“I’ll tell you.” A sour sensation formed in his gut, and he had to wonder why the thought of ending things made him sick. “I’m happy with the way things are, for now.”

She nodded and drew in a slow breath, causing her breasts to brush temptingly against his chest. “Is that why you wanted to see me? To ask about New York?”

No. “Yes. How about a walk on the beach before you go to bed?”

Bed. Christ, he wanted her in bed, beneath him, more than he cared to analyze. Some distance was needed. After nothing more than a few kisses, Faith was in his head. Practically all he thought about. Which made no sense because he’d had sex with more women than he could count, had gotten hot and heavy with them, and none of them had him this . . . enthralled.

Maybe Faith was right. Maybe this had to do with how she’d helped him write again.

Or not.

She dropped her forehead to his chest. The move brought out something deep and protective inside him. Before he could scrutinize the sensation she smiled against his chest and straightened.

“Sure. Let’s go for a walk.”

They made their way outside, where the humidity had faded after sunset and the breeze was warm. Once they were past the dunes and walking in the surf, he took her hand. The action surprised even him. He wasn’t a romantic by nature.

“Hi. I’m Alec and I like long walks on the beach.”

That got the desired reaction because she laughed. A smooth, smoky sound that slid over his skin.

“You don’t strike me as the type.”

He wasn’t usually, which just made his conversation with Jake all the more pressing. No matter why or when this ended, Faith deserved to know about his history. She’d shared a part of hers and needed to know what she was getting into, however brief a time they stayed together.

Except he didn’t have a clue how to tell her about Laura. Before meeting Faith, women were just a string of random hookups with whom he had no intention of a repeat offense. Safer that way.

“What’s on your mind?”

Alec smiled. How could he not? Faith had an uncanny ability to know things, read people. Unless it involved herself, anyway. Then she was oblivious.

He paused their walk by tugging on her hand and sat in the sand, gesturing for her to join him. When she complied, he lay back and stared at the stars. After a moment, she laid next to him, their arms and thighs touching.

“The sky looks different like this,” she said, turning her head to face him. “Doesn’t it? It looks bigger. Vast.”

He murmured in agreement. “I take it you never did this. Laid down and watched the sky? Jake and I used to do it all the time as kids. I haven’t in a long time.”

“No, I haven’t. There’s a lot of things I haven’t done, but I’m trying to make up for that.” She turned her head and stared at the sky again. “I can’t help but think that Hope would be disappointed in me for not living.”

Not for the first time, her brutal honesty gutted him. “You can’t think that way. You missed her and followed the routine you were accustomed to living. No one can fault you for that.”

“So that’s not what’s bothering you? My inexperience?”

What? “What?”

“You kiss me like you can’t help it and then back away to cool things down. You’ve done it twice now. I told you I’m not a virgin—”

“Stop.” He held up his hand and turned on his side to face her. “I’m trying not to rush things here.”

The sound of her swallow rose over the waves as she remained focused on the stars. “Do you know anything about constellations?”

Constellations?

“No.” He rolled to his back, wanting to take her abrupt change of topic as a sign. They barely knew each other. It wasn’t as if there could be a future between them. Why bother getting into—

Screw it. “I was engaged once before.” Still was, if only in his head. “I don’t want to repeat my mistakes, Faith. That’s why I don’t get involved. Why I don’t date a woman for more than a night. Actually dating someone, even just for the summer, is a new experience, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Plus, he cared enough about Faith to not want to hurt her. It was a special talent of his, hurting people, and it seemed she’d already had enough of that in her short lifetime. He closed his eyes and drew in a lungful of air, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

After a few moments, she took his cold hand in her warm one and squeezed. “I understand.”

His eyes flew open. “You understand?”

He sat up, but she remained inclined, her dark hair fanned around her head in the sand. Why didn’t she probe him for answers? Demand to know what happened to his fiancée? Christ. She was from another fucking planet. Even a stranger would want to know the gory details. People were like that by nature. Curious.

Faith didn’t follow the pattern on anything. It was as if she didn’t care or lacked the genetic makeup to connect.

“Yes, I understand. I’ve never been close to marriage, but if I had and it ended badly, then I would be hesitant to enter into a relationship again.” She moved to sit, but instead of facing him, she turned toward the water. “Commitment takes a lot of trust, and if that trust breaks, it’s hard to get it back, even with someone else.”

When he didn’t answer because he couldn’t, she turned her head his way. Weariness and acceptance looked back at him through amber eyes so soft he felt the shift all the way to his toes. For the zillionth time, she’d proven him wrong. Faith didn’t feel nothing. She felt everything. An empath of sorts, able to put herself in other’s shoes and feel their emotions.

No wonder she was afraid to live. He would be, too.

How had little Faith Armstrong, sheltered from the world and struggling in her own skin, manage to nail his feelings down as if she’d taken up residence in his head the past nine years? Yeah, she’d only gotten it half right, because she didn’t know the whole story, but damn it.

He swallowed the boulder in his throat. Guilt he understood, and it was running rampant in his gut.

“You’re angry again.”

He shook his head.

“It’s getting late. I should head back inside.” She stood and brushed the sand off her body.

He fisted his hands. “I wasn’t angry, but I am now.”

Her confused gaze darted to him and away. She crossed her arms and shifted her feet, her focus on the ocean. “I’m sorry.”

Anger went from simmering to boiling over. To give himself time, he stood and brushed the sand from his jeans. “Sorry,” he repeated, his head about to explode. She was always walking away from him, with her mantra of It’s getting late or I’m sorry or—damn the word all to hell—Oh.

But this time around she said nothing as she turned to leave.

“You really know how to bruise a guy’s ego, Faith.”

She turned. “I don’t understand, Alec. You’re angry. I’m leaving.”

“I’m angry because you’re leaving.” Well, hell. That came out wrong. “Could you stop walking away from me anytime I display a semblance of emotion?”

She pressed her palms over her eyes. “What am I supposed to do? To say? I don’t know how to fight.”

Her hands came down and a spark of anger shone in her eyes, rocking him back on his heels. This was the first time he’d seen her even close to mad. It was hot. Damn hot.

She sighed. “And I don’t know how to behave around you. Everything winds up making you upset.”

Shit. Was that how she saw it? That wasn’t his intention. “The only thing I want you to do or say or be is yourself, but with less leaving the second things start to get serious.”

Did he just say that? He rolled the words back through his mind and . . . yeah. He had. He’d just told her to stick around. What the fuck was happening to him? Sometimes talking to her was like trying to teach a two-year-old organic chemistry.