What the hell am I doing? I screwed this up. I need to leave. Leave this beach, this hide-out.

Leave Storm.

Not like we have anything going, anyway. Not that I want more than this dinner with the dirty, delicious dessert that followed.

Leave before reality crashes down and takes everyone with it.

STORM

What the hell? I’m kneeling by the pool, watching her run away, and my brain’s shut down. Did I hurt her? Did I do something she didn’t want?

She came, no way could she fake that, not with my fingers inside her, feeling her pussy clench around me like a vise. Not when I tasted her moans in my mouth, when I felt her tense and then go slack in my arms.

And then she ran away.

Fuck. If I scared her. I thought she wanted it, but maybe I should have waited longer. I screwed up, because I couldn’t wait. I wanted to touch her, feel her. And now I’ve had copped a feel and had a taste, I’m hungry for more.

Goddammit.

I get up slowly, wincing as fire shoots up my leg. I massage the knotted muscle as I stagger by the pool, the recently healed fracture aching like a bitch. I’m also hard as a rock, and fuck if I’m going to make it back to the house with my thigh on fire and a boner like a goddamn flag pole between my legs.

Arriving at the nearest chaise lounge, I sink gingerly down and lie back with a sigh of relief, staring up at the dark sky. How did I get myself into such a jam—again? Can’t count the times I’ve had to jack off to this chick’s image since I met her.

Looks like today will be no different. Fuck my luck. Reaching down, I unzip my fly and ease out my aching cock. I wheeze out a breath, letting my hand curl around the base and hold on for a moment, savoring the need, the burning pressure behind my balls.

Picturing her. Dark hair loose, a storm cloud around her pale face, those fucking big eyes staring up at me as she goes to her knees between my legs. Her pink tongue darting out to lick her soft lips, her hand trailing over her breasts, down her belly, down, down…

A groan leaves my throat and, looking down, I realize I’ve begun stroking myself, tugging on my hard dick. My fist slides up to the crown and back down, my grip made slippery by the precum leaking from the slit.

Fuck, feels so good. Wish she was the one doing it to me. Wish she’d stayed. That I’d feel her warm, smooth skin on mine, feel her mouth on mine, that I’d hold her, and not feel…

So alone.

Shit.

Swallowing, I squeeze my dick savagely, then pull on it so hard I gasp. Yeah, that’s it. Just need to come, get the need out of my system. My stomach is clenched tightly, my back bowed forward as I beat my meat, groaning out loud at the pressure building and building.

Can’t. I can’t come. My dick is on fire. My balls are hard and heavy. Jesus. Come. Come already, fucking dammit.

I almost see her, in the milky light from the pool, breathing on my cock, licking up the underside, then taking me in her hot, pretty mouth. Sucking me down her throat.

Oh fuck. I arch back, my head thumping on the heavy cloth of the chaise lounge, my body jerking as I shoot my load on my chest, my chin and fucking everywhere.

Holy shit.

I blink, not seeing anything, my vision gone dark for a second. What the hell was that? Flying so fucking high, and she’s not even here. The thought of her was enough to wring me dry.

Throwing an arm over my eyes, I stay still and breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Trying not to sink in the same dark funk that has held me these past months, since people around me started dying again, since I almost died in that car, and in the explosion before that.

Wish I could fade into the night tonight.

Chapter Four

RAYLIN

Dammit, Ray. What were you thinking?

I hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. I let myself go, let myself want. It’d be impossible not to want him. He’s gorgeous. But I should know better by now.

My steps slow, and my pulse quietens. I take off my sandals and walk on the damp sand, running in my mind everything that went down tonight—from the dinner to his mouth on mine and his hands on me.

My body remembers, too, tightening inside, the ghostly trace of his fingers burning in me. Fire. Flames. Brands. His touch scorched me.

And oh God… I left him high and dry. Had my pleasure and ran. That was…

I clap a hand over my mouth, a sudden attack of laughter shaking my shoulders. This isn’t funny. I shouldn’t be laughing.

So many things I shouldn’t be doing, and yet here I am.

Running away. Why did I panic?

Because people around me are in danger.

But this isn’t a relationship. Sleeping with a hottie doesn’t count as anything but that. Sexy fun. No harm no foul. Nobody needs to know about it. He didn’t ask me out, or put a ring on my finger. We didn’t exchange phone numbers and email addresses. He had an itch to scratch—and so did I.

I glance over my shoulder at the mansion, coming to a stop. I could go back, apologize for taking off like that. Touch him. Finish what we started together.

But something holds me back. Maybe it’s the dark shadow I glimpsed in his gaze as I was about to go, his gentle concern, his attention. The fact he said he finds me beautiful. The way he kissed me, like he’s stranded in a desert, and I’m cool water.

I want to know more about him. Know why he went out into the storm. Why he limps. Why a guy like him, going around bare-chested and in old jeans, with tattoos and a scruffy jaw, is housesitting such a mansion. I want his story.

And then I see a bullet tearing through him, I see blood pooling around him. Like it happened to Mom. Like it happened to the man who shot at my brother, like it’ll happen to me once they catch me.

That’s why I shouldn’t ever go back.

***

I toss and turn all night, dreaming of him. He’s stretched out on his back, stroking himself, those blue eyes dark with desire. I can’t see his hard-on, but I see his strong fist clearly, moving up and down. I see the rose tattoos shifting on his sides with his every breath, his abs contracting, standing out stark and so very lickable.

“Kiss me, Ray,” he whispers over and over again. “Kiss me.”

His head drops back, his mouth opening as he comes, moaning my name.

And I wake up again and again to the image of him, finding myself twisted in the sheets, aroused and throbbing, drenched in sweat.

The urge to touch myself and relieve the pressure is killing me, but I don’t. Not that I want him to touch me, I tell myself as I get up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen sink. That I’d rather feel something other than his fingers inside me—something bigger, hotter, something…

Oh crap.

I whimper as the need flares in my belly. I need him inside me, need his mouth on me, his arms around me. His scent. I want to rub myself in it.

I splash my face with cold water and sink in a kitchen chair, about to cry. This can’t happen. I can’t fall for Storm. No way. Can’t fall for anyone right now. Can’t let my walls down.

So not fair. I’m only nineteen. I want to have friends and have fun, I want a cute boyfriend, I want… I want sex. I’ve only ever had it twice before, and it sucked, but this, with Storm… It feels different, like it could be mind-blowing, and I want it. I want him. Want to see the heat rising in his eyes, find out about the sadness that surfaces sometimes.

Oh no. No, Ray.

I jump up from my seat and pace in the kitchen, wringing my hands together. I need to leave. Leave this place. My fault, for going out of my way to meet someone. I gotta keep moving. First rule of hiding: don’t sprout roots. Don’t get too comfy. Don’t talk to people.