Shaded under the dim porch light, Shami sits outside in a black jacket at a picnic bench near his apartment. He’s surrounded by a few friends but stands out as he is a good head taller than those around him. I’m confident as I saunter toward him in leather pants and strappy wedge sandals that highlight my long legs. My jacket is unzipped, exposing my lace-trimmed tank top. A bathroom run before leaving the bar showed my long hair remained under control, no frizz.

“How was the bar?” he asks.

“Good, you should have joined me there.” I run a hand through my hair for show.

“No car.” He smiles sweetly.

“So sad.” I grin. The two cans of hard cider leave me less than drunk but give me a bit of an edge. I feel good, which usually leads to trouble, and consider switching to beer. I hate the taste, so I’ll drink less and remain more in control. Small talk swims like a school of minnows as we catch up.

I pose the question I really want the answer to, and I realize why I need the hard cider. “What happened after our date?” I really mean, “Why didn’t you text me?” He squirms over, and his movement reminds me of a caterpillar. I work hard to stifle my giggle.

His hand finds my leg. “I had to go to Israel and was traveling.”

“Really? You couldn’t text from there? Or once you got back?”

“I guess I should have. Sorry.”

Silence invades for long seconds. I’m out of conversation topics and sobering up. I close my eyes as the brisk night air pushes against my cheeks. I hear the bench squeak as we adjust ourselves on the uncomfortable wood seats. I taste the awkwardness of the moment in my mouth. Finally, we throw out questions to each other to cover the disconnect.

Shami stands and stretches. “You have a car, right?”

“Yes.” I’m reluctant to say more, realizing where this is heading.

“Let’s go for a ride.” His white teeth shine in the darkness.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’ve had a couple drinks.”

“I haven’t. I’ll drive. Plus, it’s super close.” He holds out his hand. I hesitate, but then dig through my purse and hand him the keys, already understanding I’ll hate myself in the morning for doing this. We take off. I’m relieved Shami is a capable driver, but I smell his excessive cologne. To my overstimulated senses, it reeks. The fact he is in control of my car makes me feel like a cornered animal, yet I did this.

I’m confused when we enter the dark parking lot at McDonalds. Shami cruises into a spot in the far corner away from the entrance. An awkward silence ensues as he remains in his seat. With the heat blasting, the interior of my tiny Toyota Matrix warms quickly, and my leather pants stick to my skin. Shami takes his jacket off, revealing a gray T-shirt underneath. His hand slithers to my thigh, and I ask myself where the polite, sweet college student who held the door for me at the Hookah lounge has gone and who has replaced him.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I remove his hand from my leg, placing it none-too-gently on his side of the car.

“That’s why we’re on this date, right? You want to hook up, right?” He touches various parts of his own body.

“I see the way you’ve been appraising the Shami. You want this.” The muscles under his T-shirt flex.

Now I’m repulsed. His third-person reference to himself sounds stupid, conceited, and immature. “What I want is to get to know you.” I eye the McDonald’s sign and wonder if “The Shami” takes all his super-fun dates here.

“You got me. I’m the best thing at the Connecticut Central State College.” He leans over and tries to kiss me. I give him my cheek and then jerk back.

“I’m beginning to doubt that.”

“You’re not giving away any sugar?”

I feel my eyes bug out, wide open. “Here in the parking lot? Are you kidding me? Who does that?”

His cocky expression sours. Clearly, he knows I’ve called him a male slut because he seems to like lurking in dark corners of fast food joints. “You’re turning out to be a drag. Man, I’m hungry.” He focuses on the building. Shami opens his car door, and the scent of fries wafts through the air. Without a word, he leaves me in the passenger seat. I wait, unsure of what to do. I want to leave. Unfortunately, he took my keys with him. The jerk. The hopeful part of me perks up. Maybe this date will be salvageable. He probably darted inside to get us milkshakes.

I’m almost correct. Shami arrives with a milkshake, fries, and quarter pounder for himself. I watch as he devours them. My stomach growls.

“That put me in a good mood,” he says as he finishes his food. His snake-like hand embraces my arm, but I am certain he was aiming for another part of my anatomy. He squirms closer. I scoot away, my butt colliding with the door. He doesn’t notice. I attempt to avoid him as he angles in for a beef and onion-flavored kiss. It’s sloppy at best. I shove him away.

My stomach growls again. “We could go out for drinks and dinner?”

“I just ate.”

I smell the pickles and special sauce as he talks, his lips transforming into a dour frown. “Listen, if this isn’t happening tonight, I think I’m going to hang with the boys.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea.”

We drive home in silence. In the parking lot, he hands me my keys and heads off without a backward glance. I sit in the car, stunned, and realize I get to look forward to an entire year of running into him in the complex and on campus. My life is just one happy merry-go-round of fun. As I make my way back to my apartment, I felt a cool breeze on my thigh. I gaze down to witness the long split in my leather pants. All I want now is to inhale some left-over veggie Pad Thai, curl up under my comforter, and cry. The crazy part? This isn’t the worst date I’ve been on.

“Who knows you’re here?” she asked.

“You mean, specifically here? In Hong Kong?”

She nodded.

“No one. My family and friends think I’m traveling for work.”

“Ah. So if anything happened to you, how do they know where to look?” she asked, her chin resting on the palm of her hand.

“Well, when they find my phone and the one thousand pictures of you, they’ll know,” he said.

She laughed. Rather uncomfortably. This is what having an affair feels like. It’s you and him and no one else.

“Adrian doesn’t know I’m here.” This time he leaned forward, closer to her. “Does Riley know you’re here?”

“She has to. Even if I don’t tell her directly, Jake knows. He’s very protective that way. Needs to know where I go, who I’m with.”

“You seem so attached, the two of you.”

“He’s the only constant in my life.”

He stayed silent. She hadn’t intended to offend him with that comment. But then she decided that it was too soon to even think of his role in her life.

That was the real crux of the matter, and she wanted to keep it top of mind.

What about you, your parents? Do you see them often while you’re home?”

He laughed. “As a matter of fact, I have dinner with them every Sunday. They don’t live far from my old apartment. I’m moving to Chelsea when I get back which is a little further away, but I know my mum will find every excuse to come and visit. I’ll be too close to the shopping area for her to resist. She likes to get out sometimes. Leave the farm.”

“We’re lucky we have family we can count on,” she said.

“But none of them know we’re together,” he said, his tone lowered, quiet.

“Why does anyone need to know? Who cares?” she asked in defiance. She observed the way he picked up another dumpling with his chopsticks and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “Okay, let me rephrase that,” she said. “In time, they’ll know.”

He smiled. “Better.”

He looked at his watch. She could tell that he wanted to change the subject. And she didn’t have to try. A round of applause filled the room. Tessa and Simon turned to see a man on one knee with his arms in the air, proposing to a very embarrassed woman.

“At a dimsum restaurant?” Simon smirked.

“Hey! You’ll never know! Maybe this is a special place for them,” Tessa said.

“Must be,” he answered, pulling his wallet out at the same time. He motioned for the dimsum man to bring the check over.

The man counted the different colored plates, each with a code for the food they ordered, wrote with lightning speed on a pad of paper, tore it off unevenly and handed it to Simon.

As he examined the bill, Simon said, “I forgot that your Twitter profile says ‘hopeless romantic.’“

“Love makes the world go ‘round!” she said in response, pausing to follow up with an afterthought. “At least in Romance books!”

He went to the kitchen and washed out their wine glasses, placing them in the drying rack. He grabbed two large Mason jars and filled them with water, then headed back to the great room. “Mind if I light your fire?” Egan asked.

Celeste burst out laughing. He hadn’t realized what was so funny until she said, “I bet you say that to all the girls!”

Egan grinned, his mouth turning up at one side. “I don’t usually ask . . . it just happens naturally.”

Celeste rolled her eyes, a smile still lighting them from within. Damn. If Egan could only make her smile like that all the time.

He loved the serious side of Celeste, but he loved her funny, lighter side even more. He’d never met anyone he could laugh with and cry in front of whom he also wanted to grab by the waist and dip into a serious kiss. God, that mouth. He would be dreaming about it tonight. He could feel himself staring, so he shook his head to clear it. He flipped on the switch for the gas fireplace, watching it spring to life. He settled back down on the couch next to Celeste. This time, he sat a little closer. He turned toward her, adjusting his leg, and brushed hers in the process. He felt the electricity shoot through his gut and straight into his heart. He wanted to hug her, protect her, and slide inside of her, all at the same time.

“What?” Celeste asked, using a small hand to gently turn his face toward hers. “You have such an intense look on your face right now. I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“But you know what I’m feeling, don’t you?” Egan couldn’t stop himself if he’d wanted. He leaned his head to the side and melted his cheek into the softness of her hand. It felt so right there, cradling his strong jawline. He knew his five o’clock shadow would feel scratchy against the incredible smoothness of her skin. He couldn’t help but wonder how that hand would feel tracing down his chest and over his abs. How it would feel to have it smooth over the muscles in his thighs. His groin tightened at the thought of her fingers trailing over him, touching him, taking him. He leaned his head back against the couch and groaned.

“Perhaps this isn’t the best idea, Celeste,” he whispered.

“It’s definitely not a good idea, Egan.” But instead of pulling back, she leaned further into him, settling into the crook of his shoulder as she rested her head against his chest. “You smell so good. What are you wearing?”

Egan wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “Um, soap?”

Celeste took in a deep breath again. “That cannot be just soap.”

“Soap and the natural scent God gave me.”

“Mmm,” she replied. “Lucky you.”

“Well, I don’t exactly sit around smelling myself, Celeste.”

“Yeah, that would be awkward.” She smiled when she looked at him, sitting up a little straighter on her feet, which she had tucked beneath her.

Her eyes were dark, but more. Flecks of amber kissed the brown that swirled around in her irises. He could lose himself in those eyes. Hell, I’m lost already. Who am I kidding?

She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving his. They were inches apart, and Egan had to clutch his fingers in a fist to stop himself from devouring her.

“Celeste,” he moaned, “if you start this, I might not be able to stop.”

“If I start this, I wouldn’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

While he ducked downstairs to grab his things, I dropped anchor and pulled over the sun visor. Stuart came back up, vest gone, towel draped over his arm, and the bottle of sunscreen in his hand. He held it out to me. “Would you mind?”

I took it and rolled my eyes. “It’s not exactly a hardship.”

He chuckled and turned around, giving me his back. I applied sunscreen, covering his back and the nape of his neck, rubbing his shoulders, and even giving him a little massage. “You’re not so tense today,” I said.

“Imagine how relaxed you could get me,” he said, his voice low. I dug my thumbs into the knot of his shoulders, intending it as a jab to what he said, but he moaned instead. “Jesus, your hands…”

I dropped them and took a small step back. “You’re done.”

He turned to face me, his imploring gaze full of mischief. “Would you mind terribly doing my front? I’d hate to get sunscreen on your yacht.”

I stared at him. And Jesus, he was being serious.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He looked around the cockpit. “I know. That’s why I asked. I’d hate to get sunscreen on your seat or your ladder when I hold on.”

I fought a smile. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I know.” He sighed dramatically. “Well, if you won’t do it for me, could you watch me do it and point out any parts I miss? I’d hate to get sunburnt.” He dropped his towel onto the seat and made a show of pouring sunscreen onto his palm. How could he make that sexual? God, it may as well be honey, or lube, or any-fucking-thing I’d like to lick off him.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, then he rubbed it all over his chest, his abs, down below his navel… and his eyes never left mine. His tongue peeked out at the corner of his mouth, and he stretched his neck and rubbed one hand over his throat while his other hand slipped just under his Speedos. It made me look at the bulge barely concealed by his swimmers. “Did I get everywhere, Foster?”

I swallowed hard and forced myself to make eye contact. “You were pretty thorough, yeah.”

One corner of his mouth rose in a sexy-as-hell smirk. “I’ve been told that before.”

My nostrils flared. “You don’t play fair.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not playing.”

Fuck.

Sure, it was summer, and sure it was the tropics, but that had nothing to do with the sweat that beaded all over my body. I let out a shaky breath and reached up to a line of sunscreen he’d missed under his eye and smeared it with the pad of my thumb. I wanted to slide my thumb across his lip. I wanted to slip it into his mouth, let him suck on it…

“Join me,” he whispered. “You know you want to.”

I knew exactly where we’d end up if we got into the water together. “I was going to make a start on an early lunch,” I replied. There was no conviction in my voice, and he knew it.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I’m not hungry for food.” Then he turned, collected his towel, which he dropped near the ladder, and dived into the water.

I all but collapsed onto the seat, taking in deep breaths. I wiped my forehead, my face, and felt my heart hammering in my chest. Jesus, Lord have mercy, he was going to kill me.

I shouldn’t encourage this. I should have told him when this whole playful flirting thing started that it was a no-go. I had rules in place for a reason. I had a business, a reputation.

I also had a hard-on that wasn’t going away any time soon.

I had urges and desires that I hadn’t wanted to act on with anyone else. Then Stuart Fucking Jenner boarded my yacht and everything went to hell.

I should go down to the galley and prepare some lunch. I should turn on the TV for a distraction, or read a book, or go into my bathroom and take care of my aching dick, thinking about anything but him.

Him in the water, just a few metres away. Him, with the come-fuck-me eyes, who wants me to join him—and not just join him in the water. Him, with the scorching hot body who’s offering himself to me. Him, yes him.

I should not want him. I should not want this. And most of all, I should not get into the water with him. I knew how it would end. I would dive into the water with him, and he’d swim over to me with that devastating smile, and he’d reach out for me and I’d pull him close. He’d wrap his legs around me and I’d tread water, holding us both up, and he’d crush his mouth to mine. I’d finally get to taste him, to have that gorgeous pink tongue of his in my mouth, and then we’d bring it on board. On the deck, on the cockpit seat, down in the cabin, on the floor, on the table, in his bed, in mine.

“Fuck.”

I stood up, pulled my shirt over my head, took two long strides, and dived headfirst into the water.