The long slide of his eyes over my neck and breasts quickens my breath and leaves a trail of heat on my skin.

“Good morning, sweets,” he drawls and braces one arm on the doorframe, leaning in. “Well, now it is a good morning indeed.”

Looks like it doesn’t matter what I say. With this man everything is an innuendo waiting to happen.

Then again, no wonder he’s staring at my breasts. My nipples are stiff and aching, standing to attention, poking through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.

Hurriedly I fold my arms over my chest to hide them. “It was a good morning until you showed up,” I grumble.

“You wound me to the heart.” He presses a hand to his chest and flashes me a lopsided grin, so sexy my brain short-circuits.

“Do I?” I whisper, breathless. Why the heck am I breathless?

His gaze is dark and hot, the length of his muscular body within touching distance, and his scent snags me and draws me in—musk and cinnamon and sweaty boy. He’s so close I can see the ring of blue around the green starburst surrounding the pupils of his eyes, the fine lines at their corners deepening with his grin, and a thin, jagged scar, white with time, running from one dark brow to his hairline.

When did he get so close? Or was it me?

Maybe that’s why I can’t breathe properly anymore. I force myself to take a step back and look away.

“So what are you doing here today?” I clear my throat, my voice somehow thick. “Anything else you lost during the party?”

“Just the one.” Out of the corner of my eye I see him lean on the doorjamb, his grin fading. “I don’t suppose you found it?”

“The leather band?” I shake my head. “I looked. Maybe it wasn’t here you lost it. Maybe at another girl’s apartment? I know. How about that blonde’s house?”

“What the…” He huffs, a breath of a sound, and rubs his forehead. “I’ve never been to her place. I don’t know her. Can’t even recall her name.”

“Veronica, I believe it was.”

“Then you know more than me.”

“You’re a,” I swallow, looking for a non-ambiguous word, “a douche.”

He doesn’t deny it, only snorts softly. “May I come in?”

“What for?”

“To look for my leather band.”

“No way. I’ll let you know if I find it, but honestly, I don’t think it’s here.”

A pause, and despite myself I glance his way. His eyes are strangely blank. “You won’t let me in?”

“Nope.” In fact, I’m going to grab my coffee and go hide in my room. “Got stuff to do.”

“Really? I could help you.”

“You can’t.”

“Boy.” He chuckles. “How do you know? What will you be doing, playing with yourself? ’Cuz if I can’t help you, then at least I wouldn’t mind watching.”

I choke on my spit. “Screw you.”

He shrugs. “If it gets you off…”

“You’re unbearable.”

“Yeah.” There’s a note of regret in his voice, a bright, golden chime of sorrow, then he taps a rhythm on the doorframe with his fingers while picking with his other hand at a hole in his hoodie. “I’d better get going then.”

Those remarkable eyes shift, and the regret I heard in his voice echoes in their depths, a flash of bleakness.

Crap. I shouldn’t. Not with the way he makes my body react and my heart sting. Not with the way he teases me. He’s like salt in my wounds, the last thing I need.

I really shouldn’t.

“I have fresh coffee,” I say. “Get in.”

***

Jesse draped over a chair in my little kitchen is a sight not easily forgotten. He’s taken off his hoodie, and his T-shirt is soft and stretching easily across his pecs and broad shoulders. I watch his long fingers curl around the chipped coffee mug I dug out of the cupboard, his sea foam gaze glinting over the rim, and my mind goes blank.

I’m going to regret this, but Kayla was right. He’s such eye-candy, I can’t help staring.

Just a touch. Just a taste.

Shaking my head at myself, I busy my hands with the coffee maker and keep my back to him. I need a moment to gather my wits.

“So, Embers.” I hear the clink of his mug when he sets it down on the table. “How do you like it, being back here?” He taps his fingers on the table, like he did on the doorframe. “You did say you were from around here, right?”

Crap, I did. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

Mug gripped firmly in both hands, I turn toward him. “It’s fantastic,” I say drily.

He grins and looks down into his coffee. “Yeah, I see you can’t contain your excitement and joy. Going out on a limb, I’d say you hated it here and couldn’t wait to skip town. Makes sense.” He tsks. “Question is, why did you come back if it makes you so unhappy?”

Whoa. I’m not sitting in my kitchen with Jesse digging inside my head. Because that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Like, Oprah weird.

Besides… just no. Answer the question with a question. Boy, those visits to the psychologist are paying off.

“Are you from around here?”

He blinks, looks up. “No, actually, I’m not.” He seems shocked I asked.

“So where are you from, and how did you end up here?”

“You really wanna know?”

His question could be a trap to get me to admit I really want to know, so he can tease me mercilessly about it.

Funny thing is, I find I really do want to know more about him. He’s a puzzle, a riddle.

“Sure.”

He blinks again, brows lifting. “I’m from North Dakota, near Bismarck. I think.”

“You think?”

He shrugs. “Moved about quite a bit.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

He sips at his steaming coffee, his face going blank. “I left a long time ago.”

“Did something happen back then?”

A corner of his mouth curls up. “Didn’t know you cared, Embers.”

“I don’t.”

“I know. I was just joking.” His hand clenches on the table.

“Sorry. I’m not good at getting jokes.”

He laughs, and I just stare at him flatly, daring him to make fun of me about this.

“You’re serious,” he finally says, his eyes narrowing.

I shrug. “My parents used to tell jokes at the dinner table, explaining them to me, until I caught on. It’s much better now, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t get them.”

“How come? You’re not stupid.”

I chance a smile, my chest warming at his comment. “Yeah. I’m a bit dyslexic, though.”

His pupils widen. “That sucks, I guess. Had trouble at school?”

“Some.” My throat closes up and my smile falls. I take a sip from my coffee. “I’m not good with words. Never was.”

“Kids tease you for it?”

I nod.

“Fuckers,” he says, and he isn’t smiling anymore, either. His eyes flash with strong emotion, and I watch, fascinated, as his grip on the handle of the mug turns white-knuckled. “Wish I was there to punch their teeth out.”

Whoa. I shouldn’t like him as much as I do right now, but I can’t stop the smile returning to my face.

We sit for a while in silence. No sounds yet from Kayla’s room. I can hear the pipes groaning in the apartment above.

Anything to avoid looking at him. But of course I can’t help it. For the first time I notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired.

As if to confirm my suspicion, Jesse puts his mug down and stretches his arms over his head with a yawn.

“Damn, I’m beat.”

“Your T-shirt is, too. It’s coming apart.” I point at the seam along his side through which I can see firm, tanned skin wrapped around sinewy muscle.

So much for not staring.

“Oh fuck.” He lifts his arm again, twists to have a look, and the seam tears wider, showing a good chunk of his flared ribs. “And it was one of my newer shirts.”

I lick my lips, transfixed. “This is new? Looks as old as you are.”

“Dammit, Embers.” He locks his hands behind his head and sighs. “I’ve got nothing to wear at Asher’s wedding. I really need to go shopping.”

“Yeah? You make it sound like a trip to the ninth circle of hell.”