Now the pity was there. A definite softness entered his eyes as he gazed down at me. But at least it was the orphan type pity and not the other kind. The other kind was so much worse. This I could deal with. The other pity did something to me, made me feel like I was ruined and past saving.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggested, wondering what it would take to get him to stop talking altogether and make the first move. Maybe I needed to make the first move. Assuming I could suck up the nerve to do that.

“Yeah.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Guess this conversation is a bit of a buzz kill.”

Right up there with butchered bunnies and starving children. “Yeah. I was thinking that.”

Smiling in an I-know-I’m-a-sex-god manner, he approached me with his loose, unhurried stride. Like some sort of jungle cat. Deceptively relaxed, when I knew he could spring into action at any moment.

Watching him, my cheeks warmed. I had felt those muscles, their flex and power against my hands. I had even seen him tear apart that guy outside the bathrooms at Mulvaney’s without breaking a sweat.

He stopped in front of me. My crossed feet jutted out between his legs. He took my hand, the slightly rough pads of his fingers curling into my palm.

“Tell me about the guy in the photo. That should put you in the right mood.”

I gulped. Was he kidding? I only needed to look at him to get in the right mood. The intimacy of his hand around mine was more than enough.

“Hunter? We’ve known each other forever.”

He scooted my legs apart and knelt between my thighs. His hands closed around my knees. I watched him, breathless. Shaking from the inside out. His grip seared me through the denim.

He arched an eyebrow. “I’m listening. His name is Hunter.”

I sipped air past my lips. “His sister, Lila, is my best friend.”

He continued. Watching me, his hands skimmed over the tops of my thighs and slipped beneath my sweatshirt to settle on the waistband of my jeans. “Go on.”

“They always made me feel like a part of their family. I think I spent more time at the Montgomery house than my own. They’re this really great family. Barbecues. Family trips to Disney, you know? That kind of thing.”

Those warm hands of his kept moving, inching up under my sweatshirt to graze over my belly. His thumb dipped to flick open the snap of my jeans. His attention trained there. I froze, swallowing down my words.

He glanced up at me. “Uh-huh. Keep talking.”

Sucking in a breath, I continued. “I’ve never even been to Disney World. They still go as a family. Like every year.” God. I was just babbling now. Was I actually talking about Disney World?

He lifted my sweatshirt, pulling it over my head in one swift move. It hit the floor.

I sat in my bra in front of him. I glanced down, verifying the color. White with a little yellow bow nestled between my br**sts.

I shivered. Sure, I had been practically n**ed with him before, but this felt different. Maybe because we were here, in my room. Or maybe because I was just still so new at this. Still so in awe of him that I couldn’t stop myself from quaking like the big virgin that I was. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at me. Like I was the last female on earth.

“You were saying? Disney?”

“They go there together. The Montgomerys. They’re good people.” My voice didn’t even sound like mine. It was more like a strangled croak. “Hunter is a good person. He wants to be a doctor.”

He flattened his palm just below my bra, his fingers splaying wide, almost covering my stomach completely, fingertips brushing my ribs. “Sounds like a saint.” He cocked his head, assessing, staring at me, consuming me with his eyes.

All I could think was: I hope not. A saint would never look at me the way Reece was right now, and I wanted that. Needed that. His other hand slid around to palm my back. He traced my spine, caressing each and every bump of vertebrae. He made me feel feminine, small, and delicate. Like something to be worshipped.

Suddenly he shifted both hands to grip my torso. I was airborne for the barest moment as he launched me back on the bed. I landed on my back with a small yelp. Thank God he didn’t want me to keep talking about Hunter. I couldn’t speak coherently. Not anymore. Not even five minutes ago.

Rising, he unlaced my shoes and tugged them off. Each one hit the floor with a thud.

He eased down, coming over me, propping his elbows on either side of my head.

His face was so close. I felt his square jaw, reveling in the scratch and bristle. He held himself still and I let myself continue to explore his face, tracing the arch of his eyebrows, down over the bridge of his nose, the well-carved lips.

They moved against my fingers as he spoke. “As long as you look at him like that he’ll be yours.”

I pulled my hand back slightly. “How am I looking at you?”

He settled himself deeper between my thighs. One hand slipped between my back and the mattress. With one flick, he unhooked my bra and tugged it free. “Like you want to eat me.”

“Oh.”

His head lowered. I shuddered as he pressed one kiss to the tip of my breast. Ohhh. Then the next. I ran my fingers over his head. His mouth closed over my nipple, pulling me into the wet warmth of his mouth. I gasped and surged against him.

I clawed at his shirt, twisting the fabric, wanting to feel him, skin to my skin.

He sat up, reached behind him and pulled it over his head, and then came back down over me. This time we were chest to chest. His hardness to my softness. His mouth met mine hungrily. It wasn’t sweet or gentle or easy. He kissed me deep and hard. I kissed him back, running my tongue along his, licking at his teeth.

He bit my lip, tugging it between his teeth. I moaned, lifting up for him. He evaded me and I growled, chasing his mouth until he let me have it again with a satisfying collision of lips and tongue. My hands swept over his shoulders, gliding down his smooth back. The flesh rippled and undulated under my hands.

He pulled back and stared down at me, his blue eyes so deep and penetrating they glowed almost silver. His breath crashed on the air as his gaze roamed me.

“Reece,” I whispered and my voice sounded almost like a plea.

“I want to see you. All of you.”

“I—” My voice broke, unsure.

“You can trust me.”

I nodded, believing that. He wasn’t the problem. The issue was me. My fear.

He moved quickly, sliding down the length of me. His hands went to the waist of my jeans, fingers working expertly. The zipper sang briefly. He slid my jeans off with ease. He did it better than I could have. Like he stripped jeans off girls all the time.

“Now these are hot.”

I glanced down and winced at the white cotton panties with tiny yellow kittens on them. Not exactly sex goddess material.

A sound strangled in my throat, part laugh, part groan. “I really need to shop for some sexier lingerie.”

“Nuh-uh. These are hot. And I promise they make an impression.” He pressed a slow, savoring, open-mouthed kiss right above the edge of my panties, below my belly button. My nerves sparked and jumped like they were shot with electricity. His hand drifted lower, palming me between my legs, and I was panting now. Embarrassing little whimpers that I couldn’t stop.

“Pepper, let me touch you.” The rough catch in his voice was probably the sexiest thing I ever heard. He could have asked me anything right then—with that voice, with his hand between my legs—and I would have agreed.

I nodded, hair flying around me. His hand was inside my panties before I even blinked.

His fingers slicked through me, parting me. He made an almost animal growl as he eased a finger inside me.

I sat up, arching off the bed with a sharp cry. Shudders racked me. He pushed at that spot, the one he’d found before, with the base of his palm.

“So wet.” I barely heard his whisper as I held tightly onto his hard shoulders. He buried his mouth against the crook of my neck and pressed a kiss there as he pulled out and buried his finger back inside me again. Deeper. More intimate, stretching me. I cried out, clenching around him with muscles I never knew I possessed. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, clinging to him like a buoy at sea as ripples eddied over me.

We stayed like that for an endless moment. An immense lethargy stole over me. His hands slipped from my panties and he pulled me against his side, holding me. As sated as I felt, I was alert and awake, not yet willing to fall asleep.

I cuddled closer to him, glad for this moment where it was okay to touch him, to let him touch me. It wouldn’t be like this tomorrow. Maybe ever again.

I took the opportunity to ask what had been nagging at me ever since I learned he was running Mulvaney’s on his own. “Is it just you and Logan?”

Silence met my question and I darted a look up at his face. He stared down at me, considering me.

“Logan is still in high school, right?”

“Yeah. He’s a senior. He only picks up a shift here and there. He plays baseball. Hoping he can get a scholarship.”

So Logan must live out in the house near the Campbells’ place. With their parents. I pictured it. Some quaint old farmhouse like the Campbells owned. With a pond. And ducks. Maybe his mother wore an apron as she fed them leftover toast. An idyllic family scenario. I knew I was romanticizing his life. Okay, him. I just couldn’t stop myself. I always did that when I met people. Imagined their perfect lives. Normal lives.

“It’s just you living above the bar then?”

“Yeah.” His hands traced a delicious pattern on my arm.

“What about your parents? They don’t mind?”

“My mother passed away when I was eight.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I moistened my lips. “And your dad?”

“He’s in a wheelchair. Going on two years now.”

“God, I’m so sorry. That must be hard.” So that was why he was running the bar all on his own? His dad no longer could. I wanted to pry more information out of him, but he looked so hard all of a sudden. So unapproachable. Apparently I had touched on a subject he didn’t like talking about. I could understand that. I had my own ghosts that I kept firmly behind closed doors.

Still, I wanted to say something. Offer him some comfort. I sat up on an elbow to stare down at him, hugging the blanket to my chest as I smoothed a hand over his chest in a small circular motion.

“Don’t look at me like I’m something noble,” he said quietly, frowning, his blue eyes suddenly like frost. “I’m the one that put him there.”

This time I felt my mouth fall open. Heard my gasp. My hand froze on his chest.

“That’s right. Now you know what kind of guy I am. I work the bar because my old man can’t. Because it’s his legacy and it’s the least I can do for him after crippling him.” He made a sound in the back of his throat. Part growl, part snort of . . . something. Disgust maybe? With me or himself, I wasn’t sure.

I shook my head. “I—”

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time on me.” He rose abruptly and grabbed his discarded shirt. Shrugging it over his head, he continued in a hard voice, “This was fun, but I think you’ve had enough foreplay lessons, don’t you? You’re more than ready for your Polo-wearing frat boy.”

I watched him, his lean body leaving the circle of light cast by my lamp until he fell into shadow near my door. Part of me wanted to call him back and assure him that he was wrong. But wrong about what? That I wasn’t wasting my time with him? That tonight wasn’t somehow enough? That he actually couldn’t have done what he said and harmed his father? I knew next to nothing about him. I couldn’t say any of that.

I let my instincts kick in. The same instincts that helped me survive after my father died, when it was just me and Mom. I watched him exit my room and close the door behind him. Clutching the blanket close to me, I got up and locked it.