“Always.”

“I think that feeling in your gut… that’s just the past talking.”

I should have expected it. But I didn’t.

I’d spent the last five weeks watching him infiltrate my life, pursuing me, spending time with me. Yet somehow I still couldn’t get Marco the boy out of my head, and Marco the boy would have broodingly shrugged off my avoidance of the past day and waited for me to come to him.

To my ever-increasing confusion, relief flowed through me to see him sitting on the steps at the front entrance to my building as I returned from Cole’s. He was wearing a warm jacket, but it was freezing outside and he didn’t have a hat on or a scarf. Guilt immediately needled me.

Cole was right. Avoiding Marco today had been immature. And here he was waiting on me in this bloody Baltic weather.

Was he telling the truth? Was he really not going anywhere?

“I’m buying you a scarf.” I sighed, coming to a stop in front of him.

He lifted his head, his hands dangling between his knees, and my muscles locked at the expression on his face.

“Pissed off” didn’t even cover it.

I waited for him to say something, to yell, to question my childish behavior, but instead he stood up and turned his back on me. My mouth dropped open with more confusion, and I watched as he took the last few steps up the front stoop and waited.

Realizing that he was waiting for me to let him in, I hurried up the steps and passed him, my hands shaking a little as I unlocked the door.

I felt his intimidating presence behind me as I attempted not to rush up the stairs to my flat as if a debt collector was on my heels. He got so close to me when I was inserting the key into my lock that his chest brushed against my back.

The butterflies had returned to my stomach with a vengeance by the time I got the door unlocked. As soon as the lock clicked, Marco reached over my head, one hand shoving against the door to throw it open. I was unceremoniously shuffled inside, and sensing the anger practically pouring from him, I scooted out of his grasp and strode into the sitting room to get some distance. I began jerkily unbuttoning my coat.

“So this morning” – his fucked-off tone made me stiffen as I slipped my coat off – “when I kissed you good-bye before I left to get ready for work, that sweet you gave me… it was bullshit?”

He was referring to the fact that I’d pulled him back for a deeper kiss, reluctant to let him go. The thing was, when he was right there in front of me, the unease I felt was harder to hold on to. By the time he was gone and I was getting ready for work, I’d let that unease win.

I turned to face him. The fact that he was shrugging out of his own jacket suggested to me he was angry but he wasn’t angry enough to leave. Why the hell did I feel so relieved again?

“I’m just confused,” I answered honestly.

“That’s your answer?” He threw his jacket on my armchair and prowled toward me. “I’ve had the worst fucking day and that’s your answer?”

Unwilling to be intimidated when I was just trying to be truthful, I refused to back up, even when he stopped so close I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. “It’s the truth,” I snapped.

“So you’re confused. That gives you the right to treat me like shit?”

The guilt was back. “No.” Without even thinking, I brushed my fingertips over his chest, a gesture of reassurance. “I’m sorry for today. It wasn’t fair. I’m just… confused.”

For a moment I wasn’t sure how he was going to react.

Then slowly the tension seemed to ease from him despite the hardness that remained in his eyes. “I don’t ever want a repeat of today. We got problems, we talk. You don’t leave me standing out in the cold like a fucking idiot.”

Feeling like one of my scolded schoolchildren, I crossed my arms over my chest and answered somewhat petulantly, “Were you always this bossy?”

A dangerous glint entered his eyes. “Oh, babe, you haven’t seen bossy.”

I let out a gasp of surprise as he pushed me against the arm of the sofa so I had no choice but to sit on it, and shoved my skirt up to my waist in one rapid, smooth movement.

I clung to the sofa, feeling a heady mixture of apprehension and excitement as he roughly yanked my underwear down my legs. He pushed in between my legs, gripping my nape with one hand and tugging at his zipper with the other.

His kiss was hard, desperate, and that plus the torturous press of his throbbing cock against my sex was too much. He rubbed against me, stole me out of myself with his erotic kisses, and teased me until my skin was inflamed.

By the time my mouth was swollen from his kisses, I felt his fingers slip inside me, testing my readiness. He practically growled in satisfaction before he removed his fingers and thrust his cock inside me.

I cried out in pleasured pain, holding on to Marco for dear life as he gripped my hips and fucked me on the arm of my couch. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t slow and deep and driven by longing. This was driven by frustration, confusion, desperation, and lust. It was ragged. It was intense. And I was so hot for him I came fast and I came hard.

Coming down from my climax, I felt my inner muscles spasm as Marco growled, “Fuck, Hannah. Fuck, feels so good,” before groaning as he came inside me.

Panting for breath, feeling somewhat bewildered by how different and yet exciting that had been, I waited for Marco to make the next move.

His next move was to kiss me slowly, sweetly, and pull back to ask in belated concern, “You okay? I wasn’t —”

I covered his mouth with my hand, smirking in satisfaction. “I might have to piss you off more often.”

He rewarded my humor with a wicked grin. “My baby likes it hard.”

“I like you,” I whispered, feeling that ache in my chest expand.

He brushed his knuckles along my jaw, tenderness burning in his eyes now. “Does that mean you’re going to give this a real shot? No more avoiding us?”

I thought about him sitting out on my front stoop in the winter cold.

“Yes.” I slid my arms around his neck, pulling him close. “This is me officially giving us a shot.”

Years ago, when I was attempting to understand the rings Joss made Braden jump through before finally admitting they were meant for each other, Joss had told me that she had been so happy for the first time in so long that it paralyzed her with fear.

Instead of being able to enjoy what they had, Joss was thinking one hundred miles down the road in front of them, fearing a bend in that road, one that they’d take too sharply and end up careening headlong into disaster.

I understood how she could feel that way, now more than ever.

The next week with Marco was exhilarating in its simple beauty. He spent every night at my place, including the weekend, and we made love. Sometimes it was sweet and sometimes it was wild, and every time it was mind-blowing. When we weren’t going at it like teenagers who’d just discovered the power of sex, we hung out like always. It was addictive. He was addictive. I felt so content I was scared of it.

Distracted by Marco, distracted by my tumultuous emotions, I was behind on work.

The following Thursday I knew I had to skip out on lunch and use that time and the free period I had next to catch up on my marking. My head was down, my stomach was growling, and I was lost in papers when a knock on my door brought me out of them.

Although my heart jumped at the sight of Marco standing in my doorway, I frowned. “What are you doing here?” My eyes ran the length of him. He was wearing his work clothes. I tried to ignore the fact that I found him sexy like this.

Marco shrugged, taking long-legged strides toward me and I noted the brown bag in his hand. “Anisha let me in at Reception.” He pulled a wrapped sandwich out of the bag and placed it on the desk in front of me. A bottle of water followed it. “You sounded stressed this morning.” Grabbing a chair he put it opposite my desk and sat down, pulling another sandwich out of the paper bag. “I just wanted to make sure you ate something.” A pucker appeared between his brows. “You’ve lost weight recently.”