I want him so badly that it physically hurts. An ache that only he can soothe. As I move to step out of my shoes, he presses his palm against my back again.

“No, leave them on,” he growls.

I groan as my panties are pushed to the side and he slides a finger inside of me. He steps closer, his legs nearly touching mine, his cock softly teasing the back of my legs.

“So soft, baby, so warm.” He adds another finger, and I groan, leaning all my weight onto my elbows on the mattress. My back arches when he finds a rhythm, steadily entering me, dragging his long fingers into and out of me.

“Your sounds are so sexy, Tess,” he coos, closing the gap between our bodies so I feel his hard cock pressing against me.

“Please, Hardin.” I groan, needing him now. Within seconds he fills me in the way that only he has and only he ever will. I lust for him, but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming, all-consuming, judgment-altering love that I have for him, and I know deep down—deep in the depth of me that only he and I can see—that it will always be only him.

LATER, AS WE’RE LYING IN bed, Hardin whines, “I don’t want to go,” and in a very un-Hardin-like gesture, he leans his head down and buries it in my shoulder, wrapping his arms and legs around my body. His thick hair tickles my skin. I try to tame it with my fingers, but there is simply too much of it.

“I need a haircut,” he announces, as if answering my thoughts.

“I like it this way.” I gently tug at the damp strands.

“You wouldn’t tell me if you didn’t,” he says, calling me out. He’s right, but only because I couldn’t imagine a hairstyle on Hardin that wouldn’t flatter him. Still, I do happen to love his hair this length.

“Your phone is ringing again,” I point out, and he lifts his head to shoot me a glare. “Something could be wrong with my father, and I’m trying my best not to freak out, and I really want to trust you, so please just answer it,” I rattle out.

“If it’s something with your father, Landon can handle it, Tessa.”

“Hardin, you know how hard it is for me not—?”

“Tessa,” he says to silence me, but then he climbs off the bed and retrieves the vibrating phone from the desk.

“See, it’s my mum.” He holds the screen up so the word “Trish” is clear from where he stands. I really wish he’d listen to me and change her entry to “Mom” in his phone, but he refuses. Baby steps, I remind myself.

“Answer it! It could be an emergency.” I climb off the bed and try to grab the phone from his quick hands.

“She’s fine. She’s been pestering me all morning.” Hardin childishly holds the phone up over my head.

“About what?” I ask him and watch as he turns the power off on the device.

“Nothing important. You know how annoying she can be.”

“She’s not annoying,” I say in Trish’s defense. She’s very sweet, and I love her sense of humor. Something which her son could use more of.

“You’re just as annoying as she is; I knew you would say that.” He grins. His long fingers reach out to tuck my hair behind my ears.

I give him a fake evil eye. “You’re being awfully charming today. Aside from calling me annoying just now, of course.” I’m not complaining, but given our history, I’m afraid that this behavior will disappear when our blissful weekend has ended.

“Would you prefer me to be an asshole?” He raises a brow.

I smile, enjoying his playful behavior, no matter how briefly it lasts.

chapter

one hundred and six

HARDIN

As if the long-ass drive through the freezing rain wasn’t pleasant enough, when I get back to my apartment, I’m bombarded with a disturbing image of Tessa’s dad sprawled out on my couch, wearing my clothes. My cotton pajama pants and black T-shirt are way too tight on him, and I can literally taste the bagel Tessa fed me this morning rising in the back of my throat, just begging to be regurgitated onto the concrete floor.

“How is Tessie doing?” Richard asks me the moment I walk in the door.

“Why are you wearing my clothes, again?” I groan, not necessarily expecting an answer from the man but knowing I’m going to get one anyway.

“I only have that one shirt you gave me, and I couldn’t get the smell out of it,” he replies, rising to his feet.

“Where’s Landon?”

“Landon’s in the kitchen.” My stepbrother’s voice carries into the living room from behind me. A moment later he joins us, a dish towel in his hands. Drops of soap fall to the floor, and I scowl at him for not making Richard do the damn dishes.

“So how is she?” he asks.

“She’s good. Fuck. In case anyone was wondering, I’m good, too,” I gripe.

The apartment is much cleaner than it was when I left it. The stacks of shitty manuscripts that I had planned to throw away are now gone, the tower of empty water bottles I had built on the coffee table is nowhere to be seen, and even the dust mound that I’ve grown used to watching grow has disappeared from the corners of the television stand.

“What the fuck happened in here?” I ask both of them. My patience is wearing too thin, given that I’ve only been in this apartment for a couple of minutes.

“If you mean what happened, as in why did we clean the place—” Landon begins, but I cut him off.

“Where’s all my shit?” I pace across the floor. “Did I ask either of you to touch any of my shit?” My fingers move to pinch the bridge of my nose, and I take a deep breath in an attempt to control my sudden anger. Why would they just clean my fucking apartment without asking me first?

I look back and forth between the two of them before stalking off to my bedroom.

“Someone’s in a mood,” I hear Richard remark just as I reach the door.

“Just ignore him . . . he misses her,” Landon quickly says.

As a fuck-you to both of them, I slam the door as loudly as possible.

Landon is right. I know he is. I could feel it as I drove away from that damned city, away from her. I could feel every single tendon and muscle in my body tighten the farther I got from her. Every single fucking mile widened the gaping hole inside of me. A hole that only she can fill.

Cursing at every asshole on the highway helped maintain my temper at a slow burn, but it wasn’t going to suffice for long. I should have stayed in Seattle a few more hours, convinced her to take the week off and come home with me. With the way she was dressed, I shouldn’t have given her a choice.

The more I sink into my thoughts, the more I find myself visualizing her half-naked body. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, creating the sexiest sight. As I rocked into her repeatedly, she promised not to forget me during the long week ahead and told me how much she loved me.

The more I think about the way she kissed me and then kissed me again, the more agitated I become.

My need for her is stronger than it’s ever been. It’s lust and love melted together—no, the need I have for her goes much deeper than lust. The way we’re connected while making love is indescribable, the sounds she makes, the way I’m reminded that I’m the only man who has ever made her feel that way. I love her and she loves me, end of fucking story.

“Hey,” I say into the receiver, having called her before I even realized what I was doing.

“Hey. Is something wrong?” she asks.

“No.” I look around my bedroom. My newly tidied bedroom. “Yes.”

“What’s wrong? Are you home?”

No, it’s not home. You’re not here. “Yeah, and your fucking dad and Landon are on my last fucking nerve.”

She lets out a little chuckle. “It’s been, what, like probably ten minutes you’ve been home. What did they do already?”

“They cleaned the entire apartment, moved all my shit around. I can’t find anything.” I wish there was a dirty shirt on the floor or something I could kick.