I open my mouth, try to breathe and fail.

A very naked, very hard cock, large and curving upward. A pearly drop glistens on the crown, as if winking at me.

I look up and Storm winks at me¸ too, his blue eyes amused. “Morning, Sunshine.”

I scramble backward. Whoa, just one sec. Rewind.

Making up my mind to go. Passing by the house to say goodbye to Storm. Finding Storm and… Oh my God. Sex. Hot sex in this enormous, filthy-luxurious bedroom.

Heat washes over my skin. I scoot back—or try to. A muscular arm wraps itself around me and drags me back to that ripped chest.

“Where are you going?” My cheek is mashed to his pec, a pretty hard pillow, but it smells of him, and I can’t help drawing a deep breath of his musk. “It’s too early. Stay.”

He keeps saying that. Stay.

My heart clenches. I’d love to stay, stay with him, stay here, in the now, with no worries other than what to have for breakfast—preferably by licking the dips and planes of his muscled chest, and then moving lower, to taste his cock, and…

“Where did you go?” he whispers, and I jerk a little, realizing I’ve been straining to catch another glimpse of his hard-on.

“Nowhere.”

“Yet.”

Yeah, that’s right. But I don’t want to think about that right now. I let my hand drift over his chest, to the shiny red scar there, and then lower, where I discover more. A fine, white scar marks his skin from his side to his stomach. “How did these happen?”

He says nothing and I glance up, into his face. His eyes flash a darker blue. “What’s the matter, Ray?” he whispers in my ear. “Want to kiss and make it better?”

Fire spreads over my neck and face. God, I can almost feel the flames. “No.”

Because I do, and I’m not talking about the scars.

“I love how you always blush like that. Does it happen often?”

“No.”

“So this is just for me?”

I huff. Walked right into that one. “Nope.” My hand inches lower. Almost there.

“Who are you, really, Raylin O’Brien? What are you hiding?”

The air freezes in my lungs. I let my hand drop on his chest. His face is impassive, his eyes blank and clear—too empty, mirrors hiding some strong emotion. His heart hammers under my palm, his chest rises and falls swiftly.

“Why are you asking? We spent the night together. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He licks his lips. “And if I want it to mean something?”

My chest squeezes. “You don’t know me.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Storm…”

“Because what if I want to know you?” He exhales, his arm tightening around me. “What if I don’t want you to go?”

“You serious?”

He stares down at me, and the emptiness in his gaze slips a little. Need. Pain. It’s as if he really doesn’t want me to go. Like the thought of my going hurts him.

Like it hurts me.

Oh, stop it.

What’s the harm in telling him a few things about me? Hoping he’ll open up, too, and tell me about himself. Funny how much I would like that.

“Tit-for-tat,” I decide, because why the hell not? I’m leaving soon anyway, and this has nothing to do with him. He’ll be safe. “I tell you something about me, you tell me something about you.”

Come on, Storm. Say yes. What do you have to hide? Break and enter, like me? Petty thefts? Or something worse, like me?

Oh God, I hope not. I want him to be a good guy, to be as beautiful inside as he is outside. He can be my beautiful fantasy, a bright memory to carry with me when I’m gone from here.

“Okay,” he says, sounding doubtful, and I give myself a mental high-five.

Can’t really relax, though. Giving away anything about myself is like pulling teeth. Maybe it’s safe, but my body reacts as if I’m about to jump off a cliff.

“How old are you?” he asks, and I’m so tense, I giggle a little at the question.

“That’s what you’re curious about?”

He grins down at me, and I will not melt at the cuteness and sexiness of it. “Maybe.”

“I’m nineteen. And you?”

“Just turned twenty-one.”

“Just?”

“Last week.” Before I can ask more, he dips his head for a quick kiss that steals my voice. “Why did you come here?” he whispers against my lips. “What’s in Boca Raton?”

“Apart from you?” I tease.

He tenses, those powerful muscles in his chest and arms standing out. “What are you—?”

“What did you do?” I poke a finger into the middle of his chest. “Spill, Storm. Are you wanted by the police? What the hell did you do to be hiding out here?”

He stares down at me, those deep blue eyes wide. And then the strangest thing happens.

He relaxes. He goes utterly lax against me, and his eyes flutter close. I swear a ghost of a smile flits over that full mouth. “The police?”

“Why else? You broke into this house, right?”

“You mean, like you did with the house down the beach?”

My turn to stiffen with shock. “You don’t know that.”

“But I do. That’s what I was coming over to tell you last night before I found you here. The owners are already there, picking the last of their things. I saw their car and the movers’ truck arriving. I raced like hell to tell you, but you were already gone.”

My mouth is hanging open. “I don’t believe…”

Crap, I do believe him. Well, then. That’s a bit hint from fate, isn’t it? Time for me to go.

As if sensing my thoughts, he shifts onto his side and wraps both arms around me. “So why did you come here, Ray?”

Damn. “It was a random place. Florida. Never been here before in my life. Figured it was far enough.”

“Far enough for what?”

Christ, no. “I wanted a break from my family. My dad is a messed-up bastard.” Which is close enough.

“So you hopped on the first flight to anywhere? A bit extreme, isn’t it?”

Not about to tell him I hitchhiked and caught buses all the way here.

Instead I shrug, as much as I can in the circle of his arms, swallowing down bitterness. “Yep. That’s me. Extreme. Now, you.” I sneak a hand up to his cheek. “Why are you here? Why are you hiding?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Yeah, it is.” I stroke his face until his gaze locks with mine. I can’t decipher what’s going on behind his eyes right now. Anger, maybe. Frustration. Conflict.

“I’m here because I know this place. I used to come in the past, but so many years have passed nobody will think to look for me here.”

Ice trickles down my spine. “And who’s looking for you? What have you done, Storm?”

Crap. Could it be I’m lying in bed with a guy who’s in as much trouble as I am, if not more?

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, and his heart is steady against my own. No telltale signs of lying. Is he that good? My hand wanders down his neck to rest on his chest again. “Relax.”

“You broke in here,” I say, testing.

“Told you, I’m housesitting.”

Still no flutter under my palm. No sweat running down his temples. “And the owners let you use this room because… What, they like you?”

“Something like that.”

Damn him. Why am I grinning now? “Something like that, huh? Okay, fine. Maybe you didn’t break in. But you did something and now you’re hiding.”

“Define, ‘something’.”

“Something wrong.”

“Done lots of wrong things.”

“Like?”

“Like getting tats and a motorcycle, then leaving home and trying to find my own damn path. Got into trouble, worked in bars and construction, got into fights.”

Doesn’t sound that bad to me. God knows for my family that’s run-of-the-mill. “Bet your parents didn’t like that.”

“My parents are dead.”

Oh God, I didn’t expect this. “I’m so sorry.”

He says nothing, his expression closing off. His heart hammers under my palm as his gaze goes distant.

I strain upward until I can reach his mouth. I make an awkward job of it, trapped as I am in his arms that are like steel cables around me. I pepper his chin and jaw with kisses, then come back to his mouth, and this time he’s looking right at me, his lips parting under mine.