“Such a good girl,” he praises as he slips the condom over his cock and leans above me, palms flat on either side of my head. Then he covers me with his body and uses his knees to spread my legs farther apart. “Keep them wide. I want to enjoy every second I’m inside you.”

  I want him to enjoy it, too, but I can’t find the words, so I just nod.

  “God, the way you’re looking at me…” His eyes darken as he grips my hips and fits his fat crest against my opening. Then he swallows like he’s every bit as turned inside out as I am. “We just met and this makes no sense, but this is more than a fuck.” He nudges my opening. “Right?”

  “Yes.” I feel myself tighten on him, trying to suck him in deeper.

  Nothing about this makes any sense, but I don’t argue. I can’t. Something’s happening between us. It isn’t just that he makes my body sing—but oh, hell, he does. It’s as if he stares into my eyes and, as he’s penetrating my body, he penetrates my soul.

  I gasp as he stretches me, filling me, seeming to complete me. Which makes no sense, but I can’t escape the feeling that all other men have left me cold because I was meant for this one.

  He tunnels deeper, deeper, finally pressing in to the hilt and bottoming out. “There. Now you’re mine.”

  He feels it, too, this inexplicable connection. I see it on his face.

  “Yours.” Names aren’t important. We’ll get to them, but right now we’re leading with our hearts. With the love we’re making. “Oh, that’s good…”

  His smile lights up the shadowy corner of his room.

  “I’m going to make you feel even better, Calla,” he vows as he eases out in a molasses stroke that nearly has me whimpering.

  I believe him.

  Then we don’t need to talk. He plants his elbows on the mattress beside me and grabs for my hands. I give them over, melting when he links our fingers as he thrusts even deeper into my body.

  Again and again, he fills me slowly. The pleasure builds until need starts to burn once more. I should be past the shock that he can ignite me so quickly and so often. But I blink up at him as the desire ignites. Suddenly, I’m breathing hard and rocking with him. My heart lurches when he slants his mouth over mine and kisses me. His tongue is as thorough as his cock, exploring deep and conquering me totally. With every touch, I feel all my usual defenses crumble to dust. Instead, my very chest seems to open up. When all the feelings I normally hold back pour in, for once I welcome it.

  “Look at me,” he demands.

  I open my flutting eyes wide and lose myself in the black depths of his glinting stare. “This is insane. I’ve never felt…”

  He doesn’t need me to finish the thought to understand. “Me, either. I don’t know what’s happening but I’m not stopping.”

  Even the suggestion that he might makes me clutch him tighter.

  His strokes pick up pace. His body crashes into mine over and over. His strength of will ensures that, even if I wanted to hide my feelings from him, I couldn’t.

  “Calla?”

  “Yes.”

  “You with me?”

  “Yes…” I pant out.

  He drags his lips up my neck before stealing my mouth—and my thoughts—again. Everything inside my body is tightening and heating. Nerve endings I didn’t know I had awaken and tingle for this man. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

  All I can do is feel—and surrender to—him.

  “We’re going to do this together.”

  “What?” I’ve gone from stimulated to electrified. My fingers grip him. My lips dust his jaw. My hips lift to each thrust. My sex clenches.

  “Come,” he insists, teeth bared. “Now.”

  I have no idea what it is about this man or the way he talks to me, but his demands are the key to unlock my body. Suddenly, all the tension inside me shatters in a primal release unlike anything I’ve ever known.

  Arching, I toss my head back and cry out so loud I’m sure everyone on the floor can hear how good he makes me feel. My beloved stranger presses his lips over mine. I feel his body tense and shudder. He shoves inside me even deeper and groans into my mouth as he swells and jerks, giving himself over to me.

  We take a collective breath, and our hearts slow together. Then he opens his eyes and soothes stray curls from my damp forehead and hot cheeks. “Hi.”

  I smile, stupidly, deliriously happy that I met him. “Hi.”

  “I’m Quint. Thought maybe you should know the name of the man who’s fucking you. You know, for next time.”

  I have to laugh. “Hi, Quint. It’s nice to finally know your name. And that sounds great. Next time.”

  My sigh probably sounds half lovesick, and I don’t care. If something good comes out of this craptastic weekend, then I’ll call him my silver lining and be grateful. Because I have no illusions; tomorrow afternoon will suck.

  “Hey, where did your smile go?”

  “Sorry. Thinking that I have to do something unpleasant tomorrow. I’d rather not think about it at all.”

  “Same.” He presses his forehead to mine and holds me tighter before kissing my brow. Then he eases free and trashes his condom. Before I even have time to miss him, he returns and cuddles me against his hard body. “But I’d like to spend the rest of the weekend with you.”

  I don’t have to think at all. “I’d love that.”

  His smile blinds me. “Where do you live, Calla?”

  “LA.”

  He grimaces. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a freelance food blogger. What was that scowl about?”

  “That’s a long way from home for me, and I hate LA.”

  “Actually, I’m not that fond of it anymore, either. The traffic is horrible. The cost of living is ridiculous. It’s just… It seemed normal when I was growing up there. Now…” I shrug. “Meh. Where do you live?”

  “Outside Santa Fe. I lived in Denver for a while, but I like Santa Fe’s smaller town feel. I’m a homicide detective.”

  So my instinct that he wouldn’t hurt me, no matter how much I put myself at his mercy, had been right. “I can picture that. You like it, don’t you?”

  “It can be grisly and sad, but yeah. It’s like a calling. How did you know?”

  “Tell me I’m not the only one who feels this strange connection—”

  “Like we’ve known each other forever? You’re not.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Exactly. It’s so odd. I’ve never felt this way.”

  “Me, either. I’m usually a perfectly happy loner.”

  “Well, not a total loner,” I point out. “You obviously know your way around a woman’s body.”

  Quint is manly as hell, but the self-deprecating grin that crosses his face could almost be called boyish. “I said I was a loner, not a monk.”

  He was already gorgeous and solid, but he’s got a sense of humor, too? Be still my heart. “Clearly.”

  Something on his face changes. “You haven’t dated a lot, have you?”

  “I did. Well, I tried. I just never found anyone I clicked with.”

  “Until me?”

  “Yeah. Does that sound crazy?”

  “It does. But I know it’s not since I’m feeling it, too.”

  I bite my lip. “What do we do about it?”

  Chapter Four

  Quint

  “Good question.” We live in different cities, in different states. I’m not sure how we deal with that. But the longer she bites that plump pink lip, the less able I am to problem solve rationally. I drag my thumb over her pouty mouth. “Stop that.”

  “Why?”

  I can’t help but notice she asks the question with a hint of sass, which I’ll be happy to spank out of her later, but she complies immediately. Does she have any idea how perfect she is for me?

  “Because you look sexy doing that and it distracts the fuck out of me.”

  She laughs. “You’re not sated?”

  “For the moment, maybe.” But not for long. “You think you are?”

  Calla rolls her eyes. “I’ve never had four orgasms in one night. You’re like the Superman of the bedroom. After all that, there’s no way I’ll be able to manage round two.”

  Oh, she of little faith. “Wanna bet?”

  Suddenly, the smile leaves her face. “No. If anyone can prove me wrong, it’s you.”

  “Not if, angel. When. I will definitely be proving you wrong, but not until we have food. I’m starving.”

  “Me, too. I didn’t get to grab lunch before I caught my plane.”

  “Same.” I shift a sidelong stare her way. “Go out…or stay in?”

  “There are a ton of amazing restaurants here in Vegas, and the food blogger in me thinks I should hit at least one before I leave Sunday morning, but…stay in.”

  “God, you really are perfect for me.” I hold her close and kiss her nose. “I want to know everything about you.”

  “And I want to know about you. How do we cram all of that into a few hours?”

  “We’ll do our best.” I bound out of bed and prowl around the room, stark naked, searching for the room service menu.

  I feel her eyes on me. Given the way she’s staring, I’m not sure she cares what we order for dinner. I don’t much anymore, either.

  “You’re gawking,” I point out.

  “You’re hot.” She grins.

  That makes me laugh. “If you keep flirting, you’re going to get fucked again.”

  “I wouldn’t hate that, but you promised me food first.”

  “I did.” I sigh and hand her the menu, then sit on the bed beside her. “What sounds good?”

  Calla glances down at the pages with a frown. “Whoever did their photography is second-rate. It’s distracting. Why don’t you tell me about your scars instead? It looks like you’ve led an exciting, if harrowing, life.”

  “You could say that.” Probably more than she can imagine.

  “By contrast, all I’ve ever done is beat a path between my kitchen and my computer, photographing and writing about what I’ve cooked. You must think I’m so sheltered.” With a sigh, she sets the menu aside and fingers a round scar near my ribs. “Tell me about this.”

  I thumb through the menu and realize she’s right about the photos. “Once you’ve picked some dinner. Because if you keep touching me like that, dinner will never happen.”

  She giggles. “Fine. Do they have a burger?”

  “Yeah. What do you want on it?”

  “Just ketchup and lettuce.”

  “Sounds good.” I make the call, aware of Calla’s gaze on me. As I finish and hang up, the curiosity in her eyes is just another turn-on to add to the list of things I’m digging about her. “Forty-five minutes to an hour.”

  “Good. That gives you plenty of time to tell me about your scar.”

  Her tenacity makes me laugh. “I got shot here about three years ago. Want to see the rest of the collection?”

  “Since that means I get to peruse your whole body, yes.”

  I walk her through another shooting, this one even further in the past, a trio of stabbings—all by the same killer trying to escape capture—and a stupidly reckless motorcycle accident in my twenties that landed me in a coma for two days. “What about you?”

  “Scars?” She grimaces. “I fell as a toddler and hit my head.” She points to the faintest pucker at her hairline.

  I lean in. “It’s basically invisible. That’s it?”

  “More or less. I probably have a few on my hands where I’ve burned myself cooking. Want to see my blog?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  She seems sweetly nervous when she launches the site from her phone. Pictures of all the dishes she’s created appear, many themed around holidays, traditions, virtual vacations, or zany culinary experiments. I take my time studying what she’s done. After all, this is important to Calla. I read some of her articles and even play a few of the videos she’s shot.

  Finally, I darken her phone with a smile. “You’re really good.”

  “Thanks. I keep trying out for TV shows to increase my exposure. I made it onto a cable competition where I was judged by three really talented chefs. But I lost to another home-trained cook who used to be a stripper…and dressed accordingly.”

  “So all the chefs judging you were male?”

  “Two of them. The other was a female who had a passion for Indian food, which my competitor made perfectly.” She shrugs. “Maybe I’m not meant to be on TV. That’s okay.”

  “I think you’d be great.” I pull her closer and tuck long strands of her hair behind her ear. “And I think you’re beyond gorgeous.”

  “How are you still single?” She sighs.

  “I didn’t really look. I was always married to my job.” And I never found anyone who seemed right for me…until you.

  She nods. “I’ve been guilty of ambition, too. I figured I have tons of time.”

  Of course she did, which makes me wonder… “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four. You?”

  I grunt. God, is she going to think I’m an old lech? “Thirty-six. Does that bother you?”

  “Actually, I’m relieved.”

  That surprises me. “Because?”

  “Most guys in their twenties are still playing stupid games I don’t have patience for. They don’t know what they want and they aren’t ready for anything real.”

  “That’s not me.”

  She nods again. “I like that about you. Plus, my mother always dates guys who are younger than her. She was a cougar before the term was a thing. She was always fixated on looks and sex way more than emotional connection. I couldn’t relate. Then again, we’re not super close. She didn’t have me until she was forty. I was a surprise. She’s not even one-hundred percent sure who my father is.”

  And that bothers her; I can tell. “So you’re the opposite, only wanting to date responsibly and seriously?”

  She nods. “You’re the first truly impulsive thing I’ve ever done in my life. I didn’t start dating until I was eighteen. My ex-boyfriend and I were together almost two years before we had sex.”

  “And I’m guessing it wasn’t good?”

  “Horrible. And the last few guys just didn’t wow me. I tried, but… What about you?”

  “Never been interested in settling for something less than my parents had. They were married for thirty-three years before we lost my mom to cancer a few years back.”

  As if she senses the pain I still carry, she tosses her arms around me and gives my back a comforting stroke. “I’m sorry. You miss her.”

  This woman gets me. “All the time. She was amazing.” I peer at Calla again, marveling at how right it feels to have her in my room, in my bed. “She would have liked you.”

  She gives me a warm smile. “I’m sure I would have liked her, too. Do you think you get your personality more from her or your dad?”

  “My dad. I look like him. I talk like him. I think like him.” I laugh at myself. “When I was a teenager, I was determined to be anyone and everyone other than him.”

  “Rebellious, huh?”

  “Oh, my god. I was a horrible kid. Full of angst and defiance.” I roll my eyes at how stupid I was. “But as I got older and started seeing the world as an adult, I realized he was right and I’d been an idiot. At least until lately. Now I’m convinced he’s gone off the deep end.”

  “Well, if you need advice on handling that parent, let me know. I’ve always had to manage my zany mom, who never thinks anything through.”

  We laugh a little, kiss a little, pet a little. I go from wondering if she’ll let me make love to her again to being sure she will. The knock on the hotel room door puts a stop to the fun.

  “Shit. I’m naked,” she shrieks as she darts for the bathroom.

  “I won’t let anyone see you.” I grab a pair of shorts from my nearby suitcase, then motion her to shut the door. “I’ll get everything set up and let you know when it’s safe to come out.”

  “Thank you,” she sighs.

  Calla

  I lean against the bathroom door with a huge grin. The way Quint protects me from even the little things makes me melty. I can see a future with someone like him. It really sucks we live so far apart…

  You could move, a voice in my head suggests.

  For a guy I’ve known all of three hours? That makes all of the stunts my mother has pulled over the years seem completely rational. At least she knew husband number three a whole four days before they decided to elope. Over my sixteenth birthday. And not tell me where she’d gone for the entire weekend.

  Good times…

  A few minutes later, he knocks softly, then opens the door, waiting for me with open arms. “Coast is clear, angel.”

  He’s so handsome I can barely stop myself from smiling at him. “Thanks.”

  The scent of the burgers and crispy fries fills the room. He ordered a bottle of wine, too—a delicious red that will totally elevate our bar food. He leads me to a chair that flanks a little table in the corner and holds it out for me.

  I send him a sassy gaze. “A caveman in the bedroom and a gentleman in the dining room?”

  He grins. “Something like that. Complaining?”

  “Nope.” Actually, I love it. I feel protected, like he’d always look after me if I let him. For the girl who had almost no parental boundaries or sense of security growing up, I’m here for it.

  “Good. Because that’s probably not going to change,” he drawls as he lifts the stainless domes off our dishes.

  I dig out the condiments as he pours the wine, then he sits down to eat. We start talking. About friends. About our jobs. About some of the most embarrassing moments of our lives. I can’t picture him streaking through a pal’s house party, but in fairness, he was fifteen, super drunk, and lucky he didn’t get arrested. He gives me a sympathetic grimace when I talk about my run for seventh-grade class president and having to give a speech in front of my whole school—which ended with me losing my lunch all over the podium. We talk about our worst dates and our happiest memories.