“I loved her,” he continues, “but what I know now is that there was never any real passion. When she broke it off, it hurt, but looking back, there was also an underlying sense of relief . . . on both of our parts, I think.” He shifts on the sofa so his elbows are on his knees and hangs his head between his shoulders. “I could have married her, and we could have been happy for a while, but I think at some point we both would have figured out something vital was missing. It was like all the parts were there, the heart, the lungs, the flesh and bone, but that intangible thing that makes something alive was missing, if that makes any sense.” He lifts his head and fixes me in his most intense gaze. “I don’t feel that way with you.”

My heart simultaneously aches and pounds as I slide closer. Slowly, I lean in and press a kiss to his lips. When I pull back, I hope he can see the inferno burning inside of me too. I stand and walk out the French doors, down to the pool, where I swim until I don’t have any energy left to do anything stupid. And then I swim some more.

BLAKE AND I have been mostly tiptoeing around each other for the last week, since the pool table incident. His mood has been lighter, but he’s keeping his distance. I’m not sure what that means.

Jenkins was here this morning when I got up, and I sort of freaked out a little, thinking I scared Blake off again. But I guess he’s just at the office for a few hours. I can’t help but hope that means we’re getting closer to the end of this.

It’s after five, and I’ve got a leg hooked over the arm of the living room chair, staring mindlessly at some really bad sitcom on the TV that has Jenkins nearly rolling on the floor laughing, when Blake steps out of the elevator. He’s got a black garment bag over one shoulder, a grocery bag dangling from the other hand, and a spark in his eye.

“Your girlfriend here was telling me you’re some kind of gourmet chef,” Jenkins says from where he’s sprawled on the sofa.

“No,” I say, annoyed, standing from the chair. “I said I was hungry and I wished Blake would get home and cook me something.”

I expect Blake to rebut the girlfriend remark, but he doesn’t say anything. He just shoots me a smile, and something stirs in my chest.

“I’m waiting for my invite, Montgomery,” Jenkins jabs.

Blake drapes the garment bag over the back of the chair on his way to the kitchen. “I’ve seen you eat, Jenkins. There’s enough in this bag for the two of us, or the one of you.”

Jenkins flicks off the TV and hauls his ginormous frame off the sofa. “This place is boring me to death anyway. I’ll go find a pizza.”

“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” Blake says as he unpacks the bag.

“It’s an elevator,” Jenkins growls, punching the button.

“Later,” Blake says, flicking him a wave without looking up.

“So . . . ?” I ask, leaning on the counter opposite him once Jenkins is gone.

His eyes flick to me. “So . . . what?”

“You’re in a good mood.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m always in a good mood.”

“You are never in a good mood. What’s up? Am I finally getting out of here?”

The playfulness leaves his expression as he turns to unload stuff from his bag into the fridge, and I brace myself for bad news. “Look, Sam. I know how hard this has been for you, so . . .” He turns back and looks at me. “. . . yes.”

I just stare at him for a second, confused. “Yes?”

A slow smile creeps across his face and his eyes spark. “Yes.”

My eyes widen and my heart starts to race. “It’s over?”

He gives his head a slow nod. “For all practical purposes. Arroyo has pled out. His accountant gave us everything we needed. He knew he was going down on something, so he pled to the racketeering charges in exchange for dropping the murder charge.”

“So, what happens now? I mean, if Ben has pled out, what does that mean for me?” My heart thrums in my chest. I want this to be over. I want to go home. And as much as I want those things, I also want to kiss Blake again. If it was over, could I do that?

“The judge accepted the plea bargain. The murder charge is off the table.”

“Which means . . . ?”

“On my advice, the powers that be have agreed to keep you under protective custody for another week, just to be sure Arroyo’s satisfied you’re no longer a threat, but then you’re free to go.”

My heart simultaneously soars and sinks. I’m free. And so is Blake. Will he go back to L.A.?

He steps around the counter, gazing down at me. “So, you said when this was over you wanted to swim in the ocean. Are you ready to face your fears?”

I gape at him. “Oh my God! Seriously?”

“Seriously. It’s all arranged.”

I slide onto a stool, because if I don’t, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from breaking into some manic happy dance. “Diving?”

He nods, giving me a sexy half smile. “Snorkeling.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he says, taking another step closer and resting his hands on the arms of my stool.

I’m simultaneously terrified and excited, and I buzz with the burst of adrenaline. “I guess if a shark eats me, we don’t have to worry about Ben anymore.”

“My job is to protect you from all the things. That includes sharks.” When my eyes find Blake’s face again, his expression is amused. But it’s not amusement that dances in his eyes. It’s something hungrier. More possessive.

I draw a shuddering breath as he leans toward me. Can we?

His cheek brushes mine as he presses closer, his mouth at my ear.

I wait, my heart pounding.

“It’s almost over.” His voice is low and raw, and his breath in my hair pebbles my skin into goose bumps.

He pulls back, his eyes on fire, and I think the answer is yes. We can. But then shrugs off the arms of my stool and moves back to the kitchen.

And it’s a long time before I can breathe.

BLAKE WAKES ME  at eight by waving a travel mug of steaming coffee under my nose. Half an hour later we’re pulling out of the garage.

I wake up slowly as we drive, taking in the scenery. For some reason, today this all feels new to me, even though I grew up only miles from here and traveled these highways hundreds of times. It’s a weekday, but we’re going against rush hour traffic as we make our way over the San Rafael Bridge into the North Bay.

I sip the last of my coffee, wondering if this was really a good idea. “You’ve spent all this time protecting me from Ben, and now you’re seriously just going to throw me to the sharks?”

He flicks me a glance and a smile tugs his lips. “I will admit, you are a tasty morsel, but they know they’ll have to come through me first, and I’m tough and gristly, so I’m pretty sure they’ll leave you alone.”

My eyes slide down his body, and I seriously doubt there’s anything tough and gristly about him. He’s definitely a prime cut. Filet mignon. “Still . . . it would be pretty ironic to get eaten by a shark just when this is all over.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“I watched Shark Week. There’s a reason they’re, like, one of the oldest living things on Earth.”

He bites his lips and stifles his laughter, and I’m instantly sorry. I like the sound of it. “The fact that you know that means you’ve done your research. You’re ready to face this phobia head on.”

“Pho-bi-a,” I say in syllables. “Have you looked that word up? It means irrational fear. It’s not like you can just turn it off, you know? Logic doesn’t work with something that’s irrational.”

“I won’t make you do this, Sam, but if you do, I promise, I won’t let anything bad happen to you, shark related or otherwise.” He looks at me as he slows for our exit ramp, and his eyes are suddenly sincere, all the humor gone. “I will never let anything hurt you. Ever.”