He kissed her until there was no air, aligned himself, and thrust inside. He stilled to give her a minute, although his body screamed at him to move. To claim. Her heat gripped him in a tight fist and all he could do was whisper her name and pinch his eyes closed.

A warm kiss pressed to one eyelid and then the other before her lips drifted across his cheek to his ear. “You’re my only thought, too.”

“Faith . . .”

“Not now, Alec. Just make love to me. The rest comes later.”

The sentiment bothered him, ate away at his gut. So he moved inside her because doing that brought peace. He made love to her slow and languid, with passion he didn’t know existed. And when they collapsed on the bed, a sweaty, tangled mass of limbs, he didn’t know if they were even two separate people anymore.

Eventually, Faith got up and padded to the bathroom. He shoved on his shorts and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She came in moments later, wearing a T-shirt—his shirt—and nothing else. He drew in a sharp inhale that did nothing to stop his rapid pulse.

She stilled after seeing his expression and looked down at herself. “I’ll put on something else in a minute. I didn’t want to walk around naked.”

“Leave it on.”

“Are you sure? I—”

“Yes. Leave it on.”

He’d just had her moments ago, but he wanted her again. In theory, the desire for her should be fading by now. That’s how it had always been. Once he’d had a woman, the craving for a repeat was gone. But his desire for Faith only grew.

Shaking his head, he handed her a cup of tea and poured himself some coffee. When he turned back, she was staring at him. “What?”

“You made me tea.”

So he had. Until she’d pointed it out, he hadn’t really noticed. He shrugged.

She took a sip and lifted her brows. “With one spoonful of honey.”

Where the hell was she going with this? “That’s how you drink it, right?”

“Yes.” As if unable to stand any longer, she made her way to a chair and collapsed into it. Something like shock laced with grief spread over her face as she rubbed her temples. Her face drained of color. “Excuse me a minute, please.” She fled from the room.

He stared at her cup abandoned on the table and then the empty doorway. Stood there for several minutes, in fact. And then, like a smack upside the head, he understood.

He set down his cup and strode after her, finding her dressed and perched at the edge of the bed, holding her cell phone with shaking hands.

“Twenty-seven years and they can’t remember I hate broccoli. Six weeks and you know how I drink my tea.” She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. “What’s wrong with me?”

He wanted to hold her and soothe those tears away, but he remained just inside the doorway. “Nothing’s wrong with you. They’re the idiots, Faith.” And if he ever met her parents face-to-face, he’d say that and much more.

“Maybe today will be the day I can have a real conversation with them.” Desperation radiated in her voice.

He wouldn’t even bet his coffee on it. Today seemed more urgent to her, though.

“Surely they wouldn’t brush me off so easily today,” she whispered to herself.

A few thoughts pounded inside his skull. Today possibly being the anniversary of her sister’s death was at the forefront, but he had no idea if that was what she meant or if it was even the case. He had no clue when Hope had died. And since it was Sunday, Faith didn’t have to work. In case his assumption was correct, he’d just keep her busy doing other things to help her get through.

“Why don’t we go out and get some breakfast?”

She looked up at him. Through him. “I’m not very hungry.” She grabbed the pendant around her neck, but instead of sliding it back and forth on the chain like he’d seen her do so often, she pressed her fist to her chest. “What part of the book are you stuck on?”

“What?”

“Your book. Last night you said you were stuck. At what part?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had whiplash from the abrupt topic change. “It’s a little hard to explain, since you haven’t read it.”

“Just give me a condensed version of the—”

“Do you want to read it?” That would keep her mind off whatever was bothering her and maybe help him in the process.

“But you don’t let anyone read your manuscripts.”

She wasn’t just anyone.

Shit. He almost swallowed his tongue. “I’ll let you.”

“Why? I mean, what about leaks? That’s what you said last night. Aren’t you afraid I might tell someone?”

He laughed.

A look of insult marred her brow before it morphed to shame.

Figuring he’d hurt her feelings somehow, he cleared the air. “I trust you, and you’ve helped me so far. If not for you, the book would still be a blank document.” She still seemed hesitant. “Do you have anything else pressing to do today?”

Her eyes drifted shut and her lower lip trembled.

Without knowing how or why, he’d hurt her again. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him. And she didn’t. Feeling like the lowest form of pond scum, he walked to the bed and sat next to her. But then he didn’t know how to console her, so he didn’t.

“I have nothing else to do today.” Her voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

He cleared his throat. “What would you like to do?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, staring at her phone. “If I read your manuscript, I’ll just want to read the ending you haven’t written yet. Tell me about the plot and where you’re stuck.”

Her careful avoidance of the question only heightened his curiosity, but he let it drop. Flopping back on the bed, he gave her a rundown of the story line. Halfway through, she laid next to him on her side and propped her head in her hand.

He draped his arm over his eyes. “So Amy escaped the Nightmare demon, but he took her brother for leverage. She’s connecting with the other two souls for book two and three, but I just can’t decide where to go from there. Too much closure and there’s not enough for the other books, too little and the readers get pissed.”

“And the idea is that the three souls need to come together, fight their own fears, to defeat Nightmare, right?”

“Yes.”

She chewed on her lip. “Why is Amy so important to Nightmare? What makes her special?”

He gave her a condensed version of the backstory involving the death of her parents and that night he first visited young Amy.

“But that’s what Nightmare does. Finds people at their lowest and makes even sleep hell for them. Why Amy? What’s the motivation? It’s almost like he . . . loves her or something. As much as a demon can, anyway.”

Alec stilled. His brain fired on all cylinders and in every direction.

Christ. Faith had nailed it. The demon lacked motive. And if he went with Faith’s suggestion, the readers would feel a smidgen of pity for Nightmare. Would understand how much Amy could destroy not only the physical part of him, but whatever residual part of his human side remained.

It was goddamn brilliant.

He rolled over, straddled her hips, cupped her cheeks, and smacked a kiss on her mouth. “I have to go. I need to plot this out. Go punch out more pages . . .”

He stopped when her smile grew wistful. Sad. The corners of her eyes turned down and her eyebrows furrowed, even as she maintained the curve of her lips. And he remembered that she’d been upset about something, something specific to today.

“I’ll get to work on it tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. Go. Write the masterpiece that’s in your head. You’ll go nuts if you don’t.”

It shook him how well she understood. His fingers were itching to type. But damn, he couldn’t, not with her in this state. “Come with me.”

“To your place?”

“Yes. You being there will be encouragement to finish faster so I can devour you. Plus, if I get stuck again, you’ll be there.” He ignored the warning bells inside his head. Shoved aside that it wasn’t just her body he was needing anymore.