Here in the dim light of dawn, in this bed, with this girl, it felt even more intimate. Having to stay wrapped up tight against her back matched his mood in selfish ways. He wanted to be close. Wanted the freedom to touch her skin and kiss her ears and shoulders and neck. He wanted to give her the best sex she’d ever had, so she’d never be afraid of it again. He wanted to give her everything.

A haze of slick wanting and motion blurred his vision as he sped his hips. It was a mix of technique and instinct, and the way she seemed to bring out the best in him. He blanked his mind to the crescendo of sensation, holding out, trying to push her over.

She panted when he rubbed her nipple between his fingertips, and it only got louder when he dragged his hand up to her face and ran his thumb across her lips. It was dirty and perfect, and he pressed the pad of his finger between her teeth, only to have her suck on it hard.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” he murmured. He tugged free of her mouth and rubbed wet fingers across the peak of her breast.

She twisted and fucked herself back onto his cock, hand flying between her legs. It had his balls tensing, ready to shoot, but he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“Come for me. Squeeze me. Let go, Kate. Come all over me, make me come, give it up and—”

She cut him off, crying out his name, and fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, it felt even better than he’d thought it would. He sped his strokes, shifting his hand to hold her by the hip. Giving into the heat and tightness of her, the feel of her all against his front. The smell of sweetness and sex, and just her.

“God, Kate—”

His whole world went dark as he released himself into her, fucking forward with a few last strokes until the sensitivity got to be too much. Buried within her, he stilled, just trying to fill his lungs. After a long few breaths, he forced his fingers to uncurl, petting her flank and hoping he hadn’t grabbed her hard enough to bruise.

It would be just one more thing to feel guilty about, if he’d left any marks on her skin.

As gently as he could, he wrapped his arm around her, tucking her close. They lay there together like that in silence until he started to go soft. Wishing he didn’t have to, he drew back, slipping from her warmth and pressing his lips to the point of her jaw.

Before he could get any farther, though, she twisted around, lifting up a hand to touch his face, tugging him down again to meet her mouth with his. It was a soft kiss, a serious one.

He pulled back after a long moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He opened his mouth to ask if she were sure, but what right did he have to press? “Okay.” He leaned in for another kiss before drawing away, rolling over to the edge of the bed. Keeping his back to her, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and rose.

The sex had been amazing, and he’d done right by her. He’d given as much as he had gotten. That was the line he had to walk, these last two precious days with her. He’d hold his tongue, and he’d be so, so good to her.

Then at the end of them, he’d let her go.

“So,” Rylan called from the other room. “You ready to hear my awesome plan for the day?”

Kate’s hand tightened around the bottle of ink she’d been returning to her bag. In theory, she was out here getting dressed while Rylan shaved, but then she’d gotten distracted by her art supplies and by thoughts of where she might like to go to sketch this morning. His question stopped her cold.

She already had plans for the day. Good plans.

Plans designed to distract her from the twisted-up mess that had become her feelings for Rylan.

Laying herself out for him the night before had left her feeling so much lighter. She’d let him into her body and her heart and even her mind, and it had been amazing.

But it made the reality of letting him go even more impossible to bear.

“What’s that?” she asked, setting the ink aside.

Kneeling beside her suitcase, she fished out the cleaner of her two pairs of jeans. She ducked behind the bed, checking she was out of Rylan’s line of sight before sucking in her stomach and tugging them on.

“Remember how I tried to talk you into going to Versailles yesterday?”

Damn, she did remember that, now that he brought it up. She frowned, pausing with her hands at her waistband.

The simple truth was, she didn’t want to go to Versailles. Sure, the history of the place was appealing, but everything she’d read said it was overpriced and overcrowded. It wasn’t the kind of history she was interested in anyway.

“Vaguely,” she said, shaking out a shirt. She shrugged. It wasn’t too wrinkled.

In the bathroom, the water ran, the sounds of the razor clinking against the porcelain telling her he was almost done. By the time he joined her in the main part of the room, she’d gotten the shirt on and her wet hair combed out. She tried not to stiffen when he came up behind her and put his hand on her hip.

If he noticed the tension in her body language, he didn’t point it out. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. His body was so warm. It sent a shiver through her.

“I’ve been thinking about it some more since then.” He rocked them gently side to side. “Imagine it. Train ride out into the country. Big old fancy rich guy castle. Dinner at a little château somewhere, away from all the traffic and noise. It’ll be romantic.”

That was the last thing she needed. He’d swept her off her feet with the most casual of gestures. If he actually tried to woo her, she didn’t know how she’d survive it.

She let that doubt creep into her voice. “I don’t know. I only have today and tomorrow left.”

It hurt just thinking about it.

“I know,” he said, more serious than she’d expected. “Which is why I want to show you the best time I can. Before you go.”

God. Did his voice sound as wistful as she felt?

Scolding her overeager heart, she squirmed her way out of his embrace. “Rylan . . .”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He shrugged, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I just thought it would be nice.”

He turned around and padded over to his bag, dropping the towel when he reached it. The view of him from behind was as good as from the front. Maybe better. She got lost for a second, staring, remembering herself only once he’d pulled his boxers up to cover his rear.

She snapped her gaze away, taking a couple of steps backward to fall into the chair beside the bed.

“It’s just . . .” She worried the inside of her lip between her teeth. She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t want to go to Versailles; he’d just come up with another, better plan. Admitting she was afraid to spend more time with him wasn’t really an option, either. Which left . . . “I told you all the stuff I have to figure out this week. With grad school and art and jobs and stuff.”

“And I told you. You’d be crazy not to pursue what you love.” He looked at her over his shoulder as he shook a pair of jeans out, his tone all matter of fact. “And what you’re amazing at.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” He stepped into the pants and tugged them up, fastening them before turning around.

Where should she start? “It’s just . . . not. I’ll have to take out loans if I go to school, and then am I ever going to be able to pay them off? Am I just wasting my time?” Surely he had to understand that. “I have friends who did the grad school thing and ended up at ad agencies afterward anyway, but two or three years older and saddled with these massive piles of debt.”

“They aren’t you.”

She snorted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Then let it be easy.” He hopped up onto the bed and stalked across it until he was on the opposite edge, right in front of her, their knees close enough to touch. He held out his hands, and she slipped hers into them. His eyes looked so sincere. “Listen. If you really think another day of working in your sketchbook will help you figure out your future—where you should be, what you should do . . .” His throat bobbed, and there was another layer of meaning, one she couldn’t quite grasp. “Then that’s fine. Do it.”