I expected. Generally, that’s a good sign, even though her mother sounds totally bent. “Those were her dreams. You were right to pursue your own.”

  “Yeah, but she’s forever telling me I’m too strong-willed. She tried to call me for days after I ran out on Simon. I haven’t answered. I don’t have anything to say that’s going to make her feel better.”

  So they’re not close, and I’m sad for her. If I’d suffered such a public breakup, I know I could count on my makuahine’s comfort and words of wisdom. Harlow would never want to lean on her brothers when they’re just getting started in their own happily ever afters. She must feel completely alone.

  Well, she was. Now, she’s got me.

  “Anything you have to say, you can always tell me,” I promise her.

  “Thanks.” But she doesn’t divulge deeper feelings or let me in on her innermost thoughts. “Now that your family is gone, can we pick up where we left off before we had unexpected company?”

  “I’d like that.” And if I get to touch her when she’s feeling a little more vulnerable, I might be able to open her up more. Every little bit helps.

  We both know what we want and no words are necessary. I take her hand. She curls her fingers around mine and lets me lead her upstairs.

  Inside my suite, I seduce her slowly, punctuating every move with a brush of my lips across hers, a nip at her neck, a whisper in her ear. Under my touch, her breath turns shallow. She shivers. The pulse at her neck picks up speed.

  “Noah…”

  “What’s wrong, baby?” I thumb off the strap of her tank top and press my lips to the newly exposed skin.

  “Hurry.” She tries to force the issue by reaching for the hem to whip the top over her head.

  I take hold of her wrists and stop her. “We have all night.”

  When she looks as if she wants to argue, I lay my mouth over hers and swallow her objection. After a little gasp, she slowly loses her will to resist. Her hands soften and wrap around my shoulders. Then her kiss deepens. Her body melts against mine. Her sigh tells me she’s surrendered.

  Finally, she trusts me enough to give me control over something. Even if it’s only sex and even if it’s only temporary, it’s a first step.

  I’m slow to remove her clothes. I’m even slower to kiss my way down her body. I take my time inhaling her scent and telling her that I can’t wait to be inside her. I linger over her skin, bathe her breasts with my tongue, then work down her body until I have my head between her thighs.

  Gasping, she plunges her fingers into my hair and invites me in—deeper, longer, sweeter. She’s ambrosia on my tongue, and I know her particular flavor is something I’ll never get enough of.

  After giving her a pair of gasping, throaty orgasms, I slide my way back up her body and inside her—tongue and cock filling her at once. I take her, wrap myself around her. As if by some mutual, unspoken agreement, we haven’t used a condom since the first time we agreed we’d be safe without them. When I feel her enclose me in stunning satin heat, I groan long and loud.

  Beneath me, Harlow bucks and circles her hips, urging me on.

  I grab her hips and hold her beneath me. “Don’t. Let me love you slowly.”

  She protests with impatient sighs of need. I’d think she was cute if her body and her furtive movements weren’t driving me out of my fucking mind. I want to take my time and make this last, wring every ounce of pleasure from her body I can, but I can’t stop myself from wrapping one fist in her hair and tilting her gaze directly to mine. I stare into her eyes as I plunge into her, drinking in her whimper.

  I love Harlow on top of me, riding me. I crave another chance to take her from behind while she’s on all fours and I’m gripping her hips until my fingers leave faint marks. But more than anything, I absolutely love being on top of her, mastering her body, having her totally in my control. I’m sure that says something about me, but I don’t care. And I’m pressing myself into her body, just like I’m hoping I’m pressing myself into her soul.

  With a groan, I start to ride her. She responds, flattening her feet on the bed, hugging me with her thighs, lifting her hips up to meet my every stroke. I never take my gaze from hers.

  “Tell me you want me inside you,” I growl.

  “I-I want you inside me.”

  Her frantic whisper lights me on fire.

  “Tell me you want me deeper.”

  “Yes…” she pants. “I want you so deep.”

  “Tell me you’re mine.”

  Harlow hesitates. “Noah… Don’t play games.”

  “Why do you think this is a game?” I’m fucking serious.

  I keep up the slow, steady strokes, trying not to give in to her incendiary touch and burn alive. This is important. She’s important. If I want more than sex from her, I’m going to have to be both coaxing and assertive.

  “I don’t want to talk now.”

  “You just want to fuck. Guess what, baby? I’m the one on top, calling the shots. And I want more. I want to get up in your head. I want to know what you’re thinking. I want to know if you’re ready to admit that you’re mine.”

  “For now, yes. Faster…” she croons.

  I slow my pace. “I’m not rushing to orgasm. In fact, I can slow this down even more until you talk to me.” I do, easing inside her with a molasses thrust. “I’ve got all night.”

  “No!” She sinks her nails into my shoulders and tosses her head back.

  “Then look at me,” I demand. “Are you mine?”

  It takes her a moment, but she untwists her spine and focuses on me again. As our stares connect, a zing zips down my spine. She feels it, too. I can tell. I hear her sharp little intake of breath and see the goose bumps flare across her skin.

  “Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

  “Don’t do this,” she cries as I slide inside her. Her body bucks up. She loses her breath. Her eyes slide shut again.

  I take hold of her chin and force her stare back. “At least for the summer, Harlow. Give me that much.”

  “You said we’d take it one day at a time,” she pushes back breathlessly.

  “And we will. But I need a little more now than you’re giving me, baby. Try.”

  She circles her hips into my next thrust with a wail. I feel her tightening. She’s getting close. It’s dirty pool to press her for more when most of her thoughts are wrapped up in pleasure, but I need her raw. I need her to admit this is more than just fucking.

  “Stop pushing me.” She shoves at my chest and catches me off guard.

  I grab her wrists and hold them to the mattress, opening her to me. “Don’t panic… I’m not pushing, baby. I won’t ever hurt you. I just want more of you. I’ll go slow. I’ll be easy. Relax.”

  Even as I say the words, I know I’ve pushed my luck as far as I dare tonight. Disappointment is bitter, but I need to back down before she shoves me away altogether. Retreat feels like defeat, but I can’t force her to share more than her body with me. It burns, but I’m going to have to be patient.

  I reinforce my words with a glide down her body and a thumb across her swollen clit. She jolts and keens out, back arching. Her gaze bounces up to mine again, fusing us together as I pound my way inside her body—deeper, harder, faster.

  “Noah!”

  The sensual distress in her voice lights a new fire inside me. We have all summer. I’ll reach her. I’m stubborn like that. Once she drops her defenses, she’ll prove to me that she’s feeling more than pleasure, too. But for now, I’ll give her what she wants and needs and hope it’s enough to bring her back for more.

  “I’m here,” I assure her. “Come for me.”

  Under me, she writhes and clamps down, her breathing choppy and interrupted. Then she lets out a scream that rings in my ears and squeezes all control from my cock. I can’t help it; I follow her into a rocket-launchers-and-fireworks sort of bliss.

  When it’s over and she’s panting beside me, I risk a glance her way. She’s staring at the ceiling, face flushed. “For the record, I don’t belong to anyone.”

  Before I can think of something to ease her fears, she disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door between us.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  What is it with this woman? I have guesses, but I don’t know for sure. She has deep scars on her heart, not from Simon Butler, but from something I don’t understand. I’m almost looking forward to dinner with her brothers tomorrow night. Almost. If I can keep all my dubious conversational abilities from floundering, I might just get some answers.

  When Harlow emerges from the bathroom a moment later, I’m waiting at the door. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I know.” She sighs. “I panic and… I’m just not ready for more.”

  She’s too afraid to even consider it. “Maybe I’m not ready for less.”

  A frown furrows her brow. “I need to think.”

  With that, Harlow slips out of my grip and out of my bedroom. Reluctantly, I let her go. If I keep pushing, I’m only going to shove her out the door. Maybe I should stop trying to invest in a woman with more defenses than a military base.

  Maybe…but I think it’s too late.

  With a curse, I hop in the shower to rinse off. I’ve never had a problem getting a woman. I’ve never wanted to keep one, so this problem is totally new. I have to figure out what it’s going to take to persuade her I’m on her side. A tough gig if she won’t open up enough to tell me why she’s hurting.

  After I towel off and head into the bedroom, I’m hoping I’ll find her in my room, curled up in my bed. Every night, she pretends to fall asleep next to me. But she never does. Intimacy avoidance? Probably.

  Tonight she’s nowhere to be found.

  I toss on a pair of shorts and head down the hall. Her bedroom door is cracked, and the lamp on her nightstand puts off a small circle of golden light. It’s enough to illuminate the buds stuck in her ears and tears falling down her cheeks. She clutches a CD case to her chest, eyes closed. A pang racks my chest. The sadness on her face is killing me.

  I stare as she finally makes her way under the covers and turns out the light. I can barely make out her shape as she sets the CD case down, rolls to her side, and drifts off a few minutes later.

  I wait, watching Harlow until I’m sure she’s crashed before I creep into her room and gently extract the buds from her ears. She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t stir at all.

  The buds are attached to her phone. I take them both and slip them in my ears to give whatever she’s hearing a listen. I hear a few notes fading away, then dead air. With a frown, I try to open the playlist and start from the beginning, but it automatically repeats and I hear a woman’s voice. She prefaces whatever music is to follow.

  “Hi, Harlow. It’s Keeley. I know you don’t want to talk. You’re like your big brother.” She gives a little laugh. “But sometimes we need help sorting out what’s in our heads, and you know music is my language. I made this CD of songs I picked for you. If you don’t need or want it, that’s fine. But if something I’ve found helps you to recover after what happened or makes you want to talk, I’m here for you, sweetie. Maxon and I send our love. You deserve the best, and Simon Butler wasn’t it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.”

  Her sister-in-law’s gentle if chipper voice trails off and the first song begins to play. It’s old. Retro. Beats sliding down a scale, then tambourines and drums. I’ve heard it. I just can’t place it right away. A woman starts singing about her lying, cheating boyfriend. It doesn’t click until she sings that her boots are made for walking.

  I have to smile. I don’t know Keeley, but she’s definitely got this tune right. Harlow had every right to let her dainty boots trample her ex on her way out the door.

  That song ends, then another begins, this one more upbeat. It’s definitely from a different era than the first. It’s not familiar, either, and when another woman starts singing, I’m thinking I need to catch up on my chick rock. As I listen to the lyrics, the song is all about telling a deadbeat lover to kiss off in a tone that says she’s not at all broken up about the split.

  “‘Goodbye to You,’ huh?” I murmur. If Harlow had been singing this song, she would have called it “Eat Shit and Die.”

  I listen as the end trails off. Both songs have been appropriate to her situation…but neither should have made her cry.

  The next song is also unfamiliar. The intro sounds like a guitar of some sort in an uneven beat, almost a Caribbean-style rhythm. I hear another female vocalist, her voice one I’ve heard before. Rihanna, I think. She sings that she can pretend she’s not lonely but she’ll be lying to herself and she’d give every dime she possesses to have what she’s only been dreaming about. Is it possible Harlow feels that way secretly, deep down? Is there any chance she wants to be someone’s one and only but is too afraid to admit it?