But being with Jamison wasn’t like that. At least not after she’d made it clear he hadn’t screwed anything up with his little escapade on the couch. That he hadn’t hurt her or scared her or… He shut his mind off before it could go where he didn’t want it to. There was no need to dredge up all the things he couldn’t change. Not here. Not now.

“Okay, so I have a very serious question for you,” Jamison told him as she twisted her crazy mess of hair into a makeshift bun at the top of her head. She secured it with a couple of pencils she’d found in her purse, but within seconds it started to break free of the confinement, locks tumbling with abandon over her cheeks and the back of her neck.

With a sound of exasperation, she started to tuck them back into the bun. She hadn’t gotten very far when he reached over and plucked all three pencils out of her hair. He threw them across the room before she could demand them back, then watched as all that glorious hair came tumbling down around her shoulders. It was like a flame, beckoning him, and for a second—just a second—he imagined what it would feel like to fist his hands in those curls while he was inside her. To have them sliding over his shoulders, his chest, his cock—

“Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed in obvious exasperation. “Now I have to start all over again.” Her hands were back in her hair, this time twisting it into some kind of knot at the base of her neck.

“Leave it.” He brushed her fingers away, tucked a few errant curls behind her ear. “It looks good the way it is.”

He was playing with fire. He knew he was. Just like he knew he was going to get burned—this was Jared’s sister, after all. Little Jamison, the same girl he’d helped teach self-defense to before her first date and how to drive a car when she turned sixteen.

Only she hadn’t felt so little when she’d been on top of him, her glorious body pressed to his. She’d felt like a beautiful, sexy woman he wanted more than he wanted his next breath. Even now, part of him desired nothing more than to pull her beneath him and make love to her the way his cock was screaming for him to.

If she had been any other woman, he would have taken what she was offering without a second thought. It wasn’t like he was in the habit of self-denial and he wanted her, badly. He wanted to hold her. To touch her. To kiss her right now, with nothing between them but the desire that throbbed in the air like the final notes of a love song.

He wanted to pull her body against his and explore the sweet recesses of her mouth without worrying about his past or her brother or any of the other things that were just waiting to ambush them.

But this was Jamison and she deserved more, better, than anything he had to offer her. No matter what she thought.

“Ryder.” Her breath broke on his name and heat flooded his cock.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, deliberately severing the forbidden connection between them. Then he forced an easy smile, forked up his last piece of waffle, and offered it to her like he had a million other times through the years. For a moment, she looked like she wouldn’t accept it. As if she knew doing so was one more step away from the strange and unsteady ground where they currently found themselves.

But in the end, she must have known he needed her to make that step, because she leaned forward to take the bite, her soft pink lips closing around the fork with a low hum of appreciation.

He looked away quickly, told himself he wasn’t imagining her lush mouth closing over his dick with the same enjoyment. Of course he wasn’t. That would be wrong, so wrong. But then her hand brushed his upper thigh as she reached for a napkin and he nearly went through the roof.

Desperate for something to take his mind off Jamison—and the sex they absolutely couldn’t have—Ryder turned back toward the TV. Watched as the Hulk destroyed whole sections of the S.H.I.E.L.D. hovership just as Loki’s forces attacked. Nothing like cinematic death and destruction to take a guy’s mind off the lust crawling around in his belly.

It almost worked. At least until Jamison got up to push the room service cart into the hall. When she came back, she settled right next to him on the couch, and her lush peach scent wrapping itself around him like a blanket. He tensed, tried to pretend like he cared whether or not the huge centrifuge of the ship’s engine crushed Iron Man.

He must not have been very convincing, though, because it only took Jamison a minute before she commented, “You know, I never got the chance to ask you my question.”

Had he thought he was tense before? After that statement he was clenching his jaw so tightly that it was a miracle he didn’t break a molar…or three.

He didn’t want to have this discussion, couldn’t have this discussion. His nightmares were off limits to everyone, even the guys in Shaken Dirty, and he hated that she’d seen him like that.

Alone.

Out of control.

Vulnerable.

He ran a hand over his face. “Look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“What isn’t?”

“This whole…” He wagged a finger back and forth between them. “Thing.”

“This whole what?” She looked baffled. “Conversation?”

“Yeah.” He looked away, relieved that she got it. Sure, it made him look like a total candy ass, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when it meant he escaped unscathed.

For long seconds, she didn’t say anything. Then she lifted a brow, sniffed disdainfully. “I wasn’t aware that picking a superhero was such an emotional thing. I mean, I’m an Iron Man girl myself, but if it’s that big a deal to you, we can talk about something else.”

“That was your big question?” He felt like he’d missed a step or nine in the conversation. At least until he got a glimpse of her eyes and realized she’d known…and she’d tossed him a lifeline. The tension drained from his shoulders. “Which Avenger I like?”

“It’s an important question. Iron Man is clearly superior, but each of the others has his or her good points so—”

“Are you kidding me?” he said with a smirk. “Who says Iron Man is superior?”

“Who doesn’t? Seriously, who’s better than Tony freaking Stark?”

“Uh, the Hulk? Obviously.”

“Are you nuts?” she demanded, incredulous. “Iron Man risks everything to save people in this movie. He nearly dies. Plus he’s smart, hot, and rich.”

“Hulk’s willing to die for people, too. And he’s very smart.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please. Dr. Banner’s smart. Hulk is a giant green rage monster.”

It was his turn to scoff. “Like wearing a metal suit automatically makes a guy a hero?”

“It is if he uses it for good. Being a hero is about a lot more than just smashing up the bad guys. It’s about choosing to do something to make the world a better place, even if you die doing it.”

Her words hit a little too close to home, and he felt them deep in the pit of his stomach. But he didn’t want her to know how much she’d disconcerted him, so he snorted. Rolled his eyes. Worked up a decent sneer as he finally said, “Heroism is highly overrated. No one can stop something from happening, Jamison. The best anyone can hope for is to postpone the inevitable.”

“That’s not true. You saved me from Max. You didn’t let him hurt me.”

“That was sheer, dumb luck. If I hadn’t walked out when I did—”

“But you did. You did walk out then, Ryder. And you stopped him. No one else did that.”

Her eyes were shiny with gratitude and something else he couldn’t—wouldn’t—name. He looked away so he didn’t have to see it. “Yeah, well, I won’t be there the next time some asshole tries to mess with you.”

“Maybe there won’t be a next time.”

“Yeah, right.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Because the world is made up of gumdrops and unicorns.”

“I didn’t say that.”