 
Breathe For Me

By Natalie Anderson
Smashwords Edition

Copyright (c) Natalie Anderson 2013

Edited by Megan Records

Cover by N Anderson. Photo credit: iStock

Ebook formatting by Jesse Gordon

First edition April 2013

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional, authorized edition for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Photoshop, Superman, Lois Lane, Snow White, Hulk, James Bond, Nike, Jekyll, Hyde, Kegel, Zen, Playboy, Playgirl, Men's Fitness, Facebook, Twitter, Google.

The images on the cover of this book feature model/s and bear no relation to the characters described within.

If you'd like to get your hands on e-books ahead of publication in exchange for an honest review, please email natalie@natalie-anderson.com

To contact Natalie, visit her website, sign up to her newsletter, find  
her on Facebook or email her.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

A Note from Natalie

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

About the Author
**Read the other titles in the 'Be for Me' series by** _USA TODAY_ **  
bestselling author Natalie Anderson**

 Breathe for Me

 Beg for Me

 Bared for Me

 Bound for Me

 Blaze for Me

 Broken for Me

A Note from Natalie

I'm so excited to bring you BREATHE FOR ME, the first in my 'BE FOR ME' contemporary romance series. I wanted to go a little further than what I do in my shorter contemporaries so these books are both a little longer and a little hotter than those—you have been warned!

The only thing nicer than dreaming up a new hero, is dreaming up a whole gang of them and I loved the day this bunch of guys came knocking in my imagination. They're a tight bunch who got through their student years working together as lifeguards in summer, then ski patrol in winter. Yes, we're talking hot, active men here! Men who love a little fun in their R&R time. And, given their total fitness factor, getting attention from the females hasn't been a problem for any of them...BREATHE FOR ME features Xander Lawson, a gorgeous playful-yet-touching hero who was such fun to write. I hope you enjoy his passion and his humor and the way he strives to meet Chelsea's needs.

Happy reading!

~Natalie
Chapter One

Chelsea Greene stood at the side of the pool. Despite the sultry air, goose bumps peppered her skin. Cushion covered deckchairs and fairy-light festooned railings evoked a fun, party atmosphere. People from neighboring buildings could probably see her, no doubt wondering why she wasn't wet already. On a hot night like this, she was surprised she was the only resident breaking the rules to swim after hours.

It ought to be easy.

A sparkling, azure pool on a Manhattan apartment block's roof was a rare luxury. Kidney-shaped, it wasn't built for endless laps and fitness, but for fun. And it was time to quit dawdling and dive right in. But her leg ached. Almost two years on from the accident it wasn't fully fixed.

One foot at a time, one step at a time, inch by inch and all that...

Her pulse skittered. She concentrated, trying to remember the simple sensual delight of warm water washing over skin and the free feeling of floating. But other memories were stronger, creeping and curling like a vine that all too soon overtakes and suffocates the original host plant.

Dark, cold, deep. Drowning.

Her breathing hitched. She froze on the edge. Alarm bells clanged in her head, endlessly ringing out panic. She closed her eyes, tried counting her way to calm.

One, two, three, four, five...

She got to nineteen before it dawned that the alarm wasn't stopping. It was real. Snapping her eyes open, she turned towards the stairwell. Distantly, beneath the ear-splitting siren, she could hear the slamming of several doors.

Fire alarm. Her building. Wouldn't that be her luck? Chelsea grinned ruefully. At least it wasn't _all_ in her head.

She snatched up her towel and walked as fast as her damaged leg would allow. She wasn't going to panic. Alarms like this were almost always false—a warning, a drill, an electronic hiccup. It wouldn't be a real emergency. Opening the door to the stairwell, she heard voices. Below, people were filing out fast, calling out to each other. Some laughed. If people were laughing it must be okay.

She clutched the towel around her and steeled herself for however many million stairs. No elevators worked in an alarm, everyone knew they were programmed to return to the ground floor and stay there. She'd have to walk all twenty flights. Her heart thundered rapidly, skipping essential beats, making her breathless before she'd hardly started.

Just a drill. Just a drill.

One floor. Two. Into the melee. A ton of people were ahead of her, moving fast. On the landing of the third floor down a flood of people emerged from one doorway. Apparently Thursday night was party night in that apartment. They didn't seem to notice her leaning against the banister as they rushed—a gaggle of merriment and energy that streamed by in a hazy push of people. Her towel snagged on something, loosened, then slipped between the railings, falling into that tiny gap in the center of the stairwell. It floated down all the floors in a few seconds. She gripped the banister. The crowd was well below her now too. It didn't matter, right?

This was only a drill. They'd only be on the street a couple of minutes while the apartment managers reset the alarm. Then she caught it. The unmistakable smell of smoke.

Not a drill?

Her stupid leg weakened as panic resurged along her veins. She grabbed the banister with both hands. From above she heard a door bang. Frozen, she listened to the rapid clip of sure, fit, heavy feet almost skipping down the stairs.

Pull it together Chelsea. Slow and steady.

She glared at the floor, focusing on each space a pace ahead, resuming her regular counting. She carefully went down more steps, but in seconds the fast, heavy feet caught up to her. Passed her. Stopped.

"You okay?"

There was no ignoring that deep-voiced, drawling query. No ignoring the boots planted wide apart on the floor where she'd been staring that one step ahead.

Above the scuffed brown boots, long legs and narrow hips were encased in loose, well-worn jeans. His baby-blue tee skimmed close enough to hint at rock hard ridges of abs and pecs and stretched out to hug huge shoulders. Brute strength and breadth. Chelsea didn't go weak over size and muscles. But then, these were _muscles_ and her legs were weak already. That was her excuse and she clutched it tight. Along with the banister.

No way would his face match his body. That wouldn't be fair. But then life wasn't fair. And, not for the first time, Chelsea was wrong.

The color of his tee emphasized his eyes. His tan highlighted the blue too, intense, bright and piercing.

Damn, that's right. She was barely wearing anything and given she was shivering like it was mid-winter, her nipples had gone icicle stiff. All but screaming 'look at me'. But his attention didn't go to her boobs. Instead he zoned in on her weakness. Her leg.

"I'm fine." She shifted her weight forward onto her strong leg, tucking the weaker one behind.

"Take much longer and you might not be." Another easy drawl, this time accompanied by a smile. Oh hell, a winning smile that went slightly crooked. Perfect.

She tensed as heat surged. Her nipples pointed even harder. Not lust. It was embarrassment. And anger. She was sick of being weak. "I'm going as fast as I can."

His eyes locked on hers. Despite their lightness, the blue was underpinned with power as if he was utterly used to assuming control of any given situation. "Not fast enough." His smile widened, softening the authoritative way he spoke.

It didn't soften it enough for Chelsea. "Says who?"

"Me."

Yeah. He was implacable, arrogant and so much the picture of perfect health and unchallenged masculinity, Chelsea's hackles rose.

"And who are you? Fire services?" _Master and Commander?_ She tilted her chin and dared him to answer. She didn't need some random stranger to help her out. She'd get to the ground herself.

"You mean you don't recognize me?" His baby-blues lit up, and a chuckle rumbled. "Sweetheart, I'm Superman, didn't you know?"

Before she could snap her jaw shut and think up a sarcastic reply, he reached forward and scooped her into his arms. He pulled her tighter to him with a little tug, prising her hands from the banister. In less than a second he'd turned and resumed his fast pace, taking her with him as if she were lighter than a two-buck book.

"What're you doing?" She demanded, shocked at being so easily lifted. So totally within his hold.

"Saving your ass." He tossed her lightly to adjust his grip. One arm curled right around her legs, the other wrapped low around her waist. He clamped her tighter against his torso. Her arm was trapped uncomfortably between them and her face was far too close to his neck.

"I can save my own, thanks."

"Sure," he snorted, not slowing. "Next decade."

Her heart thundered but while she might be resentful, she wasn't stupid. She wasn't about to struggle. She settled for glaring at him, but quickly got distracted by the zoomed-in view.

His close-cut hair was dark brown, but this near she could see the individual strands of sun-burnished gold. He'd have been blond as a boy, and with those pale blue eyes and that white smile he'd have looked angelic. No doubt he'd been completely indulged. Given he was confident enough to come close and pick up a random woman in a heartbeat—as in literally scoop her up—then yeah, the guy had gotten his way, way too many times.

She couldn't just lie back and enjoy being held and helped by a gorgeous guy. In the last two years she'd been helped too much. The whole point of her time in New York was to be independent again. She was more than able to look after herself.

"Shouldn't you have me over your shoulder in a fireman's carry?" She didn't want to be this close to his face and lips. She didn't want the hint of citrus-and-soap to tantalize her nostrils, or his warm strength to heat parts that hadn't been heated in a very long time. "Isn't that the easiest way to lift someone and move in a hurry?"

She'd easily fit over his shoulder. Hell, they were so broad he'd probably manage two women over each. She closed her eyes, refusing to imagine a harem hanging off him. _She_ wasn't going to hang off him. But with her eyes closed she acutely felt his hot steely body pressing against her. Solid packed muscle. Sensations uncurled deep in her belly, sending out flickering tendrils of heat—not least to her cheeks.

_Hell_. She snapped her eyes open. Was her libido trying to stage a come-back during a damn fire alarm? It was a building evacuation. A possible emergency. Not the time to get turned on.

"If you want it 'easier', put your arms around my neck." He glanced down at her, his eyes danced wickedly.

He was teasing?

"Why? You like a woman to cling?" Somehow she doubted it.

"Only at the right time," he said softly. "This is definitely the right time."

The horrible thing was that he was right. Her arm was awkwardly squashed between them, and given he'd increased his pace, she felt bad for being a burden. The decent thing would be to make it as easy as possible for him. She really had no choice but to wriggle her arm free and curl it round his neck. It brought her even closer. And there was nothing like gratuitous amounts of skin to amplify a sense of intimacy. Her breast was crushed against his chest, trapped in the curve of his arm her thighs were pushed close together, his hand splayed wide too close to her butt. She could feel each finger pressing against her. The tightness made her more aware of the sensations, the muscles at the apex of her thighs. Now really wasn't the time for Kegel exercises.

Thankfully he didn't appear to notice her growing embarrassment as he jogged down flight after flight of stairs with easy, sure feet. Strong and fit and fast.

"I hate being last out of the building," he said, not breathless at all as they hit the third floor. "You're gonna ruin my record."

"Then put me down," she said coldly. "I can walk the rest myself."

"I don't mind shredding my reputation for you." He laughed. "What were you doing at the pool?"

She so didn't want to go there.

"I'm guessing you don't sleep in a swimsuit," he prompted after another half flight of stairs.

Regular Sherlock, wasn't he? "So you sleep in jeans and tee?"

"I sleep in nothing. I just yanked these on."

Was there nothing on beneath the jeans? She tensed up more, fisting her fingers behind his neck so she could no longer feel his bare warmth beneath her fingertips. But it was too late—another hot flare unfurled in her belly. "Maybe my swimsuit was the first thing that came to hand."

"You were in that much of a hurry and then decided to dawdle down the stairs?" He shook his head. "Sorry sweetheart. You were at the pool. After hours."

The hint of censure lifted her hackles.

"You've never broken a few rules?" she asked.

She felt the slightest pause in his fast, steady pace down the stairs. Her words hung on the thickened air between them. She'd not meant it to come out so sultry. But it was his fault for telling her he slept naked.

"No," he eventually said, amusement flecking his answer. "I never break the rules. I'm a good guy, remember?"

"Superman?"

"You got it." The chuckle reverberated in his chest. "And you're not such a great rule breaker."

"No?"

"If you're going to break the rules and swim at midnight, you should go the whole way and be without a suit. Midnight swims are always best naked."

Oh no. She tried to quell the shiver as another image of nudity came to her head. But he must have felt her because his grip fractionally tightened.

"Furthermore," he added. "Midnight swims aren't supposed to be taken alone."

She didn't answer that. Still too busy deleting the naked images from her mind.

"What if you got in trouble?" he added.

Like a bucket of iced water had been dumped on her, her heat was doused. "Bit boring, aren't you?" she snapped. "Mr Goody-goody with your 'must-abide-all-law' attitude."

He halted and looked right in her eyes. "I'll admit I'm good, but I'm definitely not boring."

"Really?" Truly she didn't intend for her question to have such a goading taunt in it. But with her breathlessness, it came out as pure sexual challenge.

"You asking me to prove it?" he said softly.

Heat burned through her body. They were on the ground floor already. Safe from any smoke or fire. Except she was about to combust on the spot.

"You can put me down now." She clipped out the words.

He gave no answer, just strode through the atrium and out the front door. Ugh, last out, everyone looking. She wanted to shrivel behind the nearest rock. But there were no convenient rocks in Manhattan. Nowhere to hide her inappropriate amounts of milk-white skin.

Belatedly, brusquely she added, "Thank you."

He still didn't answer, just looked at her. Smiling.

The man wasn't just good looking. He was intense. He hoisted her higher in his arms, tighter. She _really_ had too much skin on show. Her swimsuit was no flimsy bikini, but it was still cut high in the thigh, the bust cut a little low. She was more breathless than she'd been when stuck on the landing of the seventeenth storey stairwell. "Please put me down," she asked again.

"I don't think so," he said idly, walking to the side of the crowds that had gathered.

"No?" Oh man, so breathy. Could her pulse settle, please?

"You've nothing on your feet. Wouldn't want you to cut that soft skin."

"I'm very careful where I step. You don't need to worry."

"No? Hey Terry," he called to the building guard who was looking in fierce concentration at a clipboard. "I've got the resident from unit—?" He looked at her.

"1605."

"1605." He repeated.

She wanted to ask which unit he was from but was overwhelmed as his grip tightened again. She tried to quell the shiver but failed. As for her breasts? Too full, too tight. Her nipples screamed for contact. She could feel them poking against the clinging fabric. She was hyper aware of his strength, his closeness, the energy swirling between them.

This was flat-out crazy. She was on the street, near midnight, having been evacuated from the building and was the only one wearing something really embarrassing. And turned on by a total stranger.

"This going to teach you to break the rules, isn't it." He chuckled as he looked over at the crowd assembling in groups. All of them wore street clothes, robes at worst. "No more swimming in the pool after hours."

"Maybe I'd finished," she said with as much calm as she could muster.

"You hadn't even gotten in—your hair is dry. Every inch of your body is dry."

Not quite every inch. There was one part that was getting wet. She tried to turn away so he wouldn't see the tell-tale color she knew was staining her skin, but she couldn't break free of his gaze.

His eyes widened. His gaze intensifying. Yeah, he knew how commanding his presence was. If he was around, she'd be looking. She and half the neighborhood. She felt him tense up more. His grip tightened to one notch shy of painful. There was no escaping his arms now.

Her mouth dried. "Put me down."

But she knew he saw right through her. That at this moment, she wanted him to keep holding her. She wanted him to carry her off into the dark night and have his wicked way with her. She was in his arms already—warm, revelling in his superior strength. She wanted him to take what he wanted. And she wanted that to be her. She wanted him to take his satisfaction.

A random stranger?

_Crazy_ wasn't the word. Maybe she had some smoke inhalation hallucinations going or something?

"You know there aren't many rooftop pools in Manhattan. You shouldn't take advantage of it." His light conversation was totally at odds with the heat in his gaze.

But she latched onto it, thankful for the diversion. It'd give her a chance to pull back from her sudden aspiration to be little more than the man's sex toy. "On the contrary, the pool should be used 24/7. Given there are so few it should be used as much as possible."

"You're new to the building."

"Why, what's going to happen? Am I going to turn into a rule-following zombie the longer I live there?"

"Maybe not, your resistance is strong," he teased. "But I think you've taken advantage of someone to get access to the pool this late."

"How would little old lame me take advantage of anyone?"

It was the first time she'd referred to her injury.

"You're not lame. You're not slow either. Not in any way that matters."

Sexual awareness zinged between them again.

Chelsea tried to look away from him. Failed. "Do you use the pool?" she asked.

"Every day."

"Rain or shine?"

"Hail, snow, lightning."

Covering all options then. "It stays open in winter?"

"Year round. It's heated."

That didn't matter for her. She was only in town a couple of months. But she was never going near the pool when he was in it. "You wouldn't be able to get much exercise in. It's not that big." Whereas he was huge. A wall of muscle.

"Haven't you heard? It's not about size, it's about style."

Oh lord, sexual innuendo. She wasn't going to smile. She wasn't going to—

" _Finally_." He jeered lightly. "You're beautiful when you smile."

Chelsea tried to quell her instinctive shiver of delight. He might be teasing, but his intense focus had her all but yearning to hang onto him and let him do anything he wanted.

"And edible when you blush."

Edible?

Before she could answer he set her down carefully on her feet. His hands kept a firm grip, ensuring she was steady. But even once she was, his hands lingered, warm on her waist. She might be 'safe' from the fire but it seemed to her that a whole other kind of danger loomed.

Xander Lawson didn't want to let her go. This had to be the most fun fire drill on record. He ought to go over to Terry and the management team but he didn't want to leave her alone. Not when he could see the interest in so many sets of eyes turned their way. Not when _he_ was so interested.

She was new to the block, but she had to know someone. Pool security was tight and there were surveillance cameras. It meant she was buddies with someone on staff. Someone willing to turn a blind eye to her little nocturnal trip. Which was very interesting. Maybe she'd gone to meet a guy?

He looked at her. Not in that swimsuit. It wasn't one for seduction but for serious swimming. Which wasn't to say it wasn't revealing. Because it was—hugging her curvy breasts, skimming over her slim belly, revealing lithe arms and long legs. One calf seemed ever so slightly thinner than the other. She'd had some kind of problem. If it weren't so dark he'd be looking closer for some scarring.

A shiver swept down her body in a jerky ripple as she looked around the crowd. He fought not to scoop her straight back into his arms. She tucked her chin down and brought her arms across her chest. Poor sweetheart was self-conscious. Given the crowd, he wasn't surprised. He could help her out with that.

"Here." He whisked his tee-shirt over his head and offered it to her, tensing his stomach muscles as he did. Oh he was a lame-ass male. The instinct to preen around her was undeniable.

But her eyes widened. He saw the way they dropped super quick to glance at his chest and stomach. Her attention briefly lingered on where his jeans sat loose on his hips. Yeah, he'd only pulled on the jeans—no briefs, no boxers. He wished he had. The extra support would've helped restrain a certain part of him right now.

To his relief, she resolutely looked back up at his face. But he knew a lot about women—knew their peripheral vision was stronger than a male's. Because they were more prey than predator. And yeah, right now she was prey and he absolutely the hunter. She knew it too. The frisson—her little shivers, his tension? Sparks were a puff away. He ached to blow on them. It'd been a while since he'd played.

_Sex_. The idea sang in his head louder than the damn alarm that was still wailing. He couldn't resist another look at all her gorgeous, porcelain skin.

Sharing the near nudity was the least he could do for her, right? That way she wouldn't feel as alone in her exposure. He chuckled inwardly as she stared a split-second too long—not taking the tee-shirt.

Definite sparks.

His inner caveman wanted to see her in his clothing. Basic instinct urged him to stamp his claim. Too many of the other residents were looking at her. Even the ones shacked up with significant others were sneaking peeks at her pretty curves and long legs and the long streak of glossy brown hair that hung down her back. As for the soft red mouth set in the smooth pale face? Total femininity.

Every predatory instinct pulled to the fore in a rush. But even stronger was the _protective_ urge. He held back from manhandling her into his shirt himself. Instead he kept it easy, just holding it out to her.

Like bait.
Chapter Two

Chelsea so didn't want to take the shirt in his outstretched hand. But at the same time she really, really did. She glanced over his shoulder and saw people staring at them. That would be because they were the only ones baring flesh. And up this close to 'superman', she was revealing more than she wanted. So she took the shirt.

"Thank you," she muttered.

"My pleasure." His eyes lit with laughter, like he knew how much it cost her to say it.

Maddening creature. She clamped her mouth shut and slipped the tee over her head. Instantly she was enveloped in his warmth and the soapy scent she'd noticed when in his arms, a tantalizing mix of citrus, lime and man. She clenched on the deep muscles firing up inside and held her breath, stopping herself from inhaling his essence. So inappropriate. _So obvious_.

The sleeves of the tee came down almost to her elbows, the bottom hem to below her mid-thigh. Hanging loose, it covered her perfectly. Yet now she felt even more like she'd been caught out doing something she shouldn't have. Not so much swimming after hours, but sleeping in someone else's bed. _His_. And she'd pulled on the nearest shirt quickly in the alarm... and oh yeah, his naked torso right in front of her just added to the whole movie reel playing in her head.

"Who should I return it to?" she asked roughly, trying to retain just a little cool.

"Superman never reveals his true identity." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to that eargasmic murmur. "It's part of the fun."

She stared up at him, the fantasy still whirring in her head. Could he be an anonymous-hot-stuff sensual dream man for her? Could they have some kind of 'late night strangers tryst'? Have mercy. Like that happened in real life? She shook her head clear. It had been too long since she'd done anything with any man—because a thought like that shouldn't turn her on. Except it did. It really, really, did.

"Hey Doc, no injuries here?"

She started at the interruption. One of the uniformed building team stood beside them. She knew him—Terry. He glanced at her with more interest than apology in his eyes.

"No, we're good, Terry." Her 'hero' answered briskly.

Terry quickly turned back at Superman, recognizing superiority when he saw it. "Sorry to interrupt but we need some help, if you're able?"

"Of course." Superman looked at Chelsea, his smile broadened again. "See you."

Chelsea watched him swiftly walk away and drew a sharp breath. He was a _doctor_? She didn't know why she was so surprised. In an apartment complex, even a medium sized one like hers, there'd doubtless be at least one medical expert who happened to live there. And he was it. So he really did rescue people for a living. Talked them through the fright in whatever way worked. He'd not actually been flirting with her—not meaningfully—it was just play. A way of getting her to smile.

She remembered the paramedics talking to her about the most inane things. Keeping her in the present, away from the darkness. Superman had been doing a _job_. Which was fine. She wasn't disappointed because she didn't want real flirt. She didn't want a date or a fling or anything. She was still off the market. Her time in New York was about establishing independence—her parents had been so over-protective these last couple of years. Not that she could blame them. But now was her time to get her studies back on track and make her life her own again. _Alone_.

But she couldn't help glancing over to the group of people who'd formed a huddle on the other side of the building entrance. As the doctor stepped up, a number of bystanders stepped back, giving him access. An older woman was on the ground, someone's jacket rolled up as a cushion under her head.

"Dr Xander? That you?" The old woman looked up at him, sounding almost as breathless as Chelsea had. "Nearly naked?"

"I was hot." He smiled as he hunched down beside her.

"I'll say." Someone—female—in the crowd commented.

But the doctor didn't respond to the stifled titters around him. Instead he turned all that intense focus to the septuagenarian on the ground. "What are you doing lying at my feet, hmmm? You know I prefer a woman who stands up to me."

The older woman actually giggled. "You going to give me mouth to mouth?" she wheezed.

"Sadly, not tonight."

"What's it going to take? Should I faint?"

"And deny me the pleasure of talking with you?" He shook his head, holding the woman's wrist in his big, strong, undeniably experienced hands and looking that intense way into her eyes. "Now, it's sore somewhere? Hard to breathe?"

"Tight in the chest." The woman nodded.

"Got your meds with you?"

"I left them." The woman looked worried.

"No problem." He reassured, rubbing his thumb over the woman's bony wrist.

Chelsea turned away, determinedly focusing on where the building management team were busy conferring. But she could still hear 'Superman' murmuring to the old lady.

Yeah, he definitely flirted with his patients. That ultra-charming bedside manner was practiced and slick. So her beating heart—and softening insides—could settle right back down. Besides, she wasn't going to do a doctor. She'd dealt with too many of those in the last two years. He'd end up taking more interest in her recovery than her moves. And she definitely didn't need the heroic type. That was even worse.

Truthfully she didn't need anything. Except the libido that she'd thought long dormant had kicked back to life—in one look, one smile and one too tight carry. In that moment before he'd set her to her feet, his arms had gone like bars around her. Making her his prisoner.

She'd liked it.

And he knew it.

Which pretty much made it all the more embarrassing when it seemed his greatest strength as a doctor was his ability to make his patients smile and blush.

Unable to resist, she turned back in time to see how sharply he was assessing the older lady even though he was joking with her.

"You know you're going to be just fine Mrs H."

Another bystander joked again about mouth to mouth and a slim curly-headed blonde pretended to faint. The doctor grinned but kept his focus on his patient. He was clearly well known. And very much admired.

"You got a problem, Xan?" A tall guy called out, approaching the group rapidly.

"Hunter? Good." Superman suddenly stood. "You'll take care of Mrs Hopkins, won't you? Make sure she's okay until those medics get here."

"Sure." The tall guy accepted the command—and it was definitely a command, not a question. Every bit as built as the doctor, but with a far more serious demeanor. The ultra cropped hair looked military. So he was used to obeying then? Good job. He looked like the kind of guy you'd want covering you in a tight corner.

Chelsea turned her head again. She couldn't stand here all night just staring.

Xander held back the grimace of frustration. All he wanted to do was get back to the damsel-who-refused-to-be-in-distress. He'd kept an eye on her once he'd checked Mrs H was okay—which she was. A bit of shock, nothing major he didn't think, but he'd be happier once the real docs had given her the once-over.

Blue Eyes hadn't spoken with anyone. She'd wrapped her arms around her waist, leaned her weight on her good leg and acted like she was patiently waiting and in control of the situation. But he'd seen the hidden insecurity in those eyes, the bravado.

His tee-shirt was too long for her. But that was better than all the other guys staring at her the way he knew he'd been. Like starving wolves they were circling, wanting to know who she was. But none had been game enough to breach her 'stay away' stance. She had a touch of the Snow White about her. Beautiful raven locks, dark blue eyes, pale, pale skin and then there were those full red lips. In that navy swimsuit she was luscious. Her resistance to his assistance deepened his fascination. An independent woman? He did like those. He got hot for a woman who wanted to hold her own—even when she couldn't.

Now his fingers itched to slide where his shirt skimmed—those slender legs needed easing apart. He'd happily go on his knees for a taste of her. With a little time, a little laugh, she'd let him, the way she'd responded to him already told him that. But he wanted more than her to _let_ him, he wanted her to wriggle close and reach out for what she wanted. _Come and get me. Come for real_. That'd be good. It had been some time since he'd had some fun. He was due some.

"Xan?"

"Hmmm." Xander blinked and turned.

Hunter was eyeing him suspiciously. He turned and deliberately looked at the girl Xander had not-so-subtly been staring at. Hunter's rare smile burst forth. Damn, his buddy knew that was Xander's shirt swimming on her.

"See why you need my help. You got interrupted, huh?" Hunter chuckled and made a show of looking at his watch. "I'd have thought you'd be happy to have her out and heading home by now. Done and gone," he said softly.

"You're confusing me with Logan," Xander answered briefly to put an end to it. His cousin was the slayer, not him.

"Oh, _not_ done?" Hunter laughed. "No wonder you're aching." He whispered as he looked her over again. "I can see why."

"Shut up and help me out."

Hunter immediately switched to business. "Fire guys are here. Ambulance is less than a minute away. I'm on guard. You're free to go."

"Good."

Xander hunched down again and raised his voice. "Mrs H? My man Hunter here is going to stay with you until the ambulance gets here, he'll take good care."

Hunter got to his haunches on the other side of the old dame and gave her a rare, brilliant smile.

"Okay." Mrs H smiled back at Hunter and then looked at Xander, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "Next time I see you, I'll give you a thank you kiss."

"Only if you insist." He stood up, grinning at the notion. There was someone else who owed him a thank you kiss.

Chelsea listened attentively as the duty manager apologized for the false alarm and thanked them for their prompt evacuation. At that she winced—she'd been last out by a long shot. And given how slow she was, she'd be last to go back in too. She didn't want people noticing her more. Certainly didn't want anyone else offering _help_. So she stood back as people began filing in. Most were relaxed, it had been obvious from fairly early on that the building wasn't about to burn. A few had peeled off to grab a midnight snack at the all-night diner down the street.

"I'll see you back to your apartment now."

She jumped. She was so self-conscious she stumbled over her own feet.

"Careful." An iron-strong hand clamped round her upper arm. "You need me to carry you again?"

"No thanks." She pulled on her arm and he slowly released it. "There's no need for you to see me home." She didn't need protecting like that. But she tried to hide the shiver running down her spine.

"I know. But I want to."

And he always did what he wanted? Got what he wanted? She bet he did. He was walking her along and she found herself helpless to resist.

The crowd of people piling into the lift with them made her swallow her reply. Wearing his shirt was worse than underwear. She saw a few sly looks, and knew just what half the people in the lift were thinking, given most hadn't seen her in the building before. Same as what she was thinking.

That she'd come from his bed.

The elevator stopped on every floor of course, people taking a painfully slow time to exit. She was awkwardly aware of him standing too close because of the crowd. But even as it thinned he didn't step away. As she was sandwiched between him and the wall, she couldn't back away. She grew hotter and hotter as insanely inappropriate thoughts raced through her head. She stared straight ahead.

Get a grip, Chelsea.

It was clear he wasn't similarly afflicted—not with the joking words he shared with another resident. The heat burned in her cheeks as he walked with her out onto her floor—his hand on her back. Oh _so_ polite. Except for the inordinate amount of skin they were both displaying.

As soon as the elevator doors shut behind them, she stopped and turned to face him. Oh mamma, it was damn hard to verbalize anything when confronted by that body.

"You really don't need to see me to my door," she said huskily.

He merely walked around her, strolling along the corridor before turning back to face her, right outside her apartment. His smile was shameless. "You're wearing my favorite tee-shirt."

"Oh," she glanced down and walked the last few paces to her door—where he already waited.

Suddenly he was standing closer than he had in the elevator. She could feel the raw denim of his jeans brushing the outside of her thigh. Wicked laughter danced in his eyes. Too overwhelming.

She looked down at his bare chest. A sprinkling of hair. Flat brown nipples that she could easily reach with her tongue. And a tan. And she'd already experienced the warmth of it, and the hard strength. It was a chest for touching, admiring, tasting. She'd have it beneath her, above her, his arms around her. He had such sensuality emanating from him—challenging her.

A frisson of aggression rippled through her body. She'd never been challenged this way. Never met anyone so blatantly wanting with just a look and a smile.

She didn't want blatant. When she got back in the scene, she'd be taking it very, very easy. Not squaring off with some playboy. She lifted her chin and pulled the tee-shirt off in a quick movement, letting it dangle on the end of her finger.

"Thanks," she said, totally feigning moxie.

With a grin he lifted the shirt from her crooked index finger and hooked it into his belt so it hung like a rag down the side of his leg.

"My pleasure." The polite rejoinder sounded way too intimate to be all that polite. It sounded dangerous. And tempting. He leaned closer, bracing his arm on her doorway—so he took up even more of her vision. _Dominating_.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a move."

Oh my. How was that for blunt? "Isn't there some code of ethics that stops you superhero rescue guys from getting involved with the people you save?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"There should be. Women might mistake gratitude for lu—something else."

"You think you're feeling 'something else' for me?"

"I... no." Somehow she held eye contact. The way he was looking at her sent flickers of heat along every nerve cell.

"Anyway, I didn't really rescue you," he said. "You'd have slid down the banister or something if you'd had to. Really it was all an excuse to get my hands on you."

"Oh, so you've no ethics then."

"Guess not." He had that total 'whaddaya gonna do about it' look on his face.

And it was obvious what _he_ was going to do about it. The laughter in his eyes was wicked—and mesmerizing.

It was a game. She got that. Except the sizzle that she felt wasn't entirely playful. It was intense. And as she stared up at him the smile in his eyes and on his lips faded as a predatory look hardened his expression. She raised her hand. Pressed her fingertips on his mouth. To stop him? To touch him? She didn't really know.

He stilled beneath her touch, his eyes locked on hers. In their depths she saw it, the reflection of her fantasy. Of being with him, against this door. Right here. Now. Hard. Rough. Fast.

She felt his breath on her fingers. Then his tongue. Curling around her middle finger. A sizzle shot up her arm. Intense, fierce desire ripped through her. She snatched her fingers away.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Embarrassment burned all over her face. She'd been about to moan in the middle of the hallway.

"S'okay," he softly answered, his eyes never leaving hers. "Anytime."

She swallowed. The invitation hung in the small space between them. Awareness sparked between them. Sensuality oozed from the man—drawing her in.

"What did you say your name was?" he asked, leaning that bit closer.

She slowly shook her head. "Not Lois Lane." She wasn't going to fall for superhero good looks and good deeds. Nor the _not-so-good_ deeds.

"No?" He reached out and took her hand. "You're going to make me work for it?"

She leaned back against her door, glad it was behind her and able to take the bulk of her weight. But it made the temptation to part her legs all the more irresistible. Because the look in his eyes told her, captured her, swayed her.

He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. She was going to let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do with her. She was one of the millions and she didn't give a damn.

The elevator pinged. The door opened, expelling more people. His fingers tightened on hers. Suddenly he frowned—at the interruption?

But he didn't look to the too-loud residents. Instead he looked down—staring hard at her hand. Then she felt the way her fingers were pressed together by his. Metal pressed into her skin—hurting. Her ring. The white gold ring with the solitaire in the center. The one she hadn't been able to bring herself to remove in the two years since she'd been given it. The two years since the accident that had ended all their plans.

No mistaking what kind of ring it was. She swallowed. She should explain.

"I.. um..." She pulled her hand free. She couldn't do it. She couldn't talk about it. Nor could she pull off any real kind of flirt. Better to escape. "My keys are up by the pool," she said quickly. "I left my bag up there."

"I'll go get them." He offered instantly, but his expression had shuttered. He stepped back.

"No, I can do it." She straightened up. "I can get them myself." She'd have to get past the guys at the desk to get to the pool again, but they'd do it for her. They'd been kind to her before and she was sure they'd be okay with it.

"Of course." He stood still, glanced again at her ring, his muscles tense.

She walked past him, her limp worse than ever. Belatedly she turned, determined to be polite despite the ferocious chill that was emanating from him now. "Thank you."

"Any time."

He still sounded like he meant it.

But he didn't sound pleased.
Chapter Three

One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.

Xander pounded his feet in time with his counts but still couldn't lose himself in the rhythm and relax mindlessly into the zone. His brain churned in a tight circle.

The new occupant of unit 1605 had been genuinely scared when he'd found her stuck in the stairwell like a headlights-hit bunny. Her pallor, the fear in her eyes had been too much for a little unexpected fire drill. But she'd gotten distracted—he'd seen to that. To the point that she'd touched him. Then the fear had flashed back. As if she'd thought she shouldn't have reached out. Well course she'd shouldn't. Not with that giant rock on her finger.

The fucking engagement ring.

What the hell was she doing coloring up around him, her body responding so swiftly when she was engaged? It hadn't been the chill tightening her nipples, it had been arousal. The look in her eyes had been pure sexual yearning and he—

"Tell us about the tee-shirt girl." Hunter interrupted his thoughts with a goading challenge.

"Nothing to tell." He pushed his pace a little faster, but his buddies easily stretched it out, keeping up with him.

"What tee-shirt?" Rocco asked.

"His Ski Summerhill one. You know. The one from last millennia," Hunter explained. "Some leggy brunette was wearing that and nothing else during the fire alarm last night."

"You let a chick hijack your favorite tee-shirt?" Logan laughed. "There's plenty to tell."

"There's nothing. She was swimming in the pool when the fire alarm went off." He frowned. He shouldn't have asked for his shirt back. Then he'd have reason to knock on her door again.

"After midnight?" Rocco asked.

"You mean that paddling pool," Logan snorted.

"It's not that small. There are very few apartment buildings with rooftop pools in the city, you know." Xander answered smartly, happy to veer the conversation away from her.

"If you were in my building you'd have a massive lap pool in the basement." Rocco drawled.

"I loathe indoor pools," Xander bit back. "Especially ones locked underground."

"Your loss. I like the mirrors and the white, white tiles of my modernist masterpiece," Rocco said smugly, deliberately thickening his accent.

"Of course you like the mirrors, you're a vain perv." Xander growled.

"So she was swimming at night and filling out her swimsuit nice and tight, right?"

Damn Logan, he'd always been persistent.

"And you made a move?" Logan added.

"Shall we take this to the ring so I can beat the bullshit out of you?"

Xander heard the astonished bark of laughter from his cousin. Yeah, violence wasn't his thing and they all knew it. But he could do with some kind of fierce workout today—too much aggression was surging through his veins.

"Why the ring? Why not here?"

That'd be right. Hunter was always willing to take up a one-on-one violent challenge.

"What's her name?" Logan took them back to the topic again.

Xander damn well didn't know. And he itched to know _everything_. It wouldn't be hard to find out some. He'd installed the security systems of their apartment complex. He could access the files of everyone in the building if he wanted to. He'd get name, references, some details. But that didn't make it right. Spying wasn't his thing. Certainly not stalking.

So he'd stand down. Plenty of other women in the city to have the easy come, easy go kind of fun he liked. If Blue-eyes was taken, she was taken. He didn't steal. He'd given that up years ago.

But she'd bothered him the whole damn night. As far as he was concerned she was the biggest temptation ever with her hot body, her sweet but sarcastic lips and her big eyes that reflected a contrary mix of desire and independence. He'd experienced one-look-lust plenty of times. But he'd never felt it so strong. Pure allure. And it had been powerfully reciprocated. She'd wanted him to touch—wanted to touch in return—but she shouldn't have. He'd tossed and turned all night with a cripplingly painful hard-on. So yeah, he was feeling pissy this morning. Furious with her. And himself.

"You didn't get what you wanted?" Hunter sounded surprised.

"That's why he's thumping the pavement like he's out for a fight." Logan laughed.

"Frustration." Nodded Rocco. "Blue balls hurting?"

"Fuck off." Xander pushed his pace faster.

"Come on Xan, you know you like a challenge." Hunter again.

Yeah. And there was the problem. Because part of Xander liked to play with fire. And everything about that new tenant was fire.

It was only 6 a.m. but Chelsea had to escape her small apartment. She'd thought the single bedroom and small lounge were plenty big enough for her. But not this morning. She felt like a hamster without the wheel to burn the calories—bored and bursting with energy. And while the building had the amenities she wanted—specifically that outdoor pool—she wasn't up to that yet. Heat rippled through her body as, for the five thousandth time, she recalled the moments in the stairwell. In his arms. He was incredibly good looking and charming. _Devilishly_ charming. But so what? She wasn't here to fool around. Except one part of her that had died almost two years ago, had roared to life.

Libido. Lust. The urge to get jiggy.

She blew out a breath, rationalizing during the elevator ride to the ground, to stop herself reminiscing too closely on the previous night. Having a sexual urge or two was a good sign. Progress. She was getting back to normal—her new normal. But she wasn't acting on it. Not with the super-sized stud who lived some floors above. She'd re-enter the game at novice level, not with the World Champ of flirt'n'fuck.

Because that's sure as hell what he was.

Nor did she want to enter the fray again with some guy who did the whole 'He-man' over-protective stuff. She could have gotten down those stairs—he'd just gotten off on the 'rescue' moment. So not what she wanted. She'd spent the last two years being cosseted and having everything done for her. Here she was all about doing it for herself.

Yet here she was again doing more Kegel exercises to try to stop her body's rising excitement at the mere thought of him. What she needed was fresh air and sunshine and then a solid day at work to keep her unruly imagination occupied.

She walked, lifting her chin with resolve, giving the doorman a quick smile of thanks before looking out to the street—and stopped so suddenly the person behind almost barged into her.

"Sorry," she murmured as the woman strode past. But she barely noticed her reply.

"You alright?" The doorman asked.

She barely heard him either, too dazzled by the sight running past on the other side of the road. Four of them running along the opposite sidewalk, looking like a Nike ad. All of them athletic gods in shorts and tees. Hell, one was without the tee. It was—

"Oh my," she couldn't contain herself.

"I know." The doorman stood beside her. "They do it every day."

Chelsea managed a sideways glance. Doorman's nametag said he was Brad. Right now Brad was practically drooling. She didn't blame him. And she too couldn't resist watching them weave along the pavement.

"I make sure I'm outside every day at this time," Brad confided with a laugh. "Rocco doesn't often run with them, but man..."

"Who are they?" She asked, feigning innocence.

One was the good doctor of course. And he wasn't looking remotely nerdy enough to be a doctor. Too tanned, muscled, outdoorsy. She recognized one of the others as the guy who'd stayed with the older lady. The other two she'd never seen before. Now she had, she'd never forget them.

"Xander Lawson—the tall one—is one of ours," Brad explained. "Lives in the penthouse. While Hunter, the one with the short hair, is only in residence when he's not off doing secret things for the military. Logan Hughes, bare-chested is next to Xander, former ski champ and current face of that new clothing line."

Of course, Chelsea nodded. That'd be why he looked vaguely familiar. Chelsea was more a summer Olympics girl than winter, but she'd heard of the daredevil slalom skier—mainly for his off snow antics. And now he was a model? Actually it was fully believable. While Xander could pull on a wicked smile, Logan was sinful with those sharp angles and planes of his ultra-chiselled face.

"Back of the pack is Rocco St Clair. Owns a hotel and new club that's currently in vogue."

Well of course it was. With that guy in charge? Clearly Brad's favorite, he had the Latin edge to match his name. Any place that had these men as patrons would be popular. Four of them. All magnificent specimens. But it was the one running front and center who had her eye. Smokin' hot.

"Highlight of my morning," Brad admitted. "And that of every waitress in that diner. And any other woman watching."

Chelsea blushed and turned. "I'm not—"

"Honey, we all are," Brad interrupted with a wink. "I'm a taken man, with a hunk of my own to go home to, but I still appreciate perfection in all its four forms." He sent her a coy look. "And I hear it was an interrupted night last night. No doubt you'll be needing a coffee."

Doormen always knew everything, didn't they? But surely he didn't know about Xander and his Superman act.

She definitely needed coffee. She'd grab one from the coffee cart outside work but it was still too early to head there. She slowly walked towards Riverside. A little exercise would be good for her leg and release the energy hit making her muscles quiver. Plus she figured Xander wouldn't be coming back this way. He was already out of sight. So much faster than her, in so many ways.

She kept to the side, letting the exercise freaks and early-to-workers stream past. Even this early there were plenty of people around, looking like they'd been to the park or the gym, bright-eyed tourists with cameras in hand, jaded looking teens looking like they were just heading home. The vibrancy and diversity of people inspired her. Ditto the tall buildings and green spaces. She'd been right to come to Manhattan. If she was going alone into a big city, might as well be the best on the planet. She glanced up, smiling at the buzz.

That's when she saw him.

From round the block, Xander was running back again. Towards her this time. Hunter was with him but the other two had peeled away. He didn't glare at the ground the way she did when trying to exercise. He had his head up and yeah, his gaze unerringly locked onto her.

She stared at him as he gazed right back at her, pounding his way closer. The guy was barely sweating, there was just a sheen to his skin and while his face was an expressionless mask—all angles and planes. His eyes were fierce. How could such ice blue eyes look so hot?

In that split-second all her senses spun out. Desire ricocheted back. She realized she'd stopped walking and now stood in the middle of the sidewalk. The drumming in her ears muted the sounds of passersby and traffic. Her heartbeats crescendoed and quickened.

She couldn't possibly be afraid. She was in a public place, it was bright and early in the morning, there was no danger. Except for the way he seemed to look right into her and bring the most inappropriate thoughts to the forefront of her brain—skin and sighs and heat. She'd had sex before. Good sex. But she'd never been so overwhelmed by merely a man's presence. Never so turned on by nothing, not even a touch.

It was embarrassing. But truthfully? It wasn't so much him who frightened her. But her reaction to him. Too much, right? While the sensual side of herself might be starting to function again, it wasn't going to be with him. Sensible people didn't play with dangerous weapons. And he was definitely dangerous for all that charming smile and casual flirt.

Anyway, he wasn't interested. Not now she'd let him believe she was 'taken'. And she was, right? Tom mightn't be here anymore, but more than that, she'd changed. She wasn't a thing to be 'taken'. She certainly wasn't some mindless creature, all malleable and open to Xander's use, there to enact his every sexual wish...

She clamped her jaw, furious with the burn searing her insides. The thought of that _couldn't_ be turning her on more?

She ripped her gaze away, saw a yellow car cruising towards her on the street. She raised a hand, shouted. The driver saw her, pulled over.

Chelsea crossed the path to meet it, horrifically conscious of how relentlessly Xander watched her. How much closer he was coming. Her limp was worse, her leg had totally seized. But she lifted her chin and hobbled to the cab.

She breathed out as she shut the door, wanting those hot urges to escape on the air. She had far too much else to think about. She really wasn't ready. She was here to resurrect her studies, her career. But the coolness of his reaction in that moment bit—like it was an opportunity lost.

She was a coward.

"You're early today." The girl at the coffee cart said twenty minutes later. "I'm still setting up. But I won't be a tick if you don't mind waiting?"

"Thanks. Don't worry, there's no hurry." Chelsea answered. She couldn't even get into the building yet anyway—not for another five minutes or so. She watched the woman prepare the stand and smiled. Dressed top-to-toe in black, the barista also wore roller skates, kneepads and looked whippet fit.

Admiration and envy surged through Chelsea. What she'd give to move that fast and free again. Instead her leg was still aching slightly from the hurried hobble to the cab.

"You skate to work?" She couldn't resist asking the obvious. Those skates were sleek with a king hit of retro style. In other words, awesome.

"Good training for derby."

"Roller derby? That totally vicious all-chick sport scene?" Chelsea laughed. She shouldn't be surprised, attitude oozed from the barista's pores.

The woman grinned wickedly. "Uh huh."

To be that strong? Yeah, Chelsea was jealous.

The barista glanced at her expression and laughed. "You should try it sometime."

Chelsea wished.

"Black coffee, right?" The girl smiled.

"You remember everyone's orders?" Chelsea was impressed, she'd only been coming to the cart this week.

"Well some are easier than others." The woman shot her a dry look. "Especially one that simple."

"Oh, right." Chelsea palmed her forehead. Dunce.

Coffee queen skated up to her and offered her a marshmallow with a wink. "I'm Luisa."

"Thanks Luisa," Chelsea took the candy with a grin. "I'm Chelsea."

"You work in this weird building?" Luisa jerked her chin towards the brightly colored building behind them as she banged the coffee machine.

"Only as an intern. Only a couple of months."

"Cool though?"

"Yeah." She'd only been there the week and she was trying not to panic already. "It's a challenge."

"Even better. Can do, will do, right?"

"I hope so." Chelsea grinned at her attitude. "You like the coffee scene?"

Luisa shrugged. "It's a means to movement. Far and fast."

Yeah, it was clear she was a traveller, her accent certainly wasn't from these parts. Chelsea couldn't pick it—Australian maybe? "Hence the wheels?"

"You got it." Luisa winked as she handed her a steaming cup. "Who do you intern for?"

"It's an art and design institute, in a tiny office suite on the fourth floor." Chelsea cautiously sipped the scalding liquid and felt the kick.

"So you're an artist?"

"Kind of. I'm still studying." She'd finished an undergrad in Fine Art and was now working on a post-grad Urban Planning and Design qualification—because artists like her needed a day job. She was a couple of years behind but at least now she was progressing again. She loved research. Wanted to do a bigger post-grad project if she could—and travel more with it. "What about you, where are you from?"

Before the girl could answer Chelsea's phone chimed. She didn't need to glance at the screen to know who it was, only one person called this early. _Every_ day.

"Sorry." She stepped away from Luisa's stand with an apologetic grin. "I have to get this or there'll be trouble."

"No worries." Luisa waved her away.

"Hey Mom." Chelsea walked towards her building.

"How are you, honey?"

Her mother's warm tones softened Chelsea's frustration. The calls were born from love, she had no right to resent them.

"Good. Really good," she answered. The project is going well." Chelsea grinned at the security guy who was just unlocking the doors.

"You're at work already?" Her mother asked.

"Uh huh." Chelsea ruefully muttered, knowing what was coming.

"But it's so early. Are you sure you're getting enough rest?"

Chelsea inwardly sighed. "Mom I'm fine. Truly." No way was she going to mention last night's false fire alarm. Her mother would have a fit.

She loved her parents but right now she was glad they were miles away. She needed them to be for a while. After two years of close concern and being wrapped in cotton wool, she needed the space to take things on in her own time and way. "I'm fine Mom. Honestly I am. Trust me."

"I do. I just—"

"I know." Of course she understood her mother's concern—her daughter had nearly died. Her daughter's life had changed irrevocably. But her daughter, Chelsea, now needed to get on with it. "I'm okay. I'm really okay."

"Alright." Her mother's sigh echoed her own. "You have a good day."

"I will. You too."

She _would_ have a good day. She'd focus on her work. She was going to have to work all hours to get it all done. Not that she'd tell her mom that either.

A new city, new job, new apartment. Alone. All challenge. And perfect.

But she wasn't adding a new man to that list. Definitely not some over-sized, over-confident, doctor with a Superman syndrome. No matter how magnetic he was. She wasn't even going to think about him again. Not even a little.

She went up to her desk and got planning. An hour later she pinned up the new sketch for her pop-up 'art'n'eaterie'.

"You really think you can pull it off?" Steve, the other intern, asked as he passed her desk on his way in, one of Luisa's coffees in his hand.

"Absolutely." At least, she _thought_ so. Her pop-up pizza project was 'out there' and she had to fit it around all her other duties, some of which were definitely of the more menial variety. But as an intern she couldn't expect to be working on the fun stuff all the time. She had to pull her weight. That was part of the attraction.

"Be awesome if you do," Steve said.

She nodded. She really wanted to use it as an example for her post-grad research paper. "How's your project going?" she asked.

"Not as well as I'd like." Steve parked on the edge of her desk and started talking through his issues.

Chelsea leaned back in her seat and listened, enjoying that he was asking her advice—that he seemed to value her input.

No one here knew the full story of the last two years. She'd briefly mentioned that her limp was the result of an old accident and hid the scarring under long skirts. She'd explained the gap in her studies as time away travelling. That was a small lie, but it meant no one looked at her with wariness or pity in their eyes.

Admittedly she wasn't exactly wholly independent. She had scholarship funding to help see her through the summer internship, but there was no real 'special treatment' in that, it was normal. And she had backing from her family—her father's friend had secured her the short-term loan of the apartment. But now here, she was alone and on her way. What success she made of this time was up to her.

There was just that one last hurdle to overcome.

She worked late and picked up a carry-out on the way home. She walked quick as she could into the apartment building. There were no ridiculously handsome men out running—to her relief, right?

She flashed the night manager a tight smile and took the elevator to her floor. She ate a little, then got changed and waited until it was after hours and the pool would be empty. Then she tried once more.

Though the water looked warm, Chelsea shivered. The last time she'd dived under it had been late at night. The last time she'd gone in water she'd nearly drowned.
Chapter Four

Xander didn't get home 'til midnight. He refused to give into temptation and go knock on her door, so he made sure it was too late to be able to. She'd be tucked up in bed now—most likely with her fiancé.

He felt like punching something.

He tensed as his anger doubled. Violence _wasn't_ his thing—he'd seen enough of it when he was a kid. That he could be feeling violent because of a woman? That _really_ wasn't right. Why the hell this one woman bugged him so much he didn't know—but with one look she'd gotten under his skin. Maybe Logan had been right. Maybe he needed a holiday.

This morning she'd run away from him before he'd gotten the answers he wanted. But her eyes had gotten bigger with every second she'd gazed at him. Hell, she'd been drinking him in. Yeah, it was a shot to the ego to have a woman with lips as luscious as hers looking like she wanted to suck up everything he had to give her.

His body had a hell of a lot it wanted to give her.

So where was the fiancé if she was that frustrated? He knew need when he saw it, and she was all but crippled with need. And part of Xander liked to offer help when and where it was needed. He smirked bitterly. Oh he was such the lifesaver? Rescue guy. Physical rescue only. She needed physical.

He stalked into the building. _Stay away Xander, stay far, far away._

He glanced at the desk. Terry sat staring at his monitor. The guy didn't even look up as Xander strode by. So Xander stopped, pivoted and strode back.

"What's keeping you so glued you don't even notice when someone walks past your nose?" He walked around the desk so he could see the screen the jerk was fixated on. "Something going on?"

In one black and white square, a lone figure stood by the inky part that was the pool. He tensed. She was there again? In her swimsuit, her pearly legs looking long and too slender. Her fingers tapped some rhythm on the outside of her thigh. He could almost see her talking to herself. Talking herself into it?

She was concentrating hard on the water. He frowned as he watched her take a small step closer to the edge. But she was in no hurry. In fact, he'd say she was reluctant. Terrified?

Fury surged through him. What the hell was she doing up there alone at this hour? He'd worked as a lifeguard at beaches and pools, as summer holiday jobs for years. He'd seen fear and he saw it now. She shouldn't be trying to teach herself to swim. She might panic and end up in trouble. There was a security camera at the pool but the deep end was deep and she wasn't all that tall. Not barefoot.

"Always happens like this. She never actually swims." Terry said, not looking up from the screen.

"Not ever?"

Terry shook his head. "That's why I didn't mind letting it slide. She's only there five, ten minutes tops and then she goes. Never actually gets wet."

"Not even a toe? Does she put her hand in?"

"Nothing."

This wasn't good. He glanced at Terry. The guard was looking a little too keen at the screen for Xander's liking.

"And she's always alone?" He ground out the question.

Terry nodded.

Somehow Terry having a secret with the sassy sweetheart bothered him. Did Terry know she was engaged? Did she flirt with all the guys? Was she that much of a tease?

Xander's blood rebelled at the idea. What was with his instinct? Was it that off?

"It's against the rules," he snapped. "You shouldn't let her. You don't stop her I'll report you."

"What's gotten into you?" Terry finally tore his gaze away and spun on his chair to look at Xander.

"She clearly has a problem. You want a drowned woman on your watch?"

Terry shifted on his seat. His gaze sliding away from Xander's. "I was watching over her."

Xander's muscles tightened even more. "And how are you going to pull her out quick enough when you're all the way down here?"

"I know, but..." Terry frowned.

"But what?" Xander growled.

"She's going to be disappointed."

And Terry didn't want to disappoint her? Xander felt even more irritated. "She'll get over it."

But Xander felt bad too. Little Miss Blue Eyes was the kind who had all the guys gunning to do things for her. _To_ her.

He glared at Terry. "Go fix it. Tell her she should swim half an hour before closing. Hardly anyone's there then either. I'll mind the desk for you."

Terry stared back at him. "You want me to tell her _now_?"

"Go."

Terry did.

Xander stayed in position, eyes fixed to the screen. She was still by the water, rubbing her hands on her upper arms like she was cold. Other than that she was immobile. Frozen.

He saw her spin as Terry came in. She hurriedly reached for her towel. A stupid amount of pleasure surged into his veins when he saw she didn't look at Terry anything like the way she'd looked at him. But satisfaction turned to discomfort when he saw the impact of Terry's words on her. Her narrow shoulders slumped, she clutched the towel closer. Even in the grainy images from the security cam he could see the distress cross her face—and the way she then proudly tried to hide it.

Xander walked away from the screen. It wasn't his business. She had someone in her life who ought to be supporting her. It wasn't his problem if her fiancé was falling short.

But it did piss him off.
Chapter Five

After being busted by the night manager Chelsea wasn't stupid enough to try the pool on the weekend. With summer starting to sizzle, people were taking advantage of it and she didn't want anyone around when she tried. So she spent Saturday and Sunday focused on her project, determinedly forgetting about how it had felt when 'superman' had held her tight. Except forgetting wasn't quite as easy as she'd hoped. She found a spot in Central Park near a temporary art installation, armed with her camera to record people's reactions to the piece. Every so often she zoomed in on faces. Plenty of good-looking guys wandered through Central Park. None of them made her have any insane 'come-get-me' sex thoughts though.

Monday didn't come fast enough. Work occupied her, offering a tighter brain leash than her solo weekend attempt. Plus, she figured there'd be fewer interested in the pool later in the evening. The guy had said about half an hour before lock-up would be her best chance of catching it quiet. If he watched the security cameras, he'd know she'd never actually swam. He'd know she didn't need half an hour, only needed five or ten minutes. But she'd keep trying.

_This time._ She'd get back in this time.

If there was someone already at the pool, she'd leave. If someone arrived while she was there, she'd make an excuse and exit. No problem.

When she peeked through the window she saw no splashing in the water—no clothing or towels nearby. Her nerves grew but she pushed herself through the door, crossed the decking area and put her towel on the recliner nearest the shallow end. She felt icy already.

I can do it.

As she turned back something massive reared out of the water with a splash. She jumped. Her lungs locked. What the hell?

She blinked, saw, finally understood. She released her breath in a harsh sigh. He'd surfaced at the shallowest end. She'd not noticed him before because he'd been underwater, apparently swimming length to length with the lungs of a blue whale. Now the water sheeted from his torso. The fairy-lights sent shimmering sparkles over his skin. All his muscles were on show. And he was a trunks man. Not long boardshorts, but not Speedos either. They were black, but there was no slimming effect on that bulge.

She really shouldn't be looking there. She really, really shouldn't. But oh man, sometimes she was all too human.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I didn't realize you were in the water."

"No problem." He briefly went under again then emerged to float on his back. He watched her from the center of the pool. A wicked gleam shone in his eyes— _not_ a fairylight reflection, this wasn't as innocent as that. "Don't let me put you off."

"No, it's fine." She turned away, her startled heart still pounding too quick. "I forgot something."

She scooped up her towel, not bothering to wrap it round her. She just needed to get out of there. She wasn't sure what unnerved her more now—the water, or the man. She heard no noise from the pool as she walked as quickly as she could. She got to the edge of the deck. Thought she'd made it. But an arm reached above her, firmly shutting the door she'd begun to open.

She glanced over her shoulder.

He was right behind her. Too close. His hand covered hers and too easily he pried her fingers from the door handle. He tugged gently but firmly, turning her to face him.

_Definitely_ too close. His other arm was still braced on the door, blocking her exit. His body blocked any escape towards the pool. They were both too naked. He was too hot, too wet.

Actually, so was she.

She looked up, aware of how ragged her breathing had become, like she'd been the one doing the underwater marathon. How could this happen? One look and she was liquefying. It was his body, right? The perfection, size, oh-so visible strength. It was just some weird basic instinct reaction.

Not real.

He still held her hand. She tried to tug it free but he wouldn't let go. It wasn't that he held it too tight. But firm. He was so much stronger than her. Her heart thudded faster.

Not turned on. I'm not turned on.

She shifted her weight to her strong leg, but right now it felt as weak as her damaged one. So she leaned back against the door. It was like déjà vu —the two of them in a doorway with so much skin.

And so much desire.

He lifted her hand and glanced down at the backs of her fingers, swiftly lifting his lashes to look back at her eyes. "Who's the lucky guy?"

For a moment she didn't understand what he meant. Then she realized—her ring.

"Is everyone saving the date?" His voice sounded low and raspy. Angry.

She shook her head, unable to answer without betraying the wobble in her own voice.

"That isn't an engagement ring?" He pressed.

She drew in a breath but it wasn't enough. "It is," she answered in a low voice.

"But you're not engaged?"

"No."

"So it's not your ring?"

"It is."

His eyes narrowed.

"It's quite simple really," she said, her voice going huskier by the second.

"Explain it to me."

She didn't want to go there. Didn't want the moment of sympathy. She'd rather see annoyance in his eyes than pity. She'd had so much pity.

"I was engaged, but now I'm not. I kept the ring."

"He didn't want it back?"

"No."

"And you still want to wear it?"

She couldn't bring herself to take it off. But that truth didn't work well with the tale she was telling. "It's useful."

He took a moment, then leaned closer. "Stops guys trying it on?"

She swallowed, looking down—away from his piercing gaze. She couldn't maintain the fiction when he looked at her like that.

"You want them to think you're taken?" He pushed it.

She shrugged, pretending she didn't care what guys thought.

"You got hurt?" His voice had dropped to a lethal whisper.

Startled, she glanced back up at him. It wasn't pity in his eyes. It was hotter than that—protective. Like he was about to go beat the crap out of who ever it was who'd thrown her over.

She didn't want that either. Definitely not.

"No," she lied. Even though she sensed he knew it was a lie. "Actually, I keep it as a trophy. In fact, I have a drawer full. I like to change the ring depending on what I'm wearing."

Something sparked in his face, a glimmer of amusement. "But you still want to keep men at bay."

"Fine." She lifted her chin. "I don't want to get involved with a man at this time in my life." And that _was_ the truth.

He stepped closer and she instinctively pressed her back against the cool door. It didn't cool her any.

He smiled at that. "Are you sure?"

"Sure about what?"

"Not wanting to get involved. Seems to me you might want to be a little involved."

"What makes you say that?"

"The way you look at me." He let go of her and only to trace the tip of his finger along the strap of her swimsuit—down her shoulder towards her chest.

"I—"

His finger was warm, gentle. The lightest of touches. Yet she felt it branding through her flesh to her bones. Melting them.

"Don't deny it or I'll have to prove it." He angled his head and lowered his gaze, watching the path of his finger and its effect on her body.

Oh my, the man exuded sensuality, confidence, and warmth. And she'd come over all moth to his flame.

"How would you try to do that?" She could barely ask she was so breathless.

His brows did a little flash-dance. "Look at you, your mind whirring overtime, isn't it?" He chuckled. "You got a good imagination?"

It seemed she did—because right now her mind was coming up with all kinds of options.

His finger traced lower, still gently marking the edge of her swimsuit above her breasts. She shivered as a moment of fantasy was realized. Her nipples were so tight. Needy. She wanted him to go lower—to touch them. She wanted him to bend and put his hot mouth on them. To take that one step closer and press his body against hers. It was insane—to want this stranger so badly.

He noted the heat flooding her cheeks. "You do," he nodded. "That's good to know."

She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Couldn't say no. Or yes. Lust like this hadn't happened to her before. Sure, she'd had friends tell about meeting a random guy they just had to bang and didn't really give a damn about otherwise. Where instant chemistry was all it was. And it wasn't that she was a prude or afraid of sex. It had just never happened to her. Not 'til now.

And she wasn't ready. Not when it was this overwhelming.

"Isn't it a good thing Superman isn't real," he murmured, his finger slowly sliding back and forth along the uppermost curves of her breasts.

"Why?" She could hardly concentrate on what he was saying with that gentle, rhythmic, repetitive touch. Each slide grew a little firmer, each slide made her want more. Her internal mercury soared, her muscles softened, yet energy coiled deep and low in her belly. She wanted to move—closer.

"You can get involved with him and not break your rules."

"Because?"

"He's not real. Just... fantasy."

Her lashes lowered, his torso filled her vision. Fantasy?

"You sure you don't want to take a dip?" he asked. "You're looking like you're feeling the temperature."

"I'm fine." She swallowed—her throat parched, her limbs heavy, achy, needy.

"It's a very hot night."

It certainly was. If he kept up with those little touches she was going to get overexcited. Hell, she might actually come. How was that possible?

"I need to..." she couldn't finish her sentence. She held her breath, trying to slow the insanely quick build of excitement in her body.

"Need to what, sweetheart?"

She wasn't a sweetheart. And she wasn't the kind to do this. "I need to—" she broke off.

"Get wet?" He smiled. "Come swim with me."

Oh that was so much more than an innocent invitation. And it hit her like a cool breeze—pulling her back from the brink.

"There isn't room in that pool for the both of us." Her chin lifted as fear enabled her to regain some control.

"It's not the biggest pool," he nodded. "But I think we could make do."

"I..." She couldn't. She wanted to but she couldn't—it wasn't the offer but the venue. She couldn't get in that water.

She was so stupid. The guy was sex on a stick. He was offering and if she had any kind of spine she'd be taking. Because maybe this could be exactly what she needed? Some fun? Something meaningless to get her back into the social side of life? Because she wasn't doing meaning _ful._ Not that this guy would ever offer that anyway. She had the feeling he was all about easy. This ought to be easy.

But her response to him was too intense. The things she was thinking? About _letting_ him do? Wanting him to just go right ahead and—

"What do you want?" he asked.

She stared, watching his pupils widen, darken. Potent. But she couldn't answer his question. Couldn't reach out and take. Because that buried part of her knew she shouldn't. He might only offer casual, but he still had that protective thing going. And she really didn't want that.

Slowly he leaned forward, still bracing his arm against the door at her back. His marauding finger dipped into her cleavage, the merest inch. Unable to move, breathe, think, she watched him come nearer, until he loomed so large in her vision she was overwhelmed. Her eyelids lowered. His lips caressed her collarbone—the touch setting off sparks under her skin, the flickers zooming along her veins deep inside.

The last time a guy had kissed her it had been filled with love. This was out and out lust and nothing but. Vastly different. But different was good.

And this was so, so good.

Boneless, she sank all her weight back against the door, her head falling to the side, wordlessly allowing him closer. He kissed along her shoulders and then down to the swell of her heavy breasts just above her swimsuit. Both his hands were at her waist now. Big hands. Strong. She shivered as he slid a broad palm over her swimsuit, sweeping around to her butt. A spear of desire shot deep into her womb. She put her hands on his chest to steady herself. To touch. His skin was wet but warm and the muscle beneath so damn hard. Pure strength, power, and masculinity and she could only soften, dampen, heat in instinctive response. Her hand swept—seeking more of that heat, that strength.

Still he kissed—feather-light, fast brushes of hungry lips swept over her skin. Her breasts tightened. She was achingly aware of his hand now at her upper thigh. His fingers stroked gently, teasing, so nearly breaching her swimsuit. Insane as it was, she wanted to feel skin on skin. To have him stroke and slide where she was wet and aching and empty. Her sex clenched. Wanting him.

But she couldn't rock closer into his hand. Couldn't moan the way she wanted. Couldn't beg. It was too fast, too crazy. She shivered as his mouth neared her nipple. She struggled to breathe, panting in fast, quick bursts. But as his mouth reached its target she gasped. His fingers slid beneath the leg of her swimsuit.

Instinctively her hips jerked. She cried out.

More. She needed more.

A loud thumping reverberated through the door she was leaning against. Chelsea nearly jumped out of her skin. She pushed out of his suddenly loose arms. She turned to see someone coming through the door. Terry—the night manager.

Superman was swearing something blue beneath his breath.

"Sorry Xander, it's closing time," Terry said with a smile. "Rules are rules."

Chelsea didn't linger to listen to the banter. She didn't stop to grab her towel. She just fled.

Frustrated as hell, Xander watched her go. He glared at Terry, the urge to shove the guy out of the way ripped through him. He held still by sheer force of will.

"So sorry about that." Terry backed up a pace and pushed through the door.

"Sure you are." Xander stalked after him. He heard the soft hum of the elevator mechanism working. She was gone already.

"She's a hottie." Terry said as he hit the stairs.

"She's none of your business." Xander hesitated, hating having to ask, but necessity bit so hard he had to. "What's her name?"

Terry turned in the stairwell, astonishment written all over him. "You don't know her name? You're copping a feel and you don't even know who she is? You're the fucking master!" The guy almost bowed in admiration.

Xander was less than an inch from losing it. "Just tell me her name."

"If you're that hot, I'm sure you can find it out yourself." Terry didn't wait for a reaction. He sprinted down the stairs three at a time.

Xander unlocked his apartment and let the door slam behind him.

Asshole.

Clearly Terry had liked watching the midnight non-swimmer and he hadn't appreciated having his perv sessions cut. Jerk.

But then Xander was a bit of a jerk too, wasn't he? To be almost fingering her like that without knowing her name wasn't great. Though at the time, he couldn't have cared less. All that had mattered was arousing her, teasing her, satisfying her. Hell he'd wanted to see her satisfied. To see that need in her eyes assuaged.

He sighed and paced around his apartment. So damn relieved the fiancé was out of the picture. But his brain unrelentingly replayed images certain to send him mad.

Her lush lips had reddened, her eyes widened, the navy deepened. He'd had only a second with that sweet, tight nipple in his mouth, feeling the shivers ripple through her. She'd been holding herself rigid to stop her hips rocking, he knew it. And the way she'd arched against him when he'd sucked her in—swimsuit and all? Damned if he could resist that.

But for someone who had such heat in her eyes, who could talk it up a little, when it came to the moment she'd been surprisingly passive. She'd clammed up, almost like she was shy. But she hadn't said no. And when he'd talked fantasy, invoked her imagination with his lame Superman line, that's when she'd gotten hotter. That had been the key.

So is that what she needed? Him to make the moves? To instigate? To take control?

Fine. No problem. At least 'til she warmed up. Because when he had touched her?

Ther. Mo. Nuclear.

He half laughed, half-groaned. She couldn't have been warmer. Her response hadn't been virginal. Then again, she'd been engaged. Hell, she'd teased she had more than one ring, like she collected them. Well she hardly did that. The way she'd run away the second she could, showed her true colors. No real vixen there. Though, it had to be said, she had potential.

Why had she run? Was it just embarrassment at being caught by Terry? Or was it fear? There was no need for fear. Xander never asked for more than a woman was willing to give. In fact, he usually asked for less than they wanted to offer. And he was certain she was willing. So he'd corral her, soothe her skittishness. And then ride her the way he knew she wanted him to. The way he was dying to.

But he needed to understand what was going on in her head. Because while her body was screaming yes, that verbal reticence bugged him.

Screw it. He'd go stalker. Just for five minutes. Just to get the answers he needed. Her name. Her business. What had happened with the ex. Thanks be the guy _was_ an ex. Because one thing Xander knew, he was having her lips under his and her succulent body wrapped round him, squeezing on his thrusting cock until they hit oblivion together.

He grabbed his computer and logged into the hotel system. Pulled up her unit. Accessing a client's files for personal reasons would cost an employee his job. Good thing he was the boss.

Chelsea Greene. Temporary tenant. Only here for two months. An intern with the Wroxton Institute of Urban Art & Design. Whatever the hell that was. He re-read her residency dates. His skin tightened as his muscles bunched. A deadline then. Less than eight weeks.

Chelsea Greene. How many could there be in this world? He logged out of the system and tried Google.

Turned out there were a few, but it was easy to sort them. She was still a student—had worked on a number of random urban art projects. But there was one headline that stole his attention. Blood chilling he clicked on the link that took him to the online version of the small town newspaper. It was only a brief—an obit. A young guy, Tom Holt had been killed in a car crash when his vehicle left the road. His fiancée, Chelsea Greene had suffered critical injuries but was expected to survive. The article was dated almost two years ago.

Hell. Of course her fiancé hadn't wanted the ring back. He was dead.

Poor guy. Poor Chelsea.

Xander stared at the screen, absently rubbing his knuckle across his jaw as he absorbed the info. Not good. Awful in fact. Reading this, he knew he should veer away. She was more than bruised. She'd been heartbroken. And he was never going to be the guy to give her what she was going to need now. He didn't hang with emotionally needy women. Which was why he never stayed with any woman for long, because every woman he'd ever met got needy at some point. But some needs were more intense, more obvious, more immediate. And in every way that was Chelsea.

She'd been smashed up, body and heart. He guessed she was here to move on with her life. Doing the fight for independence. Good for her. But he'd no intention of helping her out with that. She might not think it yet, but ultimately she'd want a guy who could become a pivotal pillar in her rebuild. She'd said yes once, eventually she'd want to again—going for the picket fence, dog and the whole happy-ever-after.

Xander didn't. It'd never happen for him. Hell, the cynic in him didn't think it truly happened for anyone. He'd witnessed the burning hell that was his parent's marriage. Then the frigid unhappiness of his aunt and uncle's. Coupledom was best being a light temporary thing.

Upshot was, she wasn't ready to play—not his kind of fast-but-fun game. Too freaking bad, because they'd be damn good at it. The fizz and snap between them was a kind of chemistry he'd never encountered before.

But learning this was good. It'd stop him from making a mistake that'd only end in a mess.

_Damn_.
Chapter Six

Xander worked extra long hours, meaning he worked 23 of 24, which was fine given he couldn't sleep without dreaming of her. In the last four years his security systems company had grown more quickly than he'd hoped it might. He needed to stabilize—fulfil the contracts he had while yet pushing for more. He'd recruited new engineers, extra sales people. The fact he now had so many employees was something of a surprise for a guy who liked to do everything himself. But he could delegate—he'd been careful in recruiting and he was reaping the rewards now of having a team that was loyal and as determined as he. But at the end of the day no one cared about the company like he did—there was always more he could do.

Four days into that fierce and frustrating regime, he needed a break from computer screens and barking instructions into his phone. He left the office at lunchtime. He needed to refuel, refresh and give his staff a break from his presence. He'd work from home this afternoon. And to be this damn hot? He needed a swim.

He figured he'd be in the clear. She wouldn't be there at this hour, not when the likelihood of other pool patrons was so high. It was obvious she wanted to be alone to try to swim. But up at the roof he stopped at the door. Because she stood by the edge of the water.

Freaking fate. Sarcastic serendipity. Seems he was paying for some past misdemeanour in the grand old scheme of things, because he was screwed to the rack here and stretched out something painful.

She'd not looked up. Not seen him. He didn't move. Just watched. He'd never been a voyeur, preferring an all action approach. But he didn't want to disturb her yet. Plus, he'd gotten hard just from the sight of her and he needed to sort that out. Except he remembered the soft, smooth warmth of her skin, the sexy little sigh as he'd touched her, the passion she'd unleashed when he'd kissed her.

Temptation screamed. Pure want clawed at him, urging him to move closer. How could he _not_ go for that again? Mercurial thoughts whispered—demand cloaked in desire. Maybe what she needed was a quick fling? Some fun to clear the cobwebs? He could so do that for her.

But then she turned slightly so he saw her profile more clearly. Even from this distance he saw the anxiety etched into her frozen features. It killed his lustful edge. Other instincts rose fast and sharp. He stepped nearer the glass, narrowing his gaze to watch her every movement.

Except she wasn't moving.

She was holding her breath and she wasn't even in the water. Her hands were fisted at her sides as she stared into the depths. Xander's lungs ached as he held his breath right along with her. It was a beautiful pool. Warm, clean, soothing. He couldn't wait to dive right in there. He'd take her in with him if she wanted. But it was pretty clear she didn't.

His head told him to back away and pretend he hadn't seen but his body, not listening, pushed forward. He couldn't walk away. What if she got into trouble? All his training insisted he stay. That he step right out.

Damn it, he couldn't bloody well resist.

Chelsea turned at the sound of the door to the stairwell opening. Her vision locked on to the guy now walking towards her. No way. He didn't look ready for a swim, not in those jeans and that damn ancient baby blue tee. She opted to go on the offensive—mainly to mask her own feelings from herself.

"Are you stalking me?" she asked.

He stopped walking, grinning at her from five paces away.

She felt the smile like a flame from the sun—scorching her nerves. How did he do that? "Every time I come to the pool now, you're here," she added, more defensively.

His brows lifted and he whipped off his tee-shirt. "Doesn't that make you the one who's stalking me?" He dropped the tee onto the nearest deck chair. "I told you I swim every day."

In the middle of the day? In the middle of the week? She'd never have thought he'd be here at this hour. That was why she was here now. Plus she'd thought trying in broad daylight might help her unease.

He cocked his head to the side. "I've never seen you actually wet, though."

_Wet?_ She wasn't thinking crude. She refused to think crude. Oh hell. She was thinking just how wet she was. Already. But maybe that wasn't so bad. One second in his presence and her fear had fled. So had every intention of trying to get in the water.

"I'll teach you how to swim if you want," he said, his hands on his belt. "I'm a very good swimmer. I worked as a lifeguard for years."

"I thought you were a doctor," she said, startled.

"You've been thinking about me?" His smile broadened. Something flashed in his eyes. A glint of satisfaction?

Chelsea clamped her jaw shut.

"Why'd you think that?" he added.

"The other night." She snapped. She so didn't want him thinking she'd been trying to dig info on him. Even if she'd wanted to she wouldn't have known where to start. Brad 'loose-lips' Doorman wasn't a viable option. The whole building would know she'd asked about him. "You helped that old lady."

"Because I'm a qualified lifeguard. They know I have more than the basic first aid skills."

Oh, right. Lifeguard huh? Somehow that didn't that surprise her—he had the 'rescue hero guy' routine down pat. "So why did the building guy call you 'Doc'?"

"Because I have a PhD."

Chelsea's jaw dropped.

Hands still at his waist, he stepped closer. "What, you thought I was just a pretty face?"

No, she'd thought he was a doctor and that it had been most unfair of him to be so hot and so smart. PhD was another level up— _grossly_ unfair. "What's your PhD in?" she asked. Fingers crossed it was some fluffy subject, though as a student she knew there really weren't any.

"Engineering. I own a security systems firm."

Oh, of course he did. Built and brainy and successful. No wonder the guy came across so confident. He really _was_ superman.

"But I can definitely help you swim," he added.

"I know how to swim."

"Really?" he murmured. "Swim a length for me then, butterfly." He made 'butterfly' sound like an endearment.

But her skin prickled. "I don't need to prove it to you."

"No?" He shrugged. "Prove it to yourself."

Her blood ran colder. Did he know something? He couldn't know. No one here did. That was the whole point.

"I don't like an audience," she fudged.

"I'm not watching."

"Yes you are." She challenged him, deliberately changing the subject to something different—though just as dangerous. "You like to watch me."

He looked at her. Assessing for a moment—like he'd assessed that older woman the other day, as if checking to see if she was coping okay. "All right," he said. "I do. I like to look at you. I especially like looking at you in your swimsuit."

She swallowed. She glanced down.

When she looked back up she found he'd moved right beside her—two inches inside her personal space. But she couldn't step backwards, that'd see her in the pool.

"Before I kiss you again, I need to know your name. My name is Xander Lawson."

"You're—" _not kissing me again_. But the words wouldn't come. Up this close he was overwhelmingly handsome. That brilliant easy smile, his blue eyes sparkling, his strength and sensuality palpable.

Irresistible.

His smile deepened. "You're shaking like a little kitty." He ran his hands down her arms. "You'd better tell me your name."

"Why?" Oh it was such a croak of a question. Mortifying.

"I can't hold off kissing you much longer."

She bit her lip—to stop her smile.

His eyes narrowed. "I'm going to have to tease it out of you?"

She said nothing. Couldn't. Which was stupid, because it wasn't that she was scared. In fact she wanted him to go ahead and try it. But she couldn't manage to tell him that.

"Okay." His smile broadened. "I won't kiss you until you tell me. No matter how much you beg."

That brought her voice back. "I won't be begging."

"No?" He smiled. "You like to set a challenge."

"And you're arrogant."

"Only because I'm sure I'm not the only one feeling this between us. Chemistry. Lust. Whatever. It's there and it's not lessening any."

"That doesn't mean—"

He put a finger on her lips. "The question is, _where_ do you want me to kiss you?"

She stared at him, unable to move, speak or even breathe as heat exploded within her as his words played over and over in her head. And the idea of _where_? The guy was _wicked_ —sheer sex on legs.

He captured her waist, his big hands heavy and firm just above her hips. "Where? Where? Where?" he murmured. Total tease.

She just kept staring—ridiculously mesmerized as he bent closer and closer. But he bypassed her face, leaning in close to her neck. She felt a hot, wet touch an inch below her ear. An all-out tremor shook her from tip to toe. Her fingers curled into fists at her side as she tried to contain her searing reaction.

"You lose," she breathed, unable to resist half leaning into his caress. She wanted another.

"Uh, uh," he denied. "That wasn't a kiss. That was a lick." He moved closer still and did it again.

His tongue scorched her skin—circling, tormenting. She angled her head, giving him greater access. And he used it. Teasing down the curve of her neck, to her collarbones and towards her shoulder. Her eyelids lowered, shielding her retinas from the brilliance of the blue sky, forcing her focus to narrow in on that one sense— _touch_.

She shivered as she felt the sharp nip of his teeth. He'd seemed to awaken some cord that ran from the nerves just below her skin right through to the tension coiling low in her belly. Spiking adrenalin higher. And desire.

"For the record," he muttered. "That was a nibble."

He licked the spot. Soothing it with a wicked swirling pattern that made her think way-too-rude things about the agility of his tongue.

That's when she realized one of his hands had left her waist and was firmly, easily sweeping south, tracing the leg-line of her swimsuit. Gorgeously close to her inner thigh—picking up from where he'd left the other night. Unable to resist, she slightly parted her legs, wanting more of the delicious sensations stealing through her body. He gently nipped along her shoulder while his fingers stroked too lightly, but ever closer to the place she wanted them most. He blew warm air over the skin he'd dampened and teased.

Heat washed over her, obliterating all thoughts other than the one at the forefront of her mind— _more_. Uncaring of how fast this was, she simply needed the ache inside assuaged. She needed to feel _him_. She swayed, leaning into the strength of those large hands and heard his pleased murmur. Earned another delicious lick. Pleasure ran through her, making her sparkle. She rocked her hips, desperate for him to slide inside her.

"Did you know lips are extremely sensitive?" he asked. "Thousands of nerve endings." He let go of her waist to run a finger along her upper lip, then her lower. She fought not to touch his finger with her tongue. But her mouth parted as his other hand breached the line of her swimsuit. Stroking her other lips.

_Oh mercy_.

She closed her eyes as surprise—heat—coursed through her.

"Soft, sensitive lips need special attention."

She shook, instinctively reaching out—her hands came into contact with his bare chest. She gasped. It was a wonder steam didn't curl from her fingertips. He was sheer, solid strength. So tempting.

His fingers worked, gentle but firm, rhythmic, swirling around her slick heat, teasing. But they didn't rub right on her good spot, didn't penetrate—she wanted them to. She squeezed all her muscles, gripping his shoulders as desire surged at full throttle, unable to restrain the urge to rock her hips closer. She wanted all of him to come closer. To kiss her. To do so much more than kiss her. And to get him to do that she had to—

"Chelsea," she broke.

"Ah, pretty Chelsea." His thumb swiped over her clit.

She clutched his shoulders, moaning as she thrust her hips into his hand—wanting him to rub her there again. To keep rubbing until she came. It honestly wouldn't take long.

But the tease still didn't kiss her, his thumb swiped again—too quickly. "Chelsea who?"

"Chelsea... Greene." She could barely remember.

He slid one arm firmly round her back, supporting her. His other hand was still between her legs, toying in her slickness and heat. She opened her eyes—momentarily embarrassed—until she saw the fierce, pleased look on his face. It made her need multiply.

But he dropped to his knees.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, half stunned, mostly so damn excited.

He gripped her hip with his hand to hold her still. The other pulled her swimsuit from her skin.

"I'm going to kiss your lips," he said, the smile audible in his voice. "I'm thinking French kiss."

Oh dear heaven. If he kissed her there now she'd come. This just didn't happen to her. She'd never gotten turned on by a virtual stranger before. Never went this far this fast with anyone. She'd never let a guy go down on her unless she'd been dating him a while. She wasn't dating this guy. And yet she wasn't running—oh no. Not when he touched like this, smiled with those hot ice eyes.

He bent his head, she felt his warm breath. She braced in anticipation, her burning blood racing in her veins. Only as his mouth got to within touch distance, a loud gurgling sound interrupted.

OMG. Was that her stomach?

He laughed and sat back to look up at her face. "Seems you're starving." He put both hands back on her waist and stood, leaving her feeling bereft.

Because yes she was starving. Her libido had come out of hibernation and realized it hadn't been fed in a long, long time.

"You came home for lunch and a quick dip?" he asked.

She blinked. Could the disappointment be any greater? "I'm working from home today." She inhaled deeply, trying to regain her control as easily as he had. But it wasn't anywhere near easy. She wanted that kiss. She wanted to lose herself in that heat.

"Here are your options," he said, looking down at her with that devilish blue gaze. "Lunch at one of the restaurants down the street. Or in my apartment. You've got one second to choose."

"Or?" She eyed him.

"I choose for you."

"You can't make me go to lunch with you."

He went very still. "You ready to find out what I can and can't make you do?"

She held his gaze but felt the flush beating its way up her neck and face.

His smile broadened. "Look at you," he murmured. "What pictures have you got going in your head?" He nodded, looking as if his thoughts were as wild as hers.

"Restaurant down the street." She ignored his whispered wickedness and answered the original question. "But I'm not wearing this."

"We'll stop by your apartment so you can change."

"Fine."

She grabbed her towel, glad to turn away and hide her breathlessness. Was she ready? She counted to ten to recapture some calm and _think_. This was just lunch. Going to lunch was okay. It was part of her progress—her return to some kind of social life. She wasn't going to go without sex the rest of her life. A mild flirtation with a playboy like this was probably the best thing for her. He'd teach her the rules she needed to master. Because she was never risking her heart in a real relationship again. She didn't deserve another real relationship.

"You're wearing that tee-shirt again." She glanced as he pulled the tee back on while keeping pace with her dawdle down the stairs.

"It's always been a favorite. That's why it's the one I grabbed when the alarm went off."

"Why such a favorite?"

"Happy memories." He smiled. "And now it has even more associated with it."

"Oh?"

"You're the only woman to have worn it."

"I'm so honored," she said mock seriously.

"I know you are." Mock serious right back at her.

She chuckled even as she shook her head. He was arrogance incarnated.

There was no chance he'd wait in the corridor. He walked in as soon as she opened up. She half wondered if he was going to pounce the second her door closed. More than half of her wanted him to.

But he didn't. He strolled into the center of her small lounge and stared. She glanced around—imagined seeing it for the first time with no clue of the reason. Yeah, it probably did look weird. She glanced at his expression, and her laughter bubbled out.

Xander looked slowly round the room. Had he misread her personality completely? She really was a total rule breaker? She'd set up some weed growing operation in her apartment in the middle of the city? He stared at the trays and trays of seedlings and the lamps on to promote their growth.

"You think I'm crazy, right?" She rested against the arm of her sofa and laughed some more—pretty much bent double at his expression.

His mood soared at hearing her laugh like that and frankly, he'd been surfing a happy wave as it was. Damn it felt good. He'd have to make her laugh more. But he couldn't look away from her walls for long. "What are you growing?"

There were hundreds—if not thousands—of small plants lining the shelves.

"Basil. Oregano. Stuff like that."

"In bulk?" She was turning her Manhattan shoebox into a market garden? "Most people put books on their bookcases."

"I know, I've had to put them in boxes."

"Why?"

"Well, I need the herbs."

"For what?"

She turned to him, her eyes alight with amusement and what—excitement? "You really want to know?"

"Absolutely." How could anyone not want to know? And he definitely wanted to know what it was that had her so enthused.

"I'm an intern at an urban art institute—a non-profit organization that tries to raise art and design awareness in the city."

He didn't get what the plants had to do with art. "I'm guessing you're an unpaid intern."

"Aren't we all?" She smiled, another small chuckle escaping.

He smiled right back at her. "And isn't New York already full of incredible art and design?"

"Sure, but sometimes we need reminding. Challenging. We need to shake things up a bit."

"With herbs?" How was that going to work?

"Legal ones." She laughed. "Sure, why not?"

He still didn't get it. He walked over to her, unable to resist crouching so he could see into her face better. "What is it you're planning?"

Her smile as she looked down at him was the cutest thing. "I'm working on a series of pop-ups. Temporary shops, eateries, gourmet soup places, coffee carts. Ultimately I'd love to do a whole precinct."

"So its retail?" She was going to sell the herbs?

"More than that. It's about urban growth and regeneration. Finding something where you'd least expect it—in a construction site or something there's suddenly something fun and whimsical but practical at the same time. Enhancing the communities we already have. Providing a focal point for a while."

"A focal point of herbs." He couldn't help the scepticism.

But she just laughed again which made him warm to her more. She wasn't bothered that he didn't get it? It was nice to meet someone who wasn't bothered about getting approval.

"I'm putting up a temporary pizza oven. A shack really. A literally 'living' room. The walls are going to be made with the herbs."

"Uh huh." He still couldn't quite see it but he was trying. "Hence the need for so many."

"That's right."

"You got people helping you?" It sounded to him like she was going to need it.

"Team Greene." She nodded.

"Cute." He chuckled. "Who's in the team?"

"Um." She colored. "Just me so far. But I'm working on it."

"Other interns don't want to get in on the action?" Was she gearing up for a total fail? He hoped not, it struck him she had a few burdens she was shouldering already.

"I think I've won one over. But some of them think it's not what you know but who you know."

The networking game. He understood it well. And though he knew shouldn't want to help—shouldn't complicate this—he couldn't resist the urge riding inside. "I might be able to introduce you—"

"No that's okay." She cut off his offer before he could make it. "I'm going to do it anyway. I'm not worried." Her smile quirked. "Much."

He nodded, briefly disappointed at her rejection, but impressed with her determination. She wanted to succeed independently. He respected that. "So all the plants—"

"Are going to be part of the display, yes. As well as being ingredients. Both form and function."

No wonder she always smelt so edible—she was living in a greenhouse. He looked up at the impish grin on her face and had to fight the sudden urge to lean forward and inhale her delicious scent.

"You'd better go get changed," he warned.

He paced the length of the small lounge, and back again after she'd slipped to her room. She really was Snow freaking White, with her good heart and her altruism.

But how was it she stayed in this apartment building? Upper East it wasn't, but it was one of the most exclusive on this side of the park. Hell, most of Manhattan was out of an unpaid intern's league. And with the security, the all too rare rooftop pool, the very selective screening process... he'd bet his lunch she had contacts in the building. But she didn't want to take advantage of other contacts or that kind of networking?

He thought back on what he knew. Her accident was the first thing he thought of. Red flags fluttered again. He really should stay away. Except he saw how she looked at him and damned if he could resist the invitation in those eyes.

She _wanted_ , but she was shy. That was okay. He'd draw her out—hell, he'd already pushed way further than he'd intended by the pool just then. As for the spark that flashed when he got close, the way she blushed when he said something so innocuous—what _was_ she imagining?

She liked it when he led.

Xander was more of a turn-about kinda guy—but maybe he could work on that with her. But he was going to have to be careful not to break his own rules. Already he'd succumbed to the urge to offer her help. Fortunately she'd refused. He was going to have to keep his usual boundaries firm.

Just fun. Always fast, fun and free. And in this case? Definitely just the once.

It was clear she didn't want to talk about her problem at the pool. Probably not her past or her accident either. She wanted to keep her secrets and her wounds closed? He was the same. He shared his past with no one—certainly not a woman he wanted to bed. Who wanted to revisit the horrors in their lives? So those shadows in her eyes weren't his concern. His only concern was their chemistry.

She reappeared dressed in a long skirt that floated when she walked and a not quite-sheer-enough white blouse. Pretty and feminine, like her. His mouth watered. Any lingering doubts about messing with her vanished. He was all wolf now.
Chapter Seven

Chelsea walked as quickly as she could to her door. The look on his face had her heating. Her body was thawing. She still couldn't believe he'd nearly gone down on her in public, in broad daylight. That she'd let him.

And now, would he block her exit with a heavy hand like he had at the pool the other night? She half hoped so. It was crazy, but she couldn't resist going with this. With him. She wanted to know what he'd try next—yet she couldn't admit to herself what she really hoped it would be. But instead of stopping her, he followed her out to the corridor.

"You have a favorite restaurant, or is this your first time in New York?" he asked.

Chelsea shook her head, feeling wired in the face of his focus, his acute attention. "I've been here lots, but you choose."

"Lots like ten trips, or lots like a hundred?"

She was from upstate New York but had stayed in Manhattan many times. She knew it pretty well. "Lots like fifty?" She hazarded a guess. "But this is my first time living here. Who doesn't want to live in the city, at least for a little while?"

"So you're not here to stay?"

She shook her head and led the way out of the building but then paused, waiting to follow his direction. "It's transitional. Like my work. Temporary installations."

"Why temporary?" He slowly drew her along the pavement.

"Why not?" She smiled. "Everything's temporary, right?"

"So you're an artist."

"I'm interested in urban design, yes. Challenging the environment we're in. Shaking it up a bit. And providing a talking point, preferably one that's a bit fun."

"But not fun enough to stick around?"

She shrugged. "The novelty wears off. Better to exit on a high."

"So what are you going to do once it's done?"

"Go to another city. Maybe a smaller town. Do some work there. Try a different project. See how it goes."

"It's all part of your study?"

She nodded. "Ultimately."

"Professor Greene sounds good."

She smiled. "Well Dr Lawson sounds good."

He grimaced. "It was my cousins who started calling me that. Even before I got the certificate. They like to tease."

"And it's stuck?"

"Unfortunately."

She smiled. Her stomach rumbled again.

"Better get some food into you before you keel over." He put his hand on her back, measuring his pace to hers and guided her into the busy bistro on the corner.

Pride and embarrassment flooded her. "I don't need you to help me."

"I'm not helping you, I'm letting all the other guys in here know you're with me." He grinned wickedly.

"I'm not _with_ you."

"Sure you are. This is a date. Didn't you realize?"

He said nothing as she stumbled, but his hand at the small of her back slid to tighten around her waist.

She was too busy swallowing the idea to pull away.

"This isn't a date. This is neighbors sharing lunch." She hadn't been on a date in so long.

He laughed and steered her towards a table. "It's a date."

Suddenly her damaged calf muscle tightened unbearably. She more fell than sat in the chair and as she did she knocked the water glass. In turn that knocked the small already-lit candle. In a panic she reached to grab it, to stop it setting fire to the place, and in doing so knocked the small single stem vase right off the table.

It shattered on the floor.

She froze and slowly lifted her gaze from the damp rose mess splattered on the wood. Everyone was staring at them. All conversation silenced.

Self-conscious she finally braved looking directly at Xander. In less than six seconds she'd proved her incompetence. If her mother were here she'd be hovering and mopping and fussing and making Chelsea more shaky and useless—albeit with the best of intentions.

But Xander just smiled. "You want salad or steak? They do all kinds of both here."

"Salad. Greek please. Sorry," she said weakly, sending the waiter an apologetic-but-grateful smile as he whisked away the wreckage in record time before coming back to take their orders.

"So what are you going to do while you're in New York?" Xander asked once the waiter had headed to the kitchen. "If you're here only a short time you want to get everything you can out of it."

She sucked in one last shred of moxie. "I'm thinking of signing up to a roller derby club." She'd go girl power. Luisa, the coffee diva, had put ideas in her head. Why couldn't she get well enough to do that?

"With that knee?" Xander's left eyebrow lifted.

"Sure," she said defiantly. "It's getting stronger every day."

"You're working out with it?"

"Of course." She was walking a little further on it each day. She'd get there.

"But not swimming."

Fortunately her Greek salad arrived, so she avoided answering by giving effusive thanks to the waiter. He was so getting a big tip from her, his timing was perfection.

"I meant it when I said I'd teach you to swim." Xander said the second the waiter walked away again.

"And I meant it when I said I already could."

"So why don't you?"

"I do. I just prefer privacy."

He was silent a moment. "Why?"

A lie based on truth was more believable, right? "My leg. I feel self-conscious. I don't swim as well as I once did, and while I'm working on it I don't like people staring at it."

"I won't stare at it," he said calmly. "There are other bits of your body I'd like to stare at instead."

She choked.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"Lettuce went down the wrong way."

"Chelsea." Firmer that time.

She'd known the question was coming. She sighed. "Car accident. It's a lot better."

"Were you driving?"

She paused, her fork part-way lifted but she looked directly at him, wanting him to understand this was non-negotiable. "I don't want to talk about it." Ever.

He held her gaze. Slowly he nodded. As he did the serious look in his eyes vanished and the roguish one returned. "I'm Scorpio. My favorite color is navy. I like apples but I don't like bananas—except in milkshakes or baking. I love roasted red peppers."

"What are you doing?" She laughed at the random change in topic.

"Telling you ten things about myself so you won't feel like you're sleeping with a stranger."

Her jaw almost hit the floor. She shut it with a snap and stared at him her brain both going to mush and becoming acutely alert. Unperturbed he met her gaze, a half smile on his lips and that spark kindling his eyes.

"I can't decide if you actually mean that, or are just trying for a reaction." And he _was_ getting a reaction. A mix of astonishment and scalding heat. The heat was winning, melting her resistance, her reason, slickening her muscles, making her boneless all over again.

"Why not both?"

That irresistible mix of laughter and roguishness lit his eyes making him so damn attractive. She lifted her glass and took a long sip of iced water and tried to rein herself in. Well of course the man thought she'd sleep with him the second he asked, given the way she'd been hot and wet and writhing against him less than half an hour ago...

It was a bad move to remember those minutes in his arms. She was incinerating from the inside out and the urge to fly straight to the source of the flame was overpowering.

Okay. She set the glass down. She'd play the game. Twist it. "You're not telling me anything relevant."

"I'd have thought vegetables were very relevant." He speared a piece of steak. "Especially to a woman who loves herbs."

"Where did you grow up?" She ignored his comment and went with her burgeoning curiosity.

He cocked his head, his wicked grin widening. He waggled his fork at her the way an old-school strict teacher waved a ruler. "I'll only tell you if you tell me. The questions you ask me, you have to be prepared to answer yourself. Game?"

"Sure." She could work with that. "Where did you grow up?"

"California in the early years. Summerhill in the later. It's a ski town."

"Nice. You ski?"

He nodded. "So your turn—where'd you grow up?"

"A town near Rochester." She picked at another piece of lettuce. "Where are your parents?"

"My mother lives in Summerhill."

"And your father?"

He shrugged.

Hmm. Broken home? She wanted to ask more, to challenge, to _pry_. But didn't want to have to reciprocate. And judging by the amused look on his face he knew it. So far, so not enlightening. She pondered some possibilities. Then couldn't resist a little tease. "Vanilla or chocolate?"

His expression sharpened. "Chocolate. I like the richness—I like the variety—from rich, dark and bitter to creamy milk and sweet. You?"

"Vanilla," she said, mainly to be contrary. "The scent. The subtlety. And yet it too can be very rich."

"You're not a chocolate lover?"

"I like it, but the question was preference, right?" She gave him a coy look. "If forced to choose."

"Okay. Another question?" he prompted.

"Best moment ever."

He paused, putting on a ponderous look. Then a wry grin appeared, chasing away the solemnity and putting the wicked glint back in his eyes. "It's going to sound cheesy."

"I don't mind a little cheese," she said softly.

"You want me to be honest?"

She nodded.

"First summer on the job."

"Engineering?"

"Lifeguard."

Oh of course—it was his hero syndrome. "You saved someone?" She'd pulled someone from the water too. But it had been too late. She didn't know if she could bear listening to his story.

He shook his head." I was fourteen. It was a dog."

Relieved yet touched, a small burst of giggles escaped her.

"It mattered to that little kid," he said, all seriousness.

Of course it did. It was sweet. "Did you have a dog when you were a boy?"

He shook his head. "Your turn to answer."

"Yeah, we had a black spaniel. He was—"

"No," Xander interrupted with a knowing smile. "Best moment."

Damn. She looked away. It should have been the night Tom proposed. "I've had lots of good moments," she fudged. "Still waiting on the best."

He kept watching her—apparently waiting for her to say more. But she didn't. Instead she looked into his pale blue eyes and felt her insides melt.

"That's your ten," he finally said. "Know me well enough now?"
Chapter Eight

This was crazy. She should be working on her project. She should be making calls or hitting the streets to scope out possible venues or drumming up some kind of promo. Instead she was refusing to be intimidated as Xander ignored all 'elevator etiquette' and turned his back to the doors sliding shut. As the compartment began its ascent he faced her, intent apparent in every line of his body. A half smile curved his lips, his blue eyes burned.

She stood right at the back of the small space, planting her feet a little apart as if she were bracing for a blow... _or something_. The atmosphere thickened. Each beat of her heart slammed in her ears. She _wanted_ , but she couldn't seem to move or speak. She just stared at him until it seemed the rest of the world had disappeared. Stupidly dizzy she leaned back, letting the wall support her. A sweet poison spread along her veins, causing need to uncurl in every cell and heighten her senses. Languorous, yet on edge, she waited, reading the heat in his expression. The dare, the desire. The _demand_.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. She peeled away from the wall, dragging her attention from him and making herself move out onto her floor. Reality returned as she walked to her door. She couldn't do this. A one night stand in the afternoon with a virtual stranger? It was preposterous. It wasn't the kind of thing she ever did. And she couldn't do it now.

"You can't look at me like that and then just walk away." His low, teasing whisper came from right behind her.

For the merest moment she paused, touched by that smile in his voice.

His arms encircled her. Tightly.

She closed her eyes, stunned at the rush of warmth and need that flooded within her. "This is crazy."

"That doesn't make it wrong."

"I never do this."

"That still doesn't make it wrong."

Slowly, testingly, she tried to move. His grip loosened only enough for her to pivot on the spot. She stared up at him. His intention—his desire—was clear.

"One afternoon. One fantasy. Just one." His eyes were dominated by the huge dark pupils in the center, drawing her into their velvety temptation—warm, liquid pools. "Chelsea?"

She was as breathless as if she'd been fighting for her freedom. He'd done nothing except say a few things and come after her, yet she was unbearably turned on—aching for a moment of physical intimacy.

Her first time in so long should be good, right? Should be free? She mightn't be ready for a relationship, but now she was definitely ready for touch. For release. And he was offering. She knew he'd give her better than _good_.

But she couldn't speak. Couldn't say the word she knew he wanted to hear.

He switched his grip, tightening one arm around her waist while lifting the other hand to gently brush through her hair. His smile deepened as his action brought him that little bit closer. Chelsea held her breath as he tugged at the elastic band she'd used to tie it back with.

As her hair fell free he dropped his hand to her waist. Ever so slowly he slid upwards to lightly cup her breast. His eyes never wavered as he watched her reaction to his caress.

There was no hiding her reaction. She pressed her lips tight but her slight moan still sounded. She clamped her muscles yet they still shuddered with that simplest of intimate touches. She'd been burning since before lunch, it only took this little expression of his desire to ignite her again.

His hand moved, his thumb smoothly rubbing, sliding over her taut nipple. His other arm tightened round her waist, pulling her closer into his heat while at the same time he stepped forward, backing her up against her door, giving her the support her jello-legs needed.

She pressed her palms flat against the wood at her back, struggling to regain her balance and strength. She didn't want to resist this, but she couldn't reach out and touch him. She hovered, trapped in a horrible moment of uselessness. It was like she was locked in an invisible cage.

Time slowed as he moved forward, his lips twisted in that dangerously cocky smile. He pressed a tiny teasing kiss on her cheek, very near her sensitive ear. A light brush of lips, then another—only this time there was a hint of a nip of teeth.

A promise of both passion and play.

_That_ was what she wanted. He drew back and looked in her eyes, smiling again at whatever he saw there. Then he bent and pressed another too tiny, too tormenting kiss a mere millimeter from her mouth. And another. And another.

So close, but not quite.

Chelsea licked her lips as he kept teasing. But still he didn't kiss her full on the mouth, didn't claim her with his tongue like she was craving him to.

And then, as he brushed and nibbled, he swept his hands in tandem—from her waist to her hips and back up again to her breasts and back down. Learning her curves. Then the pattern diverged. He lifted one hand back to cup her breast while he slid the other beneath the waistband of her skirt.

He had no hesitation.

She had no resistance.

Her eyes closed. The impact of his sensuality intensified. Over the top of her shirt he stroked her nipple into a stiff, all-but-screaming peak, but he slid his other hand slowly but firmly lower still—into her knickers.

Chelsea shivered as his fingers spread slightly. His middle finger rubbed over the narrow strip of her hair, his other fingers slipped over her smooth bare skin. They converged again right at the top of her thighs, almost touching her already swollen, ready clitoris. Her fists clenched, her knuckles pressing into the hard wood as her whole body tensed. But he bypassed that needy spot and worked lower still—fingers following her curves.

Reckless, responsive, her hips rocked the once—pushing her closer to his hand. She needed more. She felt the smile on his lips as he kissed her face yet again. Still not her mouth. Still not enough.

Now his lips trailed south, nibbling at the vulnerable skin of her neck. She tilted her head fractionally, wordlessly letting him access more of her.

All of her.

She was lost in the darkness, in the heat. Her muscles slackened, yet tension coiled deep within—as if all her energy was gathering, preparing for action. Hot, wet, she was ready to writhe on him. She'd hurtled back to this point so quickly, she wanted to leap from it this time. She wanted him to fulfil the promise his teasing touch made. She wanted him to do whatever he wanted. And she could feel what he wanted in the surety of his fingers, in the hardness of the legs pressing against hers.

And yet she couldn't move. He didn't either—didn't take her mouth, didn't plunge deep, didn't do anything more.

A woeful whimper escaped her. She wanted him to do _everything_.

He lifted his lips from her neck at her small sound. Chelsea opened her eyes, holding her breath.

"You want me to take control?" he said, his voice roughened. He kept that intense focus, reading her every damn expression. "You want me to lead?"

Chelsea didn't care whether he was questioning or commenting—only that he understood something she'd yet to admit to herself. She didn't stop to think about it. Didn't care about anything as long as he kept stroking her. He moved his fingers, slipping through her wet heat, so close to sliding right inside her. She sucked in a half breath. Waiting. Wanting.

"Chelsea?" He waited too, not moving that half-millimeter she so badly needed.

Her lungs still rigid, she forced herself to respond. A sharp, jerky nod. She pressed her lips together.

_Damn_. She didn't know why she couldn't get the words out. Why she couldn't move—to reach out and take. She should be able to do better than this. She was an adult, fully responsible for her own actions.

But action seemed to be impossible. She swallowed back the brick in her throat, struggled to explain. "I'm sorry to be so... selfish and..."

She stopped, her breathing choppy. Why were the words so hard to say? Why was she so choked? Why so tense?

With a single finger, he slowly stroked her again. "And?"

Her hips moved in a slow, small circle. "Lazy," she whispered.

His smile flashed, lighting his whole face. "Don't be sorry. I can handle taking control. And I can see how much you want me. From the look in your eyes to the sweetness of your body."

She blinked, but couldn't break their eye contact.

"And I'm sure that if I slide inside you now, I'll feel just how much you want me," he added.

Her belly quivered. Deeper, where she wanted him to delve and discover the truth he already knew. Her body clenched on unhappily empty space. She wanted him to fill her. To satisfy her.

_Now_.

He bent his head. "I'm going to take," he said, low and rough, right into her ear. "And I'm not going to let you be lazy." His laugh was a shot of warm air. "So you don't need to worry about that." He lifted his head to read her response.

Unaware—uncaring—of what her own expression might be revealing, she stared at the implacable determination in _his_ face. She shivered.

Something shifted in his eyes—his sudden smile softened the hungry edge.

"I understand that you can't tell me exactly what you want yet," he said quietly. "But if you say 'no', I'll listen." He angled his head to look even deeper into her eyes. "Do you understand?"

Warmth flooded her. She licked her lips, then swallowed. The action made no difference to how parched she felt— _so_ hot. It was like she'd been struck by a solar flare and was sizzling. There was no shelter, no shade. And he had no mercy.

"Say my name so I know you understand." His voice hardened.

Another shiver wracked her. His command made her want wetter.

"Say my name."

She gasped as he repeated his demand—rougher. She swallowed again, trying to loosen her tense vocal cords. But this she could do. This felt right. "Xander." The tiniest whisper.

His ice-blue gaze was fixed on her, so intense and compelling she couldn't turn away. His sure hands held her in that firm, intimate hold—one tight against the curve of her sex, one at her breast. "Say it again."

"Xander." Stronger that time.

He bent his head. His teeth gently nipped her lower lip.

Another small sound escaped her. A whimper. Couldn't he kiss her properly?

But he leaned his head back out of reach, a wicked smile on his face. "I like it when you can't control your reaction to me. To what I do."

It seemed she couldn't control herself at all. His fingers worked again—sliding through her heat. Still not penetrating, but so teasingly close. Rhythmically he stroked, back and forth. Not quite swiping over her clit, not quick sliding inside—but teasing all the hypersensitive flesh in between. Her arousal heightened, heated. Until she was moving, her hips circling, rocking—back and forth and again. _More_.

OMG she was going to come—here in the hallway, where anyone could see. With him not even kissing her.

"You're not breathing," he said. "Darling, if you don't take a breath you're going to pass out."

Dazed, she dragged her focus onto him. "I can't." The words barely sounded, her throat was so tight and dry.

He smiled. And her to immense disappointment he slipped his hand out of her waistband. He lifted both hands to frame her face. Smiling, he bent close and blew the smallest shot of air into her mouth.

She gasped at the intimacy.

"That's it," he murmured, sliding a hand down the length of her spine and bringing her in tight again. "Breathe," he whispered. Bending closer he closed the gap between their mouths and finally kissed her.

She opened instantly—couldn't not open when facing that kind of insistence from his hungry lips. Both his hands clutched her closer. His tongue swept into her mouth, twirling to learn her, then teased—short strokes, long. Leaving her in no doubt about the degree to which he was going to play with her. He'd play hard and long, take control and make her respond until she had nothing left. Certainty settled within her. She moaned again, deep in her throat as he adjusted the kiss, letting his teeth nip her lower lip before releasing her.

She dragged in a ragged breath. "That your usual mouth to mouth style?" She desperately tried to regain her sass—and her sanity. But it was obliterated in the heat.

"I'm a very, very good lifeguard." He kept one arm curled around her but to her amazement he somehow had her key in his hand. He kept her plastered to him as he unlocked her door and pushed her inside.

"Smooth." She blinked as he shut her door and then walked her backwards down her little corridor.

He'd lifted her key from her pocket that easily? What other James Bond style skills did he have?

He must have read her thoughts because he winked. "Chequered past. Misspent youth."

"But you crossed to the good side?"

"You got it."

With the break in the intimate touch she felt bereft. Her bones wobbled as reality and doubt returned. He saw that too. He looked at her, purpose apparent in every line of his body. "Spread your legs for me, sweetheart."

Was she really going to let him order her around like she was some brainless sex moppet? She clamped her treacherous upper thighs together and shook her head.

His smile widened.

Truthfully—albeit belatedly—she was embarrassed about how hot she already was. How wet. After just a few kisses? A couple of strokes? She'd nearly come fully clothed and in public. She didn't do that.

"You know what I think?" He walked her backwards another three steps so she was against the wall again, only this time in the privacy of her apartment. "I think you like a little imagination." He cupped her breast again, then slid firmly down her stomach, back beneath her waistband. "I think it pushes your button." He leaned closer, his hand hovering above her mound. "Want me to detonate it?"

He watched her closely as if he was trying to see inside her head. But he so didn't want to see the mess going on in there. And she didn't want to _think_.

His fingers very slowly, carefully resumed the rhythmic, torturing strokes. She quivered, trying to hold back the incredibly intense response of her body. It was too much—so extreme it was embarrassing.

"Don't hold your breath, darling. Breathe."

She gulped the smallest bite of air. It wasn't enough.

He leaned closer. Kissed her.

She couldn't resist the urge any longer. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth. Desperate for a taste. She didn't want the kiss to end, only deepen. For his fingers to keep flicking just there so she'd finally, finally come and be freed from this tension.

"That's it." Sounding pleased, he broke away. His light blue eyes bored into her. "You know we superheroes like a reward for all the good things we do. But we're not always perfect. Sometimes we just take what we want even if we know we shouldn't." Slowly he teased open her blouse, one small button at a time. He parted the halves and ran his fingers along the lace-tipped edge of her bra. "Sometimes we just can't resist. It's the adrenalin. The relief. The rush from winning. We need to burn it off."

He claimed her mouth again, his tongue plundering until she clung. He massaged the swell of her breasts, then slipped a hand to her back to release the catch of her bra. Thank heavens. She ached to be naked. As if he heard her, he pushed her blouse from her shoulders.

"And our heroine is carried away—literally," he murmured as he lifted away to look at her reddened, aching nipples as he pulled down the lacy cups. "A guy that strong turns her on. But she wants to know just how strong he really is. Does he have superhuman stamina?" His lips quirked. "She can't resist testing him. And herself. She wants to know whether she has the strength to take him. Can she cope? Or will he ravish every one of her senses?"

He stripped the bra from her, his fingers grazing down her arms. That slight touch, together with the freedom of her bared breasts, set off a storm of sensation inside.

"Part of her likes not having the choice." He bent, licking around her areola until she whimpered. "He's too strong for her. If he wanted, he could take anyway. She likes that edge."

He put his lips around her taut nipple. Then she felt his teeth. Her lungs froze. In that moment when she was locked in anticipation, he bit down very, very slightly.

She cried out—shock and then pleasure rippling over her as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub then sucked her whole nipple into his mouth for a warm, blissful moment. But then cool air hit her breast as he released her.

She wanted him to do it again, to do the same to the other. But instead he spoke—soft and teasing.

"The truth is she can't say no to him. She doesn't want to stop him. Because she wants it all. She wants him to take it all." Xander's voice lulled her, drawing her deeper into the web of desire. Mesmerizing.

He was spinning a sexual fantasy around her and she leaned into it, embraced it. Escaped into it.

Because it was true.

She wanted him to test her, to totally push her. She wanted to feel all his strength.

"I'm going to take it all," he promised.

He spread her legs and knelt between them. Firmly he curled a hand around her ankle and lifted her foot, placing it back further apart from the other. He shifted his knees, pressing them against the arches of her feet, ensuring she was kept spread. He skimmed the tips of his fingers up her legs—brushing her scar, her thinner calf muscle as he did. Chelsea tensed. But his fingers kept moving. His eyes were locked on hers, but he said nothing. His hands skimmed up until he grabbed the hem of her skirt, bunching it so he could get to the skin beneath. Then, still holding the fabric, he locked her fists in his big, capable hands. Her lashes lowered as she watched his dark head draw nearer. His hot mouth open, his tongue lashing, he teased her.

She jerked and then leaned back against the wall. She groaned, unable to stop the raw sound of yearning. She wanted her panties off. She wanted his hands back on her bare skin, his mouth too. The heat and wet of his tongue through the thin cotton covering her wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

She rocked against him, wanted to come so badly. Wanted to feel him inside her. Wanted the insane moments of ecstatic relief that only orgasm could bring.

Her legs shook. She couldn't stay standing. She was going to come—and in doing that she was going to crumple to the floor. She whimpered, sighing again and again with each lash of his tongue across her cotton covered clit. She didn't want it like this, she wanted it bare.

But it hit. Quick, sharp, sweet ecstasy convulsed through her. Her hands twisted, tightening on his—gripping him hard as the waves rippled through her. Joyous, decadent, thrilling waves—that washed through her far too soon.

And as the tension left, her legs slithered. But the ache was still there.

He stood quickly and scooped her into his arms. She looked into his face and saw the satisfied, predatory smile of a man who had a woman exactly where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be. But it wasn't enough.

He walked quickly. She felt the softness as he placed her on her bed. His hand was firm on her shoulder, pushing her back to lie flat. Her excitement mounted again as she felt his hands feathering light strokes up her shins, to her knees. She arched towards him as his hands came to her waist. He slid the skirt from her, leaving her only in the plain white panties that had only the slightest lace trim along the edge.

"Very sweet." He gazed over her. "Very hungry." He ran a hand up her thigh. "And right now, very much mine."

In a second his tee-shirt was in the far corner of the room.

She raised up onto her elbows to watch as he unbuckled his belt and then unfastened his jeans. He stopped and pulled something from the back pocket.

Any last little concerns had long ago disappeared in the heat. This was an experience she couldn't deny herself. In fact, it was perfect—a sating of her needs without emotional entanglement. A fantasy with a guy who didn't want a relationship any more than she did. For wildly different reasons no doubt. But the outcome was the same.

Avidly she watched as he rolled on the condom, lost in the moment now. She was glad she was lying down—her legs quivered. She should have known he'd be hung. With shoulders like that, his height, it made sense every part of him was in proportion. All but giant. Partly wary at his weight and size, the rest of her couldn't wait to embrace the challenge.

He'd be all challenge.

Lying back on the bed, her legs splayed, she couldn't help lifting her hips in an uncontrollable dance.

"Now," he said lightly, watching her every tiny movement. "Where was I?" His gaze zeroed in on her panties again. "Oh yeah."

The mattress depressed as he crawled onto the bed. This time he straddled her legs—keeping one knee either side of her so her knees were forced together. So not what she wanted.

He chuckled. "If it's my fantasy, it's my call how we play."

Instinctively she squeezed hard inside on the flare of desire his words stoked.

"And you like that idea a lot don't you." His eyes kindled.

He'd felt her inner squirming?

He bent and with unerring precision sucked on her clit through the cotton again. She nearly burst out of her skin. He chuckled and swept his hands up towards her ribcage and then down again, always stopping just below her breasts. She arched, wanting to drive him faster.

"I like things slow. Fully satisfied," he muttered. "I've been thinking about you too long to race now. I plan to linger."

He nuzzled her breasts—kissing, licking, sucking every inch of them, then working down her quivering belly. Until finally, finally he peeled her wet panties from her, spreading her legs so he could fit between them. Bracing above her he looked into her eyes—his expression determined and hungry, but also light. He was going to make it good. She understood that.

"Breathe," he instructed, bending to kiss her at the exact moment he pushed forward.

Chelsea gasped, then groaned. She was wetter than she'd been in her life, lax and warm from the orgasms she'd had already, yet it was still an effort to take him. But the pleasure? Oh, the pleasure was unspeakable. She breathed heavy and quick as she almost sank under the unutterably good sensations. She slid her hands up his back, tracing the strong muscles, feeling the slick, strong breadth of him, shaking her head side to side as he bore down on her, as she struggled to stay sane.

He thrust slow but deep, pivoting his hips to adjust his angle fractionally each time. Easy, sweet circles that caused incredibly hot friction against her clit. She stared up at him—overwhelmed by his sheer physicality. His muscles rippled as he worked into her. Watching him, feeling him, hearing him—it led to sensorial overload. She panted, overwhelmed, uncontrollably soaring towards release. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, her body arched.

"That's it," he muttered. "I want to feel you come around me."

She dimly heard his growl as she came. Dazed she saw him arching back, tossing his head as she contracted on him again and again—her body taut and twisting under the relentless pulse of his.

"Feels good," he said. "Let's have that again."

He had to be kidding. There could be no _again_. She lay exhausted, her arms and legs spread wide and lax.

He thrust inside her to the hilt but then rested on his elbows for a moment, his smile pleased and teasing. "You can do it. You're incredible."

Not as incredible as him. Why the hell hadn't he come yet? What was the man made of? How could he not have lost control just then? It had felt amazing. He was so hot and strong and big and relentless and—

Suddenly she knew she didn't want to let him go just yet. She wanted it again—wanted _more_.

He smiled, seeming to know the exact moment when she somehow found some strength. Some attitude roared back despite the sensual exhaustion. She gripped one of his butt cheeks, curling her fingers into the rock hard muscle. His grin quirked. She didn't release him, but tried to hold him in place—locked deep within her—as she rocked her hips up, clenching her inner muscles at the same time. It was beyond time that the man came. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it carefully in a controlled sigh.

"See," he breathed in again. "You're amazing." He paused as she clenched down on him again. "You're ready."

He moved. A couple of slow, testing thrusts. But then he stopped. She frowned, but he reached to grab her ankle in his big hand. He lifted her leg. On auto she bent her knee to aid him. He hooked her leg over his shoulder, then reached to do the same to her other one. Excitement flared in her belly.

He laughed, then slid his forearms beneath her back, curling his hands round the top of her shoulders. She was utterly trapped—opened up as wide as possible to him, his pillow, his prisoner. And he had a tight grasp on her so he didn't push her away from him with the force of his thrusts.

Because he was going to slam into her. She could see the promise in his eyes, the determination in his jaw. He was going to fuck her over the edge.

She panted, excitement making the blood roar in her ears. She wanted this with a passion she'd never believed she could feel. Not again. Not so soon.

But then he gave it to her. One slam, closely followed by another. Deep, hard, fast. Her throaty moans matched his rhythm. Good thing his ass was for grabbing because she could do nothing but hang on as he pounded into her. Each thrust so powerful, he pushed the sensations through her entire body again and again until she could no longer think or speak or even see. She could only feel. She was on fire yet she shivered uncontrollably until more, even deeper, pleasure rippled out from her sex consuming her whole body and mind in a tension so extreme she wasn't sure she'd survive it.

He bent. Kissed her. Crushed her lips so fiercely she couldn't break free even as she came. So she screamed in his mouth, harsh and wild. Her teeth scraped his lips. Her nails scratched his lower back. Her legs locked around him—clamping. And at last she felt the uncontrolled tightening of his fingers—his whole body. And she heard the series of feral shouts as he spurted into her.

She gasped as she took it from him, shocked at the force of him, and with the depth of her own pleasure at finally fulfilling his desire—the flood of raw satisfaction and pride at making this fiercely strong man fall over her in relief.

Sweat slickened, she closed her eyes, not minding the weight of him or the way he rested with his face pressing into her shoulder.

But aftershocks made her tremble and twitch uncontrollably. Inside and out she felt too sensitive. Now tears were embarrassingly close.

He carefully lifted her legs down, stretching her out and then turning her away from him with firm but gentle hands.

"We'll shower in a minute," he murmured in her ear, cuddling up close to her from behind. "Right now you need me."

She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone. That was the way she intended to roll. But he didn't give her a choice. Without saying another word, he locked her into his embrace, his strong body spooning hers.

She was grateful. Looking into his eyes at this moment would have her horribly vulnerable. But he was a pro, wasn't he? Offering the security of strong arms while her emotions levelled off after that intense experience, yet not risking the false intimacy of loving looks and deep kisses. He knew exactly what he was doing. This was all it was. Good sex with a generous stranger.

It sure as hell had been good.

He kissed her shoulder briefly but still said nothing. Instead he rhythmically swept a light hand down her arm, seeming to know just how much she needed a touch to ground her and ease her over-sensitive nerve endings down.

He'd pushed her over the edge again and again, pounding the adrenalin out of her, wringing all her emotion out in that storm of sensuality. Now she was worn out, limp and in the end, asleep.
Chapter Nine

Darkness surrounded her. She couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. But she had to try. She had to keep trying. Diving deeper into the darkness, fumbling to find him. To help. But she was useless. Useless against the weight, the lack of light, the burning instinct pushing her to the surface...

She woke—gulping in a deep breath, her lungs screaming to burst. But she wasn't screaming aloud. She'd not been able to scream. It had all been blocked inside. Her screams had only sounded in her head.

Wide-eyed she stared in front of her, her fingers twisting on the sheet at her side.

Light. It was light.

Reality—the day—flashed back. Her decision to work from home. Lunch. _Xander_.

She flinched again, then froze. He was right behind her—a furnace of heat and hardness. Oh hell. A different panic washed over her. _Please, please let him still be asleep_. Please don't let him have woken when she'd stiffened as she'd woken. She didn't want to admit to the nightmare, definitely didn't want him to think she was a total nutjob.

She listened, holding her breath again so she could hear. His breathing was regular and smooth but his arm banding across her ribs tightened infinitesimally. It was such a slight increase in pressure she wasn't sure if it actually happened or not. She remained as still as she could, but his warmth and evenness slowly seeped into her again. Relief swept through her as she recognized his relaxation. He hadn't woken. Her vulnerability remained hidden. He wouldn't know, wouldn't ask. And she was cocooned in an embrace. Alive and, for once, not alone. She covered his strong forearm with her hand. The demons driven away by the light, by company.

But inside the torment remained. It might have been a dream today, but that night all those months ago, it had been real. And while she was safe now, the man she'd loved then, wasn't.

Xander counted, keeping his breathing regular, even, deep. Some nightmare she'd just had. She hadn't cried out, hadn't thrashed around the bed and punched him by accident or anything. Instead she'd curled into even more of a ball, shaking like some terrified kitten, her entire body twisted in an expression of raw pain. _Agony_.

Her jaw had clamped shut and she'd seemed to contract in on herself until it was too much and she could hold it in no longer. She'd woken with a harsh gasp, as if she'd not breathed fresh air in eons.

He'd felt her shock as she'd stiffened. Then she'd caught herself and gone completely silent—catching her breath again, he'd almost been able to see her listening for his breathing. She hadn't wanted him to know.

He could understand that. He'd never wanted anyone to know the fears that had once made him hide. So he feigned sleep now with regular, deep breaths, working hard to keep his body relaxed. Eventually she settled again, resting her hand on his arm, keeping it tight about her. Only then did she relax, finally falling asleep again.

While he lay awake.

He knew nightmares. He knew the extreme vulnerability those first few seconds upon waking, just before you realized it had been a dream and that you were safe after all. For years he'd had dreams like that—too many to count. Trapped in icy dread, fear, futility. He knew what it was like to hide and hold your breath until your lungs burned, for fear of being heard.

You can't leave me. You'll never get away from me. You and the brat. You're mine.

Always he'd woken covered in horrible cold sweat and with a racing heart that took too long to settle. He mightn't have had one like that in while, but that didn't mean he didn't remember. Some things could never be forgotten. Not least the real memories that served as muse for the nightmares.

But he wasn't going to intrude on that vulnerable just-woken moment for her. He didn't know her well enough. Frankly he didn't want to know the cause of hers—though he suspected it had to do with the accident that had claimed her fiancé and crushed her leg. But he had enough terrors of his own to deal with, he couldn't take on hers too. Yet he felt a quiet satisfaction that his presence had helped her. She'd burrowed back into his embrace and found enough comfort there to fall asleep again. It was instinct, of course. He was bigger than her, stronger and she probably felt safe in his arms. But it felt absurdly good to know she trusted him not to hurt her. And she was right, he wouldn't. He was only about having a good time. Easy was all he ever did and ever wanted. Nothing serious, never heartache. A lot of fun for a little while.

That ability to have fun didn't come as easy to her though. For all her sass talk back at him, she couldn't initiate the play. She'd wanted—needed—him to take complete control. To give her no 'choice.' Why? Did she need to be absolved of 'guilt'? Did she have some 'good girl' hang-up about sleeping with a near stranger? Well, she wouldn't be the first woman he'd met who'd worried about that—for about five seconds.

Frankly Xander loved a game. He loved taking control. But there was always choice at the heart of it. And she'd responded to that lame superhero scenario. Once involved she'd given it good. She'd risen to his challenge, every bit as strong as she'd reckoned the other night. Yet every bit as soft and needy as he'd thought.

Sensitive. Insatiable.

The sensual promise between them had been strong, but the reality had been a revelation. Her unfettered response had pulled an intense reaction from him. As fantastic as sex usually was, that was spectacular.

He'd known she was emotional afterwards. You couldn't allow yourself to be that exposed, experience sensations that extreme and not have a moment of vulnerability in the aftermath. He'd been the same. But he'd said nothing despite the weight in his chest—that heavy, aching feeling that had nothing to do with the physical. He recognized something within her that he shared—that thing that caused nightmares.

Pain. Loss. Fear.

But the only way to work through that intense aftermath was in a calm, quiet embrace. He'd kept her turned away from him to keep it purely physical. That was all this was and all it could ever be. He didn't want to face her, to kiss her, to let her confuse comfort with caring of a deeper level. Because she was screwed up, no doubt about it. And so was he.

But she was trying hard to work through it and he respected that. He knew how much effort it took to come out the other side.

If it were only fantasy sex, some night-time companionship that she needed, he'd be happy to provide more. Having her underneath him—her breathing erratic, with those little whimpers escaping haphazardly—was insanely good. He'd do just about anything to have her like that again and again and again.

Except that was exactly what he _shouldn't_ do. Because she needed more than a few fun fucks. Already she'd clutched his arm closer. Needing contact. Comfort.

He regretted having to do it, but he knew it was the right thing. Carefully he slid his arm out of her hold. Very slowly he slipped off the bed, as silently as possible. He grabbed his clothes, tiptoeing through to her plant-packed lounge to put them on. It was a struggle but his cock could just quit with the erection already. He wasn't doing her again. It wouldn't be right. Not for her or, he had the feeling, for him.

He left her apartment and climbed the few flights of stairs to his own. He went straight to the shower to refresh, pulled on some jeans and sat at his desk. Not tired. Not hungry. Not going to think about her or the sweet taste of her that lingered despite that damn shower.

He glared at his computer and forced himself to focus. He finished two reports, researched a new proposal, got to the point of clearing his emails because it was a mindless click-click-click task he could zombie through. He still refused to think. Refused to let that wedge of regret widen.

His phone rang. He glanced at the screen and with a sigh picked it up to answer. No point trying to hide from Logan. Ever.

"Where are you?" Logan asked. "I have a zero-sugar, all caffeine soda on the bar."

"Can't," Xander closed his eyes and rubbed them. "Working."

"It's nearly midnight, you geek. Come get a life."

His cousin Logan had been teasing him about working too hard for the last eighteen years. Logan's brother Connor had been more of a study buddy, but even he hadn't had the urgency, the drive, that Xander had. Conner and Logan had their trust funds, their family millions to fall back on. Xander had nothing. His mother had nothing.

It had been Xander's job to fix that.

Now he pushed his chair away from his desk and spun it so his back was to the screen. He stretched out his stiffened muscles. "I didn't get as much done today as I'd like and this is a big project."

"Yeah well, this is a big night. Lingerie fashion show, Xan, you really need to be at the after party. Rocco's. Now."

Of course the after-party was at Rocco's bar. And of course ultimate-party-animal Logan was in the thick of it. It always amused Xander given Logan and Connor's father was such workaholic, patronizing, controlling tyrant.

The punitive reaction of Xander's uncle had meant his mother had been on a good behavior bond the rest of her life. Xander had too, while he'd lived there in the Hughes family compound. It was like any minute his uncle expected him to go bad.

He never had. Not evil bad—not like his father.

Instead he'd wanted to break himself and his mother free from the 'good-willed' oppression of their family. To earn enough for them not to have to be dependent on someone else's damn magnanimous gestures. Because the charity had been so close to animosity. She'd been there under sufferance. Reminded daily what an 'idiot' she'd been. His uncle was an unforgiving bastard, but Xander's mother had been too scared to leave her brother's protection. And Xander didn't blame her.

"Get Rocco to party with you."

"He's working. Hunter's gone AWOL. You're it."

"Not tonight, Logan." Last thing Xander felt like was an all-night party and the potential for another hook-up. He was still working through the intensity of this afternoon.

"Are you seriously turning down a night with these models? I'm talking glitter and ink. Girls who are excited and ready to party—"

"Like it's 1999, yeah I got it. Not tonight." Just the thought of it made him feel rocky.

"What's wrong—you sick?" Logan asked.

Xander smiled. His cousin was as blunt and nosy as ever. "I'm crunched with a deadline. Got to get it done."

"You still work too hard. You not got it through your head it's not necessary anymore?"

Logan and Connor had never taken the hard-line attitude of their father. As kids they'd split everything they'd gotten three ways with Xander—or tried to. Xander refused much of it. But he knew they'd do the same with the property and the trust funds if they could. But he was never going to let them try.

"It's necessary." Xander stifled a groan. "You ever thought that maybe I like my job?"

They all knew the injustice of their grandfather's will—that he'd cut Xander's mother from it. It had made her dependent on the benevolence of her brother. She hadn't had the energy or resources to contest it at the time. She hadn't wanted to. She'd agreed. It didn't make it right. The Hughes machine was too big a bulldozer. So Xander had worked. He'd succeeded. He'd skipped a year at school, started and completed his degree ahead of all those his own age. His strength?

Security—installing systems for all kinds of organizations. He'd started small—from cafes to bars to hotels and bigger businesses.

He'd won financial security for his mother. That had been his long-term goal and he'd done it. And in the process, he'd discovered success was addictive. He wanted to be the best in his industry. He'd formed a partnership with Hunter—who was a _personal_ protection specialist—so they covered two aspects of the market. And now Hunter was looking out for cyber specialists as well. Physical security—premises and personal—was one thing, but the Internet element needed its own management. They wanted to be able to offer the full package. So work was taking almost all his time and energy. And that was good.

"I like my job too," Logan said in the hard-edged tone that sent his assistants scurrying to obey. "Actually, I love it. I also like to party hard. You need better balance"

"I'll find my Zen another day." Xander grinned at his cousin's obvious irritation. "Tonight I'm working."

Logan's growl of disapproval rattled down the line. "Fine. Be boring then."

"You don't need me anyway," Xander soothed. "In five minutes you'll have found some flexible twins or something and be upstairs in one of Rocco's rooms, banging them both to nirvana."

"Hmm." Logan still didn't sound pleased.

Xander finally tuned in to the fact that beneath Logan's grouchy tease there was something else. "You jaded?"

There was a micro-pause. "Nah. You're right. Twins. I guess I could work with that idea. Most of these models all look the same anyway."

Jeez, he did sound bored and in a bad mood. "So why not see if you can find yourself a perfect pair."

"Alright, I'll go find a fucking orgy." Logan hung up.

Xander put his phone down, looked at it in mild concern. Maybe he should go buddy with his cousin to jolly him out of that uncharacteristic grump. But knowing Logan, he really would find some twins. By the time Xander got there Logan would be out of sight and all action. Xander grimaced, his own grumpiness claiming him again. Last thing he wanted was to be with another woman. Maybe he'd forget about women for a little while. At any rate, there'd _never_ be just _one_ woman.

Having a family wasn't something he was ever doing. His blood-line ended with him—the weakness and brutality of his father. And it had been enough to achieve security for his mother. He didn't want to have to do it for a whole family of his own. He didn't want more of that responsibility. He gave enough in his career, in his work. He just wanted fun. And usually the women he chose were easy, loving fun. Usually he didn't stay awake for hours after sex. Usually he walked away feeling light, relaxed, and satisfied.

But he was so _unsatisfied_ now—his capacity for sleep killed all because he kept seeing a pair of deep blue eyes and a lush red mouth in his mind.

Temptation bellowed in his blood.

There was only one way of coping. He'd leave town. He'd fly to Houston and personally check on that cinema project that Hunter had sent his way. The one that his most junior engineer had been forever on the phone to him about.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

But two days later he still wasn't sleeping, despite the literal distance he'd put between himself and temptation. He was still thinking about her. Still dreaming of a replay—dangerous territory. And then his phone rang again.

"Where the hell are you? I'm in trouble," said Logan.

Xander tensed. "What kind of trouble?"

"Sleaze." Logan growled. "It was your idea. It's your fault."

"What is?" Xander wasn't in the mood for random charges.

"Check your email again."

Keeping Logan on the phone, Xander quickly opened his inbox and clicked on the attachment Logan had sent. For a moment he just stared at the image. "Shit Logan—"

"How was I to know they were filming the whole thing?" Logan growled. "You ever meet women that hungry to be celebrities? It's sick."

Logan had definitely found look-a-like models. And he'd definitely done them—Xander had the photographic evidence in his hand. "They _filmed_ it?"

"Uploaded it all over the Internet."

Xander couldn't help laughing.

"It's not funny. You should hear Connor."

"Connor's come down on you?" That was unusual, Connor might appear to be the more serious, but he was as wild as any of them when it came to women.

"I'm the star of a fucking sex tape. It's horrific."

"You're not the star Logan, the girls are." Xander tried to make light of it. "Most of the footage will be of them, right?" Hell he hoped so.

Logan grunted.

Xander shook his head. "How did you not notice the camera?"

"I was getting my rocks off at the time. You never been flat on your back with a girl riding your cock and another on your face?"

"Jeez." He hadn't actually.

"Don't ask for the U.R. Fucking L. I was drunk, alright? I didn't know they were Playboy wannabes. Or bona fide porn stars. What the hell am I going to do?"

Clearly being proud wasn't an option. "Carry on as normal. Never concede defeat. You've done nothing wrong—wait, they were both adult, right?"

"Of course they bloody were."

"Well that's okay then. Your privacy has been violated but there's no getting the genie back in the bottle now. The horse has bolted."

"The clichés aren't helping."

"Course they are. Chin up brother, ride out the storm."

A string of cuss words came through the receiver and then the line went dead.

With a half laugh Xander immediately went online to look up flight times. He'd go home and see Logan. Together they'd swear off screwing around. They'd play sport or something instead. Neither of them needed a woman.
Chapter Ten

Chelsea rode the lift down aiming to hit the local deli and grab an instant meal. She was too tired to face the stairs even though she knew it would be good for her leg. Three days had passed since That Afternoon and she still thought of it whenever she let her brain off the leash. Tragic, right? She wasn't some thirteen year old in the throes of her first ever crush. She was twenty-four, a post-grad student with brilliant grades—sure, she'd had some time out while she recovered from the accident, but now, just when she should be getting back on top, all her mushy brain could think about was Xander.

What he'd done to her. How he'd made her feel. And how much she wanted it again.

The moment she'd woken later that evening, she'd known he'd gone. That had been the rule in what had only been a game. But in that game he'd kissed every inch of her and buried deep, his size and power claiming entire possession. Then he'd pushed deeper still. And at these mere memories her body softened again, heated, hungered.

Superman?

Oh yes.

He hadn't left a note—nothing on her pillow, her desk, her phone, her bench. No message anywhere. In fact there was no sign he'd even been there. It really was like it had been nothing but a dream. _Fantasy._

Except now moving around her apartment block was an exercise in nerves. She wanted to see him and didn't want to see him. Daily she resolved not to think about him. Then failed. But there'd been no sign of him so far. He hadn't been running with his buddies—she'd seen just two of them the other day. Hunter and Rocco. The level of her disappointment was pathetic. The only way to deal with it was to exit and enter the building as fast as possible. So the elevator it was.

Chelsea stepped forward, ready to exit as the compartment did that slight bump as it reached the ground floor. She stared straight ahead as the doors slid open.

He stood there—blocking her way, waiting to take the ride up. Dressed head to toe in black—boots, jeans, tee—unshaven, unsmiling, intense.

Chelsea froze. Her gaze locked with his in a timeless moment of memory and heat. As she watched, his dark pupils swallowed the light blue of his eyes. The sultry depths drew her in again and sweeping desire back through to her bones—more powerfully than before because now she _knew_. And to her amazement, she saw the heat beating its way up to her face reflected in his—smudges of color slashing across his cheekbones.

_Oh no._ She wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to fall so easily. She forced herself to turn her head and step to the side so she could exit the elevator. Aiming to give him a wide berth. Literally.

But before she could take the next step forward, a broad palm pushed on her belly. Startled, she looked up, but couldn't prevent him propelling her back into the lift with that simple, but firm, action. He kept walking. Kept pushing her to retreat until her back hit the wall of the lift. She didn't break eye contact again. The doors slid shut behind him, but the lift went nowhere.

"Hello to you too, Xander," she said, faking a cool reaction. Fingers crossed he couldn't tell her pulse was galloping spooked horse crazy.

Amusement flickered in his face, along with something else.

_Really?_ Chelsea's narrowed her eyes. He was going to give her the lover-look now? When he'd walked out while she was asleep and not made any kind of contact since?

Well she was so _not_ letting him know she'd been thinking of him and nothing but for the last eighty hours. She had pride. She'd play it cool. Well, as cool as possible given the oxygen in the elevator seemed to have been sucked out, leaving a smokin' atmosphere.

"You mad with me?"

Oh he was that arrogant. "Why would I be mad?" She quickly touched her tongue to her lips. It really was because her mouth was parched, not a come-on move.

"For leaving like that."

She blinked as the elevator began to ascend. Someone on another floor must have summoned it.

"Not at all." She eased her stiff lips into a smile. "I didn't mind missing the awkward goodbye."

"No?" His eyes widened slightly, so did his smile. "Maybe it wouldn't have been that awkward."

She laughed lightly—irresistibly—at the wry humor that always warmed his words. "You were worried it would be." It was so obvious he'd not wanted some clingy scene.

"Maybe." Now his eyes narrowed. "But you know, I've been trying to be a hero."

"Again?" Her brows arched. "How so?"

"I've been trying to be good and stay away from you."

"How is that being good?"

"I didn't think it would be in yo— _our_ —best interests to..." he trailed off.

Now why wouldn't it be in _her_ best interests? That was what he'd meant despite that last second correction. What did he think might happen to her?

She couldn't help a small chuckle of amusement. Definitely arrogant. But the expression in his eyes gave her ego a boost—he still wanted her. He absolutely still wanted her. Well he'd probably get what he wanted. But she kind of liked the idea of taking him down a peg while she could.

"Well," she slowly mused. "You said it yourself. Superheroes aren't perfect. They usually have some kind of fatal flaw."

" _Fatal_ flaw?" He looked both unbelieving and unimpressed.

She nodded, refusing to laugh again. "Usually something's happened in their past—something that then drives them on to try to help others. To defeat the bad guys, to protect the innocent or something. But back in that past, they got damaged somehow. Or maybe they did some kind of damage. There's always a weakness." She angled her head and watched him closely but his eyes gave nothing away. "So I'm wondering what it is that's happened in _your_ past, Superman? What are you running from? What is it that drives you to play the one who saves?"

His expression remained blank but he stepped nearer, bracing his hands on the wall either side of her so he hemmed her in. "I'm not sure. I must have repressed the bad memories."

She lifted her brows at his attempt to distract her and deflect the query. Although admittedly his efforts were working. His smile turned wicked as he caught her taking a split-second to reacquaint her mind with the breadth of his shoulders.

"So, you're not mad at me." He was all confidence.

"Nope." She was all bravado.

"Yet you're looking flushed. Why would that be?"

"It's a hot evening." Her voice petered out as he leaned in even closer.

"We're in an air-conditioned elevator," he whispered.

Oh there was no air in here at all. "And we can't go up and down in it all night."

"Why not?" He glanced down at her breasts.

Yeah, they were there and obvious in her thin button-through blouse and at just that look her sensitive nipples tightened.

His confident smile widened as she breathed faster, shorter.

She fought to retain control of the situation. "Xander—"

"Code for _yes_."

She didn't answer as the lift doors opened and another resident got in the lift. Xander didn't move, didn't say anything. Just kept watching her reaction. She got hotter, restless, breathless—fully embarrassed, yet wickedly excited at being held in such an intimate pose in the presence of someone else.

She didn't breathe until the doors slid open again.

"What are you thinking about, Chelsea?" he murmured the second that resident exited the lift and the doors closed.

He was teasing. He knew exactly what was going on in her mind.

"You wouldn't be thinking about sex, would you?" he added. "Because I sure as hell am."

She swallowed. He leaned closer.

"But we have a problem," he whispered.

"Oh?" She finally found the ability to make a noise.

"I don't want anything more than what we shared the other day," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Just sex. Lots and lots. Fantasy sex. But that's all."

"What makes you think I'd want anything more than that either?" she asked blandly.

He frowned. "Can you really handle it?" He clenched his jaw and slowly shook his head. "Come on Chelsea, you're too 'buttoned up good girl' to even say yes. You're repressed."

Was she? What she was, was recovering. She'd been hurt and was a bit scared but wanted some kind of normal fun—twenty-something, city girl normal fun.

"Just because I find it difficult to _express_ what I want, d-doesn't mean I don't want." She stumbled through the sentence.

He stared at her—his eyes promising so much heat, yet coolly appraising too.

"Don't be afraid you're going to hurt me." She pulled away from the wall, taking her weight on her own feet, bringing herself within a millimeter of him. "I'm a big girl. I can handle much more than you could ever imagine."

"I hate to break it to you but you're really not that big," he said, still thoughtful. Still assessing, as if he wasn't sure she was truly up to it. "What is it you want from me?"

Wasn't it obvious? She cleared her throat. "You already know."

"So say it." He frowned. "You need to learn to communicate your needs better. I can take a good guess but I'm not a mind reader." He wrapped his hands around her wrists. "What do you want from me?"

Her chutzpah had got her only so far and now it deserted her. He was right—she had been 'good'—not that experienced. Not in the art of the casual fling. She swallowed. She couldn't say it. Yet she knew he wasn't going to stand for silence. He'd walk and she'd lose her opportunity to progress on her new path—no to serious relationships, but yes to occasional sex, to lightness. "More of the same. But nothing more."

"Act out a few fantasies?" He watched. Waited.

She said nothing, but she knew he could feel her pulse speeding.

"You want me to call the shots," he said.

She nodded, though again they both knew it hadn't really been a question.

His hands tightened. "There's only so far I'll go. If you want pain you've come to the wrong guy."

"I don't want pain," she said quickly, frowning. She'd had enough real pain in her life. "Just fun. Play." Just sex. Pleasure in passion.

"Hot, hard fun?"

_Wild, energetic, frenetic._ She wanted it all. But she remained wordless, just looking at him. Desire ran like quicksilver in her veins as she watched that assessing look fade under the edgier, heated flare in his expression.

Excitement, anticipation put her senses on high alert. She wanted him to take what he wanted.

He swore under his breath and lifted a hand to her chin, tilting her face up to his—bringing her close enough to kiss. She couldn't help licking her lips at the thoughts running through her head—at the excitement of what _he_ might be thinking of.

"Fuck yeah," he muttered, bringing his mouth down on hers.

The desire that had been building in her belly burst out in an unstoppable flood. Heat and need overtook as she opened and tasted. She drank him in, relishing the forcefulness with which he kissed her. He pulled her closer, slamming her body against his, as if he too felt desperate to be in complete contact. She rocked to meet him and pleasure tremored through her as his hand clamped to her butt to hold her close. Mentally she screamed.

Now. Now. Now.

"Alright," he tore his mouth free and spoke in a low, laughing growl. "I'm Tarzan, you're Jane and I've just rescued you from some wild beast. I'm wired and there's only one thing to ease off the adrenalin. Not gentle. Not slow. Sure you can take it?" That hint of laughter disappeared as he asked the last—as if the edge really was cutting into him.

He really had a rescue thing going, didn't he? But right now she didn't care, she just wanted the fantasy. She wound her arms around his neck and lifted her chin for him to kiss her again. He barely broke the kiss to bash the elevator button to take them to the right floor. The doors opened but she didn't want to step back from him. Fortunately he obviously felt the same because he picked her up, keeping her close and carrying her out—uncaring if anyone saw. She'd drowned so deep in lust already she didn't care either.

He put her down the instant they were inside her apartment, pulled a condom from his pocket and undid his jeans only far enough to get the thing on, still kissing her haphazardly as he did. Excitement flooded her as she registered his desperation despite that fast, expert action. Hurriedly she undid the buttons on her blouse and the front clasp of her bra to bare her breasts. He took one wild look and with a growl turned her towards the wall, tilting her hips up towards him. He wedged a foot between hers and pushed so she spread her legs further apart. Taking her hands in his, he placed them on the wall, pushing hard on them so she knew to keep them there—bracing and waiting. He flipped her skirt up. Cooler air hit the backs of her thighs but was soon chased by the heat of him positioning right behind her.

Thank heavens she wore skirts.

"I need this," he muttered, sounding almost angry. "I have to have this. You."

He ran his hands over her, firmly tracing every curve again and again until he pressed both palms low on her belly. Then he slid one north, over her stomach to her ribs and then to her breast. Confident, merciless, he claimed possession, clasping her nipple, briefly pinching between his forefinger and thumb. Pleasure-pain shot to her womb, heating, slickening. She pushed her breasts towards the wall while her hips bucked back—arching, thrusting her butt towards him to let him do as he wanted.

So hurry up and take me.

But she couldn't say it.

His other hand spread wide and moved south under her waistband to rub over her mound. His fingers teased, tested, tormented. Then he whipped that hand free only to return by going under the hem of her skirt to grab the crotch of her knickers. With a twist he tugged sharp enough to tear them.

"Sometimes Tarzan is more animal than man," he growled in her ear.

_Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes._ She wanted him to be animal, wanted him to want her—take her uncontrollably. To sate himself. In doing that, he'd satisfy her. She wanted to make him collapse in ecstatic exhaustion, he did it for her so well. She ached for that mindless relief.

His fingers rubbed in circles, making her squirm and squeeze in anticipation. She needed him inside her _now_. His erection pressed against her butt, but frustratingly he didn't push forward. Instead he kept teasing in the way he knew turned her on.

But she was _already_ turned on. She'd been 'on' the last three days. She couldn't be wetter or more ready or more desperate. She just wanted all of him. Wanted him to ride her as hard and as animal as he'd promised. Wanted him to lose control the way she was about to.

But still he teased, easily holding her restless hips still enough for him to stroke her with maddening fingertips—not penetrating, not giving her that full completion she was throbbing for.

And still she couldn't speak. Her hands slid over the wall as she tried to support herself. Her mouth parted as she panted, she licked her lips as her temperature soared and her desire peaked. She wanted to scream at him to take her, but all that came out was a wordless cry as the orgasm hit and her muscles convulsed. She closed her eyes, loving the intense release and yet it wasn't enough. She wasn't filled. She needed him to release inside her.

As soon as her spasms stopped he turned her to face him, his hands firm on her waist to support her wobbly legs. She glanced down his perfect, fit body—feasting on the size of his straining cock. He didn't give her long to enjoy looking. With a harsh word, he hooked his arms under her thighs, lifted her just enough for him to ram home.

Her back whacked against the wall with the force of his thrust. She was utterly within his hold. His control.

He had her.

_Yes._ She screamed as the second orgasm swiftly overtook her, sending her into a tumultuous storm of sensation—bliss so acute it was almost unbearable. And still he worked, relentlessly thrusting with unlimited stamina.

As the searing ecstasy eased and lax warmth flowed, she registered the hungry, avid way he watched her breasts bounce with each pound of his body, heard the rising sound of his pleasure-soaked growls as he fought to push her—and himself—harder. Her pleasure surged again, mixed with pride. She liked that he was taking raw, basic pleasure in her femininity the way she did his masculinity. She revelled in the fact he had strength enough to support her with such ease. Heat continued to rebuild within her. She clamped her legs tightly around his waist, used her inner muscles to clamp even tighter on his cock, wanting to take him deeper still. She cupped her breasts in her hands, pushing them together and up as an offering to him. At that he muttered something unintelligible, his feral gaze locked on her tight, red nipples. He shoved deep inside her one last time and groaned as orgasm overtook him. And at the sight and sound and feel of his straining ecstasy, she soared straight back into the fiery storm with him.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she found she was still in his hold—her legs still wound around him, her upper body slumped against the wall. He smiled and gently hoisted her so she was wholly in his embrace.

Slowly he shuffled to her bedroom. The buckle of his belt clanged on the floor with every half step, making her smile.

"What am I going to do with you now..." he looked at her thoughtfully as he placed her on her bed. "So many delicious options." His lips curved in that naughty way as he stripped her free from her rumpled clothes with ease that spoke of much experience. "Very delicious. I'm thinking food—sauces in particular. And maybe some ice. What's in your fridge?"

"My fridge?"

"I'm thinking of a banquet. Maybe I'm a battle worn warrior and my men have prepared a beautiful center-piece for my table—because I'm hungry. So they've prepared a woman for me—clad in nothing but delicious creams and sauces."

She sent him a sideways look even as she tightened inside. She was so willing to be the plate for him to lick clean. "You have a fertile imagination."

"You bet. Albeit somewhat lame." He chuckled and stepped out of his jeans. He pulled off his tee and let her look.

She didn't think his imagination was lame. She thought it was fun—carefree fantasy was perfect.

"You're not shy either," she noted, already distracted by the bronze skin and strong muscles on show. And that burgeoning hard-on.

"Life's too short to be shy. Life's too hard not to have some fun." He headed out towards the kitchen.

Chelsea stretched out as he went in search of his sauces. In what way was his life hard? She so didn't think it was. Not when he came across as this relaxed. He was the master at keeping things easy.

She felt physically sated, emotionally amused. It had been a wild but easy fun fulfilment. There was no emotional connection—while there was courtesy, there was no intense _caring_. There was no responsibility in that way. Which felt strangely good. She smiled. This was going to be just fine. Her libido had woken and needed attention. There was nothing wrong with that.

Xander was the perfect companion. He'd said he wasn't a relationship guy and it was pretty clear why—he was that gorgeous, that playful, he wasn't going to settle for just one woman. But she knew she could trust him. She just needed to make sure that despite that lack of depth, they maintained that respect and affection until they walked away.

"How is this going to end?" she asked when he reappeared. Because as sure as the sky was blue, this was going to end.

"When you tire of me. Or," he hesitated and sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching a couple of bottles. "If boundaries get blurred. Sex can be more emotional for women." He shrugged, a refusal to apologize. "It's true."

"So if I fall for you, that's it?"

"It would end. That would be best. For you. No point in falling for me. You understand?"

Yeah she had that already. "What if you fall for me?" she asked.

He said nothing.

She sat bolt upright in bed. "You jerk, like that's impossible?"

"It's not impossible for someone to fall for you." He laughed briefly—but rapidly sobered. "It's impossible for me to fall for anyone. Even someone as amazing as you. Don't try to change that, Chelsea."

"I have no intention of trying to." Wasn't he just Mr. Mysterious? "I don't want to fall in love with a guy who thinks he's a superhero." She sent him a pointed look. "A guy like that clearly hasn't grown up."

He put the bottles on the floor and turned, swiftly tugging her down the bed, spreading her legs. He picked up one of the bottles again. "Fortunately I have 'grown up' enough to take you again. And as we know, when it comes to this, what I want, happens." His eyes were sharp. "And right now, I have a hankering for this raspberry sauce."

He squirted a dollop of it onto her breast. She squeaked—it was _cold_.

"Be quiet, slave," he said firmly. "Reach back and hold onto the headboard."

She glared up at him but registered the heat in his eyes.

"Now," he added.

She said nothing, but his instruction, his expression melted her. He wanted. Slowly she lifted her hands above her head to do as he'd bid, happy to sink into the game.

He looked at her exposed breasts. "Very nice."

Slowly, torturously slowly he drizzled the sauce—circling it around her nipples. "And delicious."

He worked the line of sauce lower, around her belly button. She watched his face as he concentrated—watched the desire in his expression grow.

Remaining both still and silent became harder.

He shot a line of raspberry down her lower belly, then pushed her legs a little further apart with a firm hand—adding sauce to her upper thighs.

"I'm very hungry," he muttered. He picked up another bottle and shook it, then squirted dabs of fluffy cream directly onto her nipples and then onto her small strip of pubic hair. "Lie still," he snapped as she twitched uncontrollably.

He put the bottle down and stood along side the bed, surveying his handywork. His cock jutted big and proud. He noticed her staring and raised a brow. "You're hungry too." He looked her over again and frowned. "And there is one thing missing." He poured a little of the raspberry onto his finger and then carefully daubed it on her mouth—like edible lipstick.

"No licking it off," he warned. He wiped his finger across his chest, leaving a smear of sauce. He smiled as he caught her eyeing the streak. "No licking that either. Not until I say."

Silent, she tightened her grip on the headboard as he rolled on a condom. She couldn't tear her gaze away from him as he knelt onto the bed, taking up the space between her parted legs.

"But just so we know where we stand." He bent and licked a break in the trail he'd poured down her lower belly. "I'm warning you that at some point it's your fantasies we'll be exploring. Not just mine."

Heat surged in her cheeks—at both his action and his idea.

"You do have fantasies, right?" From between her legs, his expression gleamed. "I'm betting yes, given that you're getting wetter with every word." He bent and let his tongue investigate just how wet she'd gotten.

Her face grew hotter. Which was ridiculous given what he'd done—was doing—to her.

He lapped at the cream and sauce, his tongue rough—rapacious.

"I wonder what you fantasise about when you're alone," he mused, running his tongue around her clitoris and back down to her entrance. "How do you touch yourself?"

Her legs shook. She didn't speak. Couldn't. Her mind was a blank. She needed _him_ to take the lead. _His_ fantasies. She didn't really know why but she needed this to be good for him—it was already beyond good for her.

"You can tell me, I won't judge. And you already know I'm better than a vibrator," he chuckled and then plunged his tongue deep.

She clenched instinctively, almost coming. Her embarrassment curled like a cinder in the roar of desire.

He lifted his head, his eyes suddenly narrowed. "Right?"

She couldn't resist one itty bitty tease. So she still said nothing.

But he'd registered her amusement. "Oh darling." He chuckled. "You're going to pay for that."

She deliberately licked the raspberry from her lip.

"Get it for me." He suddenly demanded.

"What?"

"Your vibe. I want it."

She shook her head. "I don't have one."

"You don't have one?" His expression was comically appalled—the fantasy scenario fully shattered. On all fours he braced above her, his fists pushing into the mattress either side of her shoulders. "Have you ever had one?"

She shook her head. "We're not all raging nymphos like you, you know."

He burst out laughing. "Hate to break it to you honey, but you're the biggest nympho I've ever met."

She stared at him. "Hardly."

"I mean it." Kneeling up fit and proud, he looked down the length of her body. "So let's recap." His eyes paused on her raspberry and cream covered breasts. "You've come how many times tonight already?"

Did she have to separate out the multiples? "I'm not sure exactly." Her reply slowed when she saw his gaze narrow in on her nipples.

She gasped as he swiftly dropped to straddle her. Her lower half was pinned under his weight in less than a second—their hips slick and sliding with the sticky sweet sauce.

His hungry mouth lapped away the sauce encircling her breasts. Chelsea arched, abandoning herself to his attentions. He knew just how to play with already over sensitive breasts—not going straight to her over reddened, nerve-filled nipples but delaying, moving closer, then retreating. Tormenting. Turning up her tension. Making her want it, arch up to him, groan for him. So quickly she was aroused, as fresh, as fired as if it were their first time.

His touch was addictive.

She moaned, unrestrained. This was what she wanted. All she wanted. To explore, enjoy, just this—passion, with no time for unsettled feelings. No tender emotions to be hurt.

He smiled as he reared back to admire how her nipples had tightly budded under the slide of his tongue. A low rumble sounded in his throat when she restlessly rocked her hips hard into his. They both knew she wanted him to go lower.

"You can think you're as lazy as you like, love, but fact is you can't help but respond to me." He nudged her legs apart with his knee and settled between them. He tilted his hips, letting the head of his cock slide over and miss her entrance a couple of times. She instantly arched, seizing up in hunger.

"See?" He changed angle and pushed home. "You tighten around me. You try to keep me in."

Her hips lifted as he slid out, leaving only an inch inside. Not enough. She moaned again, wildly thrusting up to meet him.

"And you try to draw me back." He relented and pushed back inside her. "You like me here."

She couldn't answer, she was coming again.

Xander didn't want to leave her bed, but knew he'd better. Hell, he'd not intended to be here at all. Except the instant he'd seen her again in the elevator it was all over. His brainless inner caveman had won—and his inner caveman wanted yet more hot'n'heavy time. But it'd be best to just get here, have the fun, then be gone. Keep it just the fantasy stuff—some scenarios, some screwing, some seriously shattering orgasms.

Sharing a bed, sharing meals, sharing showers... _that'd_ lead to sharing too much. That'd make this complicated. As it was he tensed a little at how she was going to react to his leaving now. Was she really going to handle this with the aplomb she'd summoned when he'd met her again this afternoon?

Only way to find out was to lay it on the line.

He pushed out of the bed. "I've got to get going."

"Good idea." She nodded, also sliding out of bed and going one better by pulling on a cotton robe. "I need to get a decent sleep. I've got so much to get through at work tomorrow."

She did?

He glared at the robe that now covered too much of her pretty skin and contrarily had the urge to rip it off her and tumble her back onto the bed.

"I think it's best if we meet up in the evening for a few hours and then you can go home," she said. "Just for a few nights, right?"

Yeah. Right. He'd no need to worry for her then, huh?

"I sleep better alone," she added. "Especially these hot nights."

Well that was a lie. She didn't sleep that well at all. He'd been here for the nightmare. No wonder she was keen for him to go—she didn't want to have the nightmare thing happen again with him present. Crazily, remembering that made him itch to stay. She shouldn't have to suffer through those alone.

Instead he picked up his jeans. His phone fell from the pocket to the floor. He grabbed it and quickly scanned the screen. He'd missed several texts. He opened them but before he'd skimmed the first, the phone vibrated in his hand—Rocco.

"I better get this." He turned away and touched the screen to answer.

"Since when do you miss waterpolo?" Rocco demanded.

Typical emotional Italian, even though Rocco actually had more Irish in him than he did Italian.

"You're back in town right?" he questioned.

Xander thought about lying but his friend would call him on it. "Yeah I'm here, but I had other things to attend to."

"What kind of things?" Suspicious all the way.

Xander glanced at Chelsea. "Nothing much."

"If it was nothing much, why'd you miss the game?"

"I won't again." Xander laughed. "You running tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. You know we got to sort Logan out."

"Yeah. See you then." He shut off the call and looked at Chelsea—knew damn well she'd heard the entire conversation. "You bothered that I said 'nothing'?"

She shook her head, a smile curving her lips.

He still didn't feel comfortable. "I said it to protect you. And me."

"From?"

"Merciless ribbing from my so-called friends."

"I'm not ever going to meet them," She shrugged and walked out to her lounge. "I don't care what they think." She sat down on her sofa and smiled up at him as he followed her. "I'm in this for only one thing, remember?"

Xander took one look at that smile and dropped to his knees. "Then you'd better spread your legs wider."
Chapter Eleven

He'd meant it to be only a couple more times. A few sessions in that week to fulfil the fantasies and leave them free to move on. But every night he knocked on her door, thinking up some lame persona to call out as he did.

"Law enforcement. Open up." Cheesy, but it worked.

"Pizza delivery." Even cheesier and a total step back into teen territory.

"Courier." He winced as he said it. Good thing he never took sex too seriously.

"It's your boss. You're in major trouble." That one he liked more than the others, he had a great desk fantasy growing.

And she opened up. Every time. Her eyes lit with laughter—and lust. He was right inside within minutes. A rampant, raw, sex-fest as they indulged in hot, reckless, sometimes ridiculous fantasies. No matter the scenario he invented, the upshot was the same—blistering, brilliant sex. She let him call every shot—bend her, take her where, when, how he wanted. It was like all his Christmases had come at once—his every wish granted by this gorgeous, willing woman.

As a student he'd been a lifeguard in summer break and ski patrol in winter and he'd never been short of female attention. He and the guys had had their pick. But back then, as now, he'd been focused. He'd only played short-term. Some of the girls had really been after the Hughes fortune and mistakenly thought he was a way to access that. Now he had his own fortune. But Miss butter-wouldn't-melt Blue-eyes wasn't interested in any of his past—or seemed to want to know anything more about him. She never questioned him. Never tried to pry.

She really did only want the one thing.

But surely seven nights of screwing them both senseless should have done it?

It hadn't. She was hungry as ever. But she was also as silent as ever in terms of offering up some other scenario for them to fool around with. In terms of telling him what _she_ wanted him to do. Increasingly that bothered him. Because she was a generous lover with a huge need within her.

And his attempt to keep this just physical was already precarious. He wanted more, needed to know more. Curiosity gnawed. Would she ever open up to him—ever tell him about her accident? Or her family?

He found he was leaving work sooner to get to her. Found he was thinking of her even when he was hanging with the guys. And he sure wasn't telling them about her—not while Logan was going through his Internet notoriety nightmare. No, this was just his little secret. But hell, he was so lame-ass he found her on Twitter and followed her with a dummy account. At random, too frequent, moments of the day he pulled out his phone to see if and what she'd posted. Facebook too. Her temporary pop-ups page was open to anyone so she didn't know he was reading like some love-sick pup—or sick stalker dude.

But her posts made him smile.

It was like having a secret life. She'd discovered her hidden nympho identity and, most awesomely, had her own sex genie who took her on magical ride after magical ride. She managed to walk past Brad without blushing, told none of her buddies at work and certainly didn't tell any friends back home. She _definitely_ didn't mention having met a guy when she spoke to her mom. Her people at home would get the wrong idea. This wasn't the 'new relationship' they'd been suggesting she be open to finding. This was her own way of 'moving on'. And after all, it was only fantasy.

But it was Luisa, at the coffee cart who gave her a wink one morning. "Looking like you've got the cream there Chelsea," she teased.

Yeah. The cream. "And you're looking like you got in trouble." Concerned, Chelsea brushed beneath her eye, mirroring the place of the bruise Luisa was sporting.

"That's roller derby for you." Luisa shrugged. "But we won, so that's okay."

"You're pretty tough."

"Strikes me you might be a bit of a battler yourself."

It was the first time anyone here had openly referred to her limp, apart from Xander. But Chelsea didn't freeze, instead she smiled. "I guess we just have to get on with it, right?"

"Reckon." Luisa nodded and passed her a marshmallow. "Keep on trying."

Chelsea grinned and went into the office. Not even her mother's too-early anxious morning call partly deflated her buoyancy. In fact she'd found she was able to reassure her mom more easily. Because she was doing it—pushing forward with her life. Succeeding at work, at living alone. And finding physical satisfaction. This was absolutely the way of the future. She'd found a way to make it work. Safely. No more hurt.

No matter that Xander's instructions became a little wilder, pushing her boundaries. She did things with him that she'd never done with anyone—playful, erotic things that weren't all that kinky, but out there enough for her. Having him have complete control in bed was out there.

But she trusted him. She knew he'd never harm her, not physically. And she wouldn't let him near her heart—they weren't sharing that kind of intimacy.

She hurried home from work. Couldn't wait to see him, touch him, feel him, please him. But he didn't show at the usual time. Waiting at her window, she refused to feel anxious. But as the seconds dragged, the knot in her stomach tightened.

Then her phone pinged.

Unlock your door. Wear a skirt, no panties. Be standing at your desk, bending over it to read a book. Don't turn around. I'll be there in three.

She was wet by the time she'd read the message. She moved quickly, stepping out of her undies and tossing them into her laundry hamper. But her flattish sandals weren't going to cut it. She walked quick as she could into her bedroom and scuffed them off, slid her feet into the pair of black stilettos at the back of her shoe collection. She hadn't worn high heels since before the accident. So she walked slowly. The angle of the shoes altered her posture, pushing her pelvis forward, tilting her hips as she took each step. It felt sexy. Before Xander it had been so long since she'd felt remotely sexy.

Facing the desk she put her palms flat on it to stop her hands from shaking. Not nerves, but exhilaration. The book was upside down, but who gave a damn. She rolled her hips, imagination working overtime. It was crazy, but she couldn't wait. She was addicted to the physical pleasure she got from him. But he got the same from her. The moments when he took pleasure in her thrilled her beyond words.

Purely physical. It's just lust.

She heard the door open and close behind her.

"Don't turn around," he spoke firmly when he saw her twitch to sneak a peek over her shoulder. "Don't move. Don't say anything."

She heard him lock the door. Her heart thudded, partly in relief because it was indeed him, mostly in anticipation of what he was going to do. It was going to be demanding, the hard edge of want in his tone told her that. Instinctively she slid her feet a little further apart. Her hands were on the table, ready to brace. She was already breathless. In the silence she heard the pull of his zipper, the tear of foil as he walked across the floor.

His fingers tickled up the back of her legs, the barest wisp of a touch, then he flipped up her skirt. She licked her lips and tried to draw in a deep breath. He put his hands on her hips, firmly tilting them, pushing down on her spine with a heavy hand so she was stretched over her desk. She placed her hands wider, further forward, stretching her fingers out wide. He grasped her butt, squeezing her cheeks in his broad palms, then stretching them apart a fraction. She closed her eyes, bending her head as she waited, her body wet and contracting in anticipation.

The quickest stroke of a finger down her cleft. Immediately followed by one fierce thrust of his cock, filling her, pushing her forward despite the way she'd braced on the desk.

There were none of the usual preliminaries, and never had she orgasmed from nothing but being entered. Pleasure jolted through her on sharp contractions.

"Did I say you could come so quick?" he asked roughly.

His fingers slipped round her hip. He took her clit between his thumb and forefinger in a hard pinch. Another sharp jolt of pleasure shook her. She gasped, tense again, tantalized. Tormented already by the slow withdrawal and then slam of his cock.

"Slower this time, please." He rotated his hips in lazy circles, still pinching her clit almost unbearably.

Slower? She'd laugh if she could. What woman got told to slow down on the orgasm front—wasn't it usually the guy who was growled at for coming too quickly?

But Xander didn't. Xander had the control of a superman, no doubt about that. The endurance. The stamina.

Her thighs trembled. He put his other hand on her shoulder and lessened the pinch on her clit, then soothingly stroked the plumped, pulsing nub.

How could he maintain such control? Wasn't holding off from coming just about killing him?

"I've been thinking about this all damn day," he said harshly.

So had she. She groaned as he flicked his fingers faster, raining light beats on her clit. The sensation competed with the pounding rhythm of his cock. She cried out as her next orgasm hit, the contractions strong and devastating, rippling through her as he relentlessly played her—not releasing her from his driving touch.

The heat scalded her. She tipped forward onto the desk completely, unable to support herself on her arms. Her breasts were flattened, the cool hard wood rubbed her tight nipples, exciting her even more. Trapped between the proverbial rock and the hard place—at his mercy, at his pleasure. And she loved it.

"Nothing turns me on more than making you come." His words were almost lost in the rough, low choke.

Oh it was the same for her. She wanted him to come. Wanted him to lose control. Wanted to feel ecstasy rigorously yank his body to a level where he couldn't stop. But there wasn't much she could do in this position to force him other than work her inner muscles to milk him.

As she did he gripped her hips with both hands. Tight. His fingers dug into her flesh as he ruthlessly held her in place. He drove hard and deep and fast for another few strokes before he thrust hard one last time. The searing tension was audible in his loud groan and evident in the sharp spasms of his cock as he came deep inside.

A soft moment later he also stretched his arms over her desk so he lightly blanketed her. He kissed her shoulders. "Let's take a bath. Make it wetter this time."

Still dazed, it took a second to hear him. She stilled as he lifted away from her.

"Not a shower?" she asked softly.

But he'd already gone. She could hear the taps running in her bathroom. The sensual warmth left her as she followed the sounds.

He'd found some kind of bubble mixture from somewhere and made the bath a froth of white and rainbows. Anyone normal would think it was gorgeous and playful and be ready. But she wasn't normal. Not about this.

He looked at her, his brows lifted. "You don't want to have a bath with me?"

He was naked. Glorious. And she should, she really knew she should. But she couldn't. The thought of being submerged again? She couldn't do it.

"I'd prefer a shower," she whispered.

He looked at her for what felt like forever. He didn't blink—nor did she.

He said nothing, he just watched, waiting. Did he think she was going to say something more?

She couldn't. Her throat had tightened—all but closed over. All lingering relaxed relief from that quick sex was gone. All that was left, was cold.

Finally he turned and pulled the plug from the bath. "Sure."

She exhaled, but remained on edge. Because he didn't smile. Didn't make some light joke.

Instead he walked right up close to her. "Would you prefer to shower alone?"

She swallowed. Nodded. Tried not to come across as the damaged woman she was. This was only supposed to be easy. "I'll be quick." She tried, but her words were little more than a stained whisper.

He shook his head. "Take your time, I've got some stuff I need to do tonight anyway."

"Okay."

Chelsea remained frozen just inside the bathroom door. Two minutes later he'd left her apartment.

And she wasn't sure he'd be coming back.
Chapter Twelve

Xander lifted his hand to knock on Chelsea's door. Work had been a washout today, he'd hardly thought of anything other than her since the bath incident the night before. She hadn't offered any explanation, but he needed to know. Okay, he already knew but he wished he didn't. Because he wanted, needed, _her_ to tell him. That mightn't be part of their agreement, but too bad.

She was like the ultimate Groundhog Day present—getting to open her up night after night was a pleasure he anticipated from the moment he left her. Only now, heaven help him, he wanted to open up _all_ her secret compartments. He wanted to see her sleep easy. Smile easy. Speak easy.

He knocked. She answered almost immediately. Her wary eyes widened when she saw it was him. She licked her lips quick—nervously. Instinctively he smiled at her, open and warm and reassuring. And eventually, as she looked up at him, her pale face flushed with a more normal color. An answering smile dawned on her full lips. And then it came—that sparkle of devilish anticipation flickered in her eyes.

But she said nothing.

He knew she was waiting—wanting—his instruction. But he wasn't going there. Yet.

"Come out with me," he said.

Her eyes instantly narrowed. "Out?" she repeated. "Where?"

"It's a surprise," he drawled.

She folded her arms beneath her curvy breasts. "I don't like surprises."

"Sure you do." He grinned, happy she was making a stand. It meant she was more relaxed.

She glanced away and then back at him. He wondered if she was going to resist more seriously or, even better, come up with an alternative offer of her own. But he guessed she'd do neither.

It wasn't that she was totally passive. If he put his finger in her mouth she sucked on it hard. She spread for him to take her only to then clench hot and fast and lock him in place. Her hands skimmed, teased, caressed him as he moved over her. She was absolutely into it. And he could tell from the sparkle in her eyes that she was thinking all kinds of things. There was so much going on in that brain of hers.

But she still didn't instigate. The only time she'd _verbally_ expressed a preference was about the bath last night and that hadn't been a sensual request, that had come from fear. And though she was already generous, he knew she had more to give.

He wanted it—her secrets, her desires.

But for now, in bed and in this whole arrangement, she still needed him to take the lead. So he'd make it simple for her.

"If you want to come tonight," he said, casually resting a shoulder on her door frame. "You'll come with me now."

"And if I don't?"

Flames licked at his lower belly at the tiny hint of defiance in her tone. Yeah, he wanted to see her spirit finally come free. "No more fantasies. No more orgasms. Your choice."

"You can give it up that easy?" she asked, sceptically raising her brows. "After only a few nights?"

He grinned. She was calling _him_ on it.

Her arms tightened beneath her breasts and he couldn't help noticing her nipples poking hard through her tank top. He glanced back up and encountered her stern look.

"You're _that_ confident," she almost snarled.

"Let me show you why." He straightened and pulled her close, boldly sliding his fingers under her skirt and up to the crotch of her silky panties. "You're already wet for me," he whispered. "Just as I'm already hard for you. I only have to think of you to get like this. So seeing you? Getting this close to you?" He shook his head. "Just hurry the hell up."

Her eyes glinted, her chin lifted.

_Go on._ He willed her. _Fight me. Challenge me. Dare me._

But she didn't. She pushed away from him, turned and grabbed her handbag.

How was it possible to be satisfied and frustrated at the same time? Restraining his frustration, Xander double-checked her apartment was locked as they left. But he knew biding his time wasn't possible. He was going to have to push a little harder. Take a little more. Demand a little more. Help a little more.

He led her to a cab and eyed her wickedly throughout the journey—refusing to answer the curiosity in her eyes. If she wasn't going to ask, he wasn't going to tell. And as much as this was a test of how things stood, it was also a game. Aggravating and thrilling.

She smiled blandly as the cab pulled up outside Rocco's hotel but she still said nothing. She'd noticed the bag slung over his shoulder but hadn't asked about that either. Determined not to cross boundaries, huh?

Too bad.

He led her to the lift, pushing the button once inside. She read the destination next to the number and stiffened.

"Relax." He rolled his eyes to make light of it. "I thought you might like to watch a game," he murmured. "You seemed to like looking at me in the water the other day."

She sent him a tart look. "What an ego."

"I know. But I'm right." He knew he was right about her. She wanted back in.

Chelsea reluctantly followed Xander out of the elevator. In the distance she saw the pool. A bunch of guys stood nearby stripping down—not to trunks, but brief Speedos. Wow. Who knew Speedos could look so good? It was like she'd walked into a _Men's Fitness_ photo shoot. His running buddies were there and all looked straight at her.

"Why do I have to be with you for this?" She muttered, not really for him to hear. He'd not wanted her to meet his friends and she'd not wanted to either. It wasn't part of the deal.

"Because I want you to," he answered calmly.

She shouldn't feel such a big bubble of pleasure at that. Wasn't a night with her supposed to be 'nothing'? She knew he'd said that to fob off his friend, but to a degree it was true. She was his fantasy fuckathon filly—his to ride when he liked. And she liked. An arrangement that wasn't really _real_.

That's what they'd _both_ wanted. Many people had this kind of thing, right? Sexual partners with whom they were safe but not committed to and not really 'intimate' with? And for her who better than a guy like Xander who was both passionate and playful. She didn't get why he was changing the boundaries now. Why take this out of her apartment?

She turned as he dropped his bag and whipped off his tee. Well he did have one thing right. She did like to look at him. He winked as his hands went to his belt.

Yeah.

She turned away, fighting the heat burning into her cheeks. She just wished they were outside. Even though the basement pool was brilliantly lit and there were plants and greenery to enhance the 'natural' feeling of the place, it oppressed her. She stared at the water—forgetting about the men, not hearing their chat and low laughs. It looked deep. Chills pressed into her.

"Chelsea?"

She hardly heard him.

"Breathe." Bare-chested Xander stood right in front of her, blocking her view of the blue. He framed her face with his hands and brought her close for a kiss.

He sure kissed her. It was a kiss that offered more than the searing sensuality that always burned when they touched. There was a different kind of heat this time. A gentler warmth as his lips roved over hers, a comfort as his tongue tenderly stroked into the empty cavern of her mouth.

The cold receded, heat filled the empty spots that had been widening inside. She rose on tiptoe to keep him close. But he drew away, leaving her not just panting, but yearning. He turned away.

Belatedly she recollected the presence of the other guys. She glanced beyond Xander to them. Yeah, they'd seen that kiss—as if Xander had deliberately branded her as his.

Except it wasn't that. He and she both knew he'd been distracting her. He'd aimed to soothe and stop her slide into panic. He knew that about her.

He knew she was afraid of the water.

And he'd wanted to help.

Uneasy, she sat on a chair well back from the pool and tried not to look conspicuous. There were a few other spectators but Chelsea had mastered the art of avoidance—cue phone out and head down. But once the whistle blew and the splashing started she couldn't help watching the action.

Waterpolo was a fierce sport—she knew first hand. She knew how fit they had to be to keep treading water like that, how strong to be able to rear up so far out of the water, how adept to catch the ball one handed. They threw ferociously, swam fiercely. Nothing tame about it. But they were laughing as they dragged each other under. They scored quickly, relentlessly, joyously. They were having so much fun it was painful to watch. That's when she went back to the phone and opened up a book app—she'd read. But she couldn't concentrate. The shouts, the laughter, the cheers and jeers kept her looking up.

"You came with Xander?"

She nearly jumped out of her seat. She hadn't noticed him walk over and stand beside her, she'd been too busy watching Xander firing the ball from one end of the pool to the other—and land a goal. But Logan—with the cheekbones and fallen angel eyes was right beside her. His expression was kind of fierce and he looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days—even more the fallen angel.

Well she was not reacting to the double entendre. _Not_. He probably didn't even mean it that way. Too childish. But the guy was smiling. A slightly familiar—fully wicked—grin.

"How do you know him?" she asked without thinking.

Logan's gaze sharpened. "We're cousins."

So she hadn't imagined the similarity. They were related. Only Logan's hair was jet black compared to Xander's brown and his 'edge' more pointed. She nodded casually but curiosity still bit. "And good friends?"

"We spent all our teen years together," he said. "He, me and my brother. Anything more you're going to have to worm out of him yourself." Logan sent her another narrow-eyed look. "I'm sure you'll figure out a way."

What more was there? Obviously there was something because she read tension within Logan. The guy was protective of Xander, and somehow saw her as a possible threat? That she could hurt the guy? Didn't Logan know Xander was all steel?

Interesting. Maybe even steel had a weakness, even if it was used to protect and defend... _something_.

She glanced over to Xander—her curiosity flaring. He was out of the water and watching her, looking edgier than Logan ever could.

"Thought you'd decided to stick to legit sports." He called to Logan, his voice had even more sharpness than his expression.

"Absolutely." Logan grinned and walked back towards the pool.

Chelsea looked at Xander. His expression softened a touch before he turned to dive back into the pool and join his mates.

Nice to know the lone-wolf had back-up if he needed it. In fact, given the unveiled curious looks she was getting from all the get-fit gang, he seemed to have three guys ready to back him up. But she got the feeling Xander worked things so he never needed it.

She gave up pretending to read and just watched Xander for the rest of the game. She concentrated on the expressions crossing his face as he played—determination, ruthlessness, satisfaction. After a while she forgot he was even in the water as she wondered about him. What had made him into the strong, fit man he was? Why didn't he want anything more from a woman than easygoing get-togethers? Was it just that he liked variety or was it something more serious than that?

When he left to get changed she buried her nose back in her screen. She didn't want to talk to any of his friends or family. Well she did, but she didn't want to face _their_ curiosity.

"What are you reading?" Xander asked as he walked over to her, back in his customary jeans and tee.

"Nothing much," she said.

"Sounds interesting. Should I get a copy?"

She chuckled. The historical fiction book might as well have been in Swedish for all the sense she'd made of it in the last twenty minutes.

"Come on," he said. "Let's grab dinner."

She stood carefully, giving her leg a little shake to make sure it hadn't stiffened too much before she attempted to walk. She didn't want to draw attention by limping more than usual. "You don't want to go for drinks with your friends?" Wasn't that the usual drill after guys had played sport together?

A cheeky half grin appeared on his face. "Do you want to?"

She shook her head. She wanted to go home alone, with him.

"Good," he said, turning to walk to the elevator. "I'm starving."

So was she.

"I have the perfect restaurant," he added.

Restaurant? Really? She'd thought he meant get take-out. "I'm not dressed for a restaurant."

His gaze travelled down her, the appraisal lasting the entire elevator ride up to the pavement level. "You look good to me."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked as they exited the hotel. She so wasn't getting the point.

"Because you're new to living in the city and I'm being a nice, friendly neighbor," he drawled with his easy, incorrigible charm. "But mainly because I want to get in your pants again."

He didn't need to take her to dinner to get her into bed again, and they both knew it. Honestly, she just wanted him to take her home and ravish her like he had the last seven nights. There was no need for niceties. They had the routine now, right?

His cheeky grin gave way to a chuckle as he guided them along the pavement. "It was a full on game. And I get the feeling I need to replenish my fuel tank. There's a look on your face suggesting I'm going to need it."

"I didn't think superheroes ran out of energy," she said softly.

He paused, swivelling to look at her square on. "You're _that_ hungry for something else?"

Well, duh. She looked right back at him.

But his eyes narrowed and he abruptly turned and walked. "My rules," he muttered.

She frowned briefly as she moved to catch up with him—why the irritation?

The restaurant was French and expensive and he'd clearly made a booking. She shot him a questioning stare as they sat.

"You want a drink? Some wine?" he asked, looking amused.

"No thank you, I'm good with water." She had the feeling she needed all her wits about her tonight. "But don't let me stop you."

"I don't drink."

Okay. She caught the faint tightening around his eyes. There was a reason for that? She held back her curiosity and glanced around the ornate dining room again. "This is a very nice restaurant."

"It's my way of saying thank you," he said blandly.

"What for?" she asked pointedly. He'd better not say bedroom favours.

"For supporting me at polo. I know you didn't really want to be there."

She hesitated, unsure of how to reply. Then a shadow fell over the table. Excellent—saved by the waiter again. She smiled vivaciously and pored over the menu, quizzing the guy about what he thought were the best options. Four minutes later she was handing the menu back to the waiter, when she heard a distant chiming sound. Hell. It was her mobile. She quickly grabbed it from her bag to switch it off but then she saw the screen—three missed calls in the last ten minutes?

All the same number.

"Hey Mom." She pulled an apologetic face at Xander—who was looking even more amused—and then tried to turn away, lowering her voice.

"You didn't answer your phone. I was worried." Yeah, she sounded it.

"Mom I was fine," Chelsea smiled brightly so her mother would hear it. "I was just out walking and didn't hear it ring. My phone was in my bag."

"You're out walking?" Her mother asked. "Isn't it late?"

"Not that late. I'm just out for dinner. Having a nice time like you wanted me to, remember? I'm fine Mom. I'll phone you back first thing tomorrow." She ended the call and glance at Xander. "Sorry about that. She calls all the time."

His brows flashed. "She worries?"

"Uh huh." A lot. Chelsea reached for her glass of water and almost knocked it. She almost wished she had, it would end this conversation. But he was watching her closely, like he expected more. "You know mothers." She shrugged.

He still didn't pick up on her 'topic finisher' tone. "You're close."

"Yeah." She shook her head and smiled. "But she worries about me being in the big smoke all by myself and out late at night."

"Yeah," Xander nodded seriously. "My mom's the same."

At that she giggled.

"What, you don't believe me?" His eyes twinkled.

"You seem pretty able to take care of yourself."

He sent her a wry look. "Well, I can find food, clothing—"

"And a bed when you need it," Chelsea interpolated neatly.

His grin widened. "But she still worries."

Chelsea dropped her gaze and studied the silverware on the table. "Does she want you to settle down?"

"Hope springs eternal in all mothers, doesn't it?"

She grinned. "Yeah. I think so." She lifted her glass and took a sip of cool water. "You seem pretty close to those guys in your team."

"Yeah," he acknowledged, sitting back as the waiter delivered their meals. "Logan is my cousin. Together with Connor, his brother, we worked as lifeguards in the summer then in ski season we were in rescue patrol. Hunter and Rocco as well. They were great jobs when we were studying—extra hours in the holidays and good pay."

So he'd been buddies with all these guys since he was a kid? No wonder they'd eyed her so curiously. Did he not often take a woman to watch their games? "And I bet you scored big time," she said.

"We had some fun." He didn't deny it. "But actually, all those hours on the beach can get a bit boring."

"Surrounded by bikini clad babes?" She shook her head. "I don't think so." She took a bite of her chicken and nearly died— _so_ good. "And then you went into security."

"Systems and surveillance, property protection, yes." He lifted his fork too and took a bite.

"Why? You like cameras?" She teased. "You like watching people?"

He laughed appreciatively. "I far prefer dealing with someone in the flesh to watching an image."

What, so he wasn't a voyeur? "You watched me by the pool."

"You watched me," he reminded her. "Both of us were waiting for the right moment." He angled his head and studied her. That hot, intense look that made her sizzle from the inside out. "A moment like now."

She met his gaze—read the desire in his eyes. Knew her eyes reflected the same. Distraction time? Yeah, maybe that was a good thing. To keep this as fantasy.

A wicked smile crossed his face. "Have you ever fantasized about having sex in public?"

Uh, only in the last second.

"What about getting off in a restaurant?" he asked, finally going into more detail. "With people sitting all around you."

"How would you do that?"

"Make you come?" He pinned her in place with another look—sharper, hungrier. Gorgeous. "I guess I'd need a longer tablecloth to be able to get on my knees between your legs. So sucking you off isn't going to happen, sadly."

She resisted the urge to rub back and forth on the seat. "You are so cruel."

"I could, however, slip a finger into place," he ignored her interruption and mercilessly continued. "Maybe two. I could rub my thumb on—"

She clamped her hand over his mouth. Felt him chuckle. Then felt his tongue. Oh the man had skill with his tongue.

"You've stopped breathing again. We're going to have to do something about this." He pulled her hand down from his lips and leaned over and kissed her. His teeth nipped her lower lip before he pulled away—far too soon.

"Oh dear," he muttered. "The waiter is coming."

No, _she_ was the one about to come. "You're _so_ evil," she choked.

He laughed and took every opportunity to touch her through the meal. His leg pressed against hers, he touched her wrists. And he looked at her, as intently and attentively as if he could see all the way into her.

Getting out of the restaurant and through the cab ride home was almost unbearable.

As she struggled to unlock her door, his fingers trailed up and down her thigh—not going high enough or hard enough. Pure tantalizing torment.

As soon as they were in her room he pulled something from his bag.

"What's that?" She stared at the package.

"So suspicious." He laughed and opened it up.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What do you think?"

Heat surged. "Where did you get it from? Did you have it already? You have a cupboard full of sex toys I should know about?"

"And doesn't the thought of that turn you on." He chuckled. "Internet. Courier. These things are easily done."

"I don't want to—"

"Yes, you do." He ran the tip of the vibrator across her lips. "You've been sheltered your whole life. You've never had or done many things. But you've dreamed. Fantasized."

She loved it when he brought on his fantasy talk. The way his voice dropped—the sound of sex. She licked her lips, letting her tongue touch the very tip of the toy. "So what am I going to do?"

He tossed the vibrator onto the bed and began to undress her. "You're naked, of course." He slipped the dress from her shoulders and she stepped free of it. "And what do you think happens then?" he teased.

She shook her head, so desperate for the release that was so, so close. "Damn it, Xander."

"You're experimenting." He laughed, amusement in his eyes at her frustration and pushed her back onto the bed. He peeled her underwear from her skin and spread her legs—letting his fingers tease as wickedly as his words were. Only then he switched on the vibrator and gently rolled it up the inside of each thigh until she arched restlessly.

"You get caught. You're lying there with this toy between your legs and you're about to come and someone walks into the room."

"Who?" she whispered.

"One of your servants. Your favorite."

"Of course," she breathed.

Xander stepped back and quickly removed his clothes, snapping on a condom before turning back to her. "You've seen him often. Admired from afar. Checked out his butt when you thought he wasn't looking. Not to mention his abs of steel."

She chuckled even as she yearned for more of his touch. "Of course."

"But of course he's noticed you looking. But he hasn't done anything. How can he? You're the princess—"

"A princess?"

"Naturally. And you can't be touched by one as lowly as him. But when he walks in he sees how wet you are, how excited. How needy."

"And what does he do?"

"You see him. You can't hide that he's the one you need. And he says—'I can show you'." Xander's smile deepened. "But I can't penetrate you."

"You _can't_?"

Xander laughed at her high-pitched disappointment. "No, definitely can't. A princess has to remain pure."

"Oh." Chelsea managed to pout and reached out to stroke him in kind.

"You are going to test every ounce of my control." Xander smiled through gritted teeth.

"Yes I am."

"But your servant is going to resist."

"Is he?" She giggled and squirmed again. "So what does he do?"

"He tells you to lie back and he'll show you how your body ought to be used. What it's built for."

"He's going to penetrate me with the vibe though, isn't he?"

Xander just laughed.

Kissed her breast. He nibbled on her nipple and then soothed the sting with his lips and tongue. A gentle suck and drag. She wanted more. She wanted harder. "You're such a tease."

"Pleasure has to be drawn out, Princess."

"Why?"

"To maximize it. Make it intense."

It already was intense with the hum of the machine against her clit. The rhythmic licks of his tongue across her entrance. She was squirming so much.

"Lie still or I'll stop."

How the hell was she supposed to lie still when he kept up that insane torture?

He knelt above her, moving even as he kept intimately kissing her. She reached out and took his cock in her hand, hoping to stoke him into faster action.

In response he nibbled and sucked harder, made her arch closer.

"Please, please, please." She was begging and she didn't care. She wanted him to finish her off. She was so, so close and it was killing her. She rubbed him faster.

At that moment he stopped and pressed the vibrator against the fingers of her other hand so she curled them around it.

"Okay," he invited. "You have a toy in each hand. Your choice. What are you going to do? Which is better?"

She kept a firm grip on them both, the vibrator lubed and humming in her hand and him—hot, hard velvet. Her choice.

Passion erupted. She _so_ knew what she was going to do. She wriggled quickly. Positioning herself flat on the bed, letting her head tip back almost over the edge of the mattress. She opened her mouth and sucked him in. At the same time she pushed the vibrator into herself. She clamped on it—at the strangeness. Oh it was good.

There was a startled shout from him, then a groan. His hips jerked involuntarily and he thrust a little too far.

She reached back, smashed her hands on his butt and kept him there.

"You are a constant revelation." He muttered. "Hell, Chelsea."

She laughed, the sound smothered.

He reached down and worked the vibe for her, matching the rhythm with the suck and drag of her mouth on his cock. And then he bent further over her and sucked on her clit.

Oh sweet mercy, the sensations were so insane she hurtled straight into orgasm. Her hands clenched on his hips, ramming him deeper into her throat, muffling her screams through her shudders.

She heard his pleased, soft laughter as she returned back from the brink and tilted her head back to look at him. He was still hard. She'd wanted him to come in her mouth. She wanted him as out of control as she'd just been. But he hadn't. Now he moved. He slid the vibrator from her body, tossing it to the side and pushing his cock in its place.

She groaned at the feel of him. She was slippery, more than ready, but even so, he filled her to capacity.

"You have the most amazing mouth. It fits me perfectly. You fit me." He kissed her, his tongue stroking the way his cock had only moments before. Deep, rhythmic. Demanding. As he drove deep inside her the urgency for release coiled within her again.

"The vibe has its place," he muttered. "But nothing beats this."

She smiled at him.

For a moment all fantasy was gone—there was her and him. No princess, no servant, no toy. No game. Just Xander. He looked down at her with a twist to his lips that couldn't possibly be tender and caring. But it was. His kiss more so.

Even as she came, Chelsea knew she was in trouble.
Chapter Thirteen

Xander stayed in Chelsea's bed the entire night. Usually he crawled out at some point, dragging himself back to his apartment for the remainder of the night. After he'd had sex with her again. But this time he failed to summon the energy or will to leave. He was finally breaking through her defenses. She'd taken _action_ last night—played with the toy as he'd wanted her to. She'd decided. She'd teased, laughed, talked dirty right back at him. Having her watch waterpolo had been good, the restaurant better, their bed play after—brilliant.

Only now he wanted yet more—to have her truly take the lead. To open right up to him and tease him hard out the way he suspected she would if she could let herself go. He couldn't walk away until he'd achieved that.

But more than that, he wanted to _know_ her. Not just physically.

He woke before she did. He watched her sleeping deeply and dreamlessly. No nightmare. He drew in a satisfied breath. She was curled, facing towards him. Beautiful, warm and snugly. He ached for her to wake, but didn't want to disturb her rest. Lazily he reached for his phone and checked some emails. He hoped she'd stir soon. But then her phone vibrated and emitted that tinkling tune.

"Oh hell," she mumbled, reluctantly rolling to her back. "Sorry." She didn't even look at him as she turned away to grab the phone and get out of bed. "Hey Mom. Yeah. No. I'm good."

Her voice faded as she wandered into the other room. "I just slept in."

He lay in bed a few minutes longer, giving her the privacy to take her call. It was clear she wanted that space. Interesting that her mother called so often—that Chelsea was constantly required to assert her wellness. And yet close as they were, she wasn't telling her mother everything.

He smothered a snort. It shouldn't bother him that she hadn't told her mom she was with a guy. What did he expect her to say—'don't call so early Mom, I'm tired from having so much sex'?

So not gonna happen. Not from more-private-than-a-porcupine Chelsea Greene. She was all about keeping her life compartmentalized, that was clear.

So getting to know all of her wasn't going to be easy. Good thing he knew how to work hard.

He didn't get the wake-up sex he'd craved—couldn't take advantage of the ground he'd gained the night before. Her call took too long, he had meetings to get to. But halfway through the day he found he couldn't concentrate on work any more. He'd had a call from his engineer to go back and help him out on the independent cinema project in Houston.

Xander didn't want to go. He frowned at his own reaction. That was a first. He never let anything distract him from work, certainly not a woman. He pushed back from his desk and went outside for some fresh air. Ended up catching a cab on a whim.

He got out of the cab. A brightly colored coffee cart was parked to one side of the entrance of the equally vibrant building. Xander read the sign in the lobby and took the elevator to the fourth floor.

"Can you tell me where I might find Chelsea Greene?" He asked the receptionist.

"Sure, follow me."

Xander followed, glancing round the small open plan office as she led him through it. No sign of the one he wanted. The girl paused and frowned. "This is her desk, she shouldn't be far—"

"You just missed her. She's just gone down to grab coffee." A guy came over. "I'm Steve."

Xander nodded, trying not to glare at the hippie dude with shoulder length hair and collection of leather ties round his wrists. Doubtless he was another intern, and Xander couldn't possibly be jealous of him getting to spend his workdays with Chelsea. He turned to study the drawings pinned on the chest-high partition around Chelsea's desk. Some were plans, some were 'artist impressions' and some were just art. Wow. He bent to study one closer. He'd not seen any of these in her apartment, but then that place was crazy full of small herbs. But her work was something else. The woman could really draw.

"She's so talented." The Steve guy commented. "Really creative."

Xander tensed. Yeah, he wanted to see more of her 'creativity.' Damn, he needed to stop constantly thinking about sex. Except it wasn't really sex he was thinking about. It was Chelsea. All about Chelsea.

Discomfort flared in his chest. He really shouldn't be here. He turned.

"Oh."

She was right there, steaming keep-cup in hand.

"What are you doing here?" She asked. She blushed and sent a quick sideways glance towards Steve. But Xander knew she was pleased to see him, he caught the spark in her eyes. That tight feeling in his chest eased.

"Checking out what you do all day." He shrugged, aiming to lighten his own mood further. "Whether you really are going to do something with all that greenery in your apartment."

"Really?" She laughed. "You really want to see?"

He nodded, genuinely interested. With an almost shy smile she showed him some of the projects she'd been studying. Examples of temporary installations and structures in cities where some kind of catastrophe had occurred. Earthquakes, floods, storms.

"People do interesting things in the spaces left after destruction. It can lead to regeneration, growth," she said. "And I think people have a need for something beautiful to see them through the interim, right? Before the rebuild really begins. Because that can take so long."

"Sure," he nodded. "Maybe."

"Better to grow some wildflowers than weeds," she said softly.

"You could leave the land barren." Why put something in if it was only for a short time?

She shook her head. "Nature will always fill a space. She'll always reclaim what was once hers. So let's work with her and make it nice in the meantime."

That was Chelsea, he mused. She'd been—partly—destroyed. And now she was filling the space the way she wanted—with her work, her desire to live alone. And her call to be an independent, sexually satisfied woman without the need for a long term, intimate relationship. But nature—natural instinct—would reclaim the space eventually. This was only her transition phase. She'd want a family eventually, most people did.

Except not him. He was too damaged. Wild flowers couldn't grow when the weeds were this thick.

"So." He looked at the plans for her project. "You're going sell pizza from a temporary takeout parlour made from basil plants."

"That's pretty much the deal, yeah." She smiled at him.

"It seems a really big effort for something so temporary." He looked at her bright eyed, beautiful face.

"Everything is only temporary." She repinned one of her design pictures that was hung crooked. "Nothing lasts."

"Some of our buildings have been around since the dinosaurs."

"You exaggerate," she half snorted. "And you know, most of these buildings won't be standing in another thousand years. Temporary is the whole point."

Xander frowned at the way that slipped so easily from her tongue. "You're going to need some kind of security set-up."

Now she frowned. "No I won't."

"What about the middle of the night?"

"New York never sleeps, right?"

"You'll get people ripping off all your salad leaves. Or worse, some drunk idiot will decide to use the pots as a pee vessel."

"Gross."

"Exactly."

"I can't afford security for it."

He grinned. "I can help you out there."

Chelsea hesitated, trying to think of an answer, but amused by the direction of his thoughts. He came across so wholesome, totally looked the all-round good guy. A lifeguard of all things, and with his wicked arrogant humor, he was all sunshine and success. And yet there was this dark side. She'd noticed the way he religiously checked her door. Surreptitiously but reliably he assessed for danger, seeking the spaces where a thief, an intruder could enter, always glanced around at exits when entering places. Why was he always on the alert for something not being right?

"What, you don't want to accept my help?" he prompted at her silence.

"No." She shook her head. She didn't want his help on this. "But thank you anyway."

He didn't look pleased. "If I was an anonymous donor to the institute, would you accept the help then?" he folded his arms across his chest.

"That would be different."

"So it's because you know me that you don't want my help?" he asked, his voice dropping in volume but sharpening. "Is it because I'm sleeping with you?"

"I just don't want this to become complicated." She looked away from his piercing gaze.

Why was he here right now? Why had she felt that rush of pleasure at seeing him here—showing him?

Because his eyes had lit up as he turned and seen her. That tantalizing smile had twitched at the corners of his way too kissable mouth.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she _had_ turned into a nympho. She thought about him too much—always about what they'd done the night before. It flashed into her mind now, and unable to resist, she looked at him again.

His smile reappeared the second she did, chasing away the somber look in his eyes. "There's no time," he muttered into her ear. "I have a meeting to get to."

Her thoughts had been written all over her face? Burning with embarrassment, she glanced over Steve, but he was busy back in front of his computer screen.

"Why are you here—really?" She turned back to Xander.

"I wanted to tell you I'm not coming to see you tonight. I'm on my way to the airport. I'll be away a few days."

Chelsea's stomach lurched. "Oh. Okay." Disappointment slammed into her like a bus hitting a bug. She was going to _miss_ him. Not just the sex. But _him_. She turned to walk him back to the elevator, trying not to panic at the deep emotion roiling inside.

"Well, safe travels then, huh?" She dragged out a smile.

His hand too-briefly clasped hers. "I'll see you when I get back."

She bit her lip to stop from asking when—to the second—that would be.

So much for not complicated.
Chapter Fourteen

She decided Xander's absence was good. Training, right? It'd help keep things in perspective. Stop her getting too involved. Except she kept thinking about him. She struggled to get to sleep, her body wanted him while her mind whirred in circles. She wanted to talk to him—to joke and laugh.

When she did finally fall asleep the nightmares came. She suffered through the same one as always but a variant sometimes alternated. In the darkness she was searching, searching, desperately trying to find him—a faceless, tall, broad shadow.

She _had_ to find him. To save him. To love him.

But she'd lost him. She was alone.

Three long, restless nights went by and she didn't get nearly enough sleep in any of them. This was way worse than those few days after the first time they'd slept together when she was worried about seeing him again.

This was lonely. She faked her way through her phonecalls with her mom. She distracted herself by talking to Luisa about the pizza project. And she buried herself—almost literally—in her work. On Saturday afternoon as she prepped the plants for the pop-up walls, there was a knock on her door.

She checked the peephole. It was both a dream come true and her worst nightmare. Why did he have to turn up looking so damn sexy when she was head to toe covered in dirt?

Just as he was about to knock again, she opened the door.

"How was your trip?" she asked, stepping into the doorway and trying to hide her smeared hands behind her back.

"Successful," he grinned. "I enjoyed it."

Had he? She swallowed.

"What's going on in your head?" He angled his head, his gaze narrowing on her. One eye brow flickered. "Are you wondering what else I got up to?"

She hadn't wanted to think about that at all. But in those small hours, when the night was darkest and she was in a cold sweat, then yeah—she'd been thinking all kinds of nasty.

"We probably should have established the rest of the boundaries, right?" She swallowed again. "For when you're away." She was determined to be mature. "How about 'don't ask, don't tell'?"

Shock, followed by anger flashed on his face. "No. No one else. Not for me. Not for you."

Relief flooded her system so violently her legs weakened. "Okay." She leaned against the doorjamb, still blocking him from entering.

"Not okay." He eyeballed her some more. "While I'm with you there is no other guy." He drew in a sharp breath. "Was there?"

" _No_." Of course not. The thought was sickening.

"No one. Understand?"

She nodded. He really didn't need to emphasize it. She wasn't the one most likely, whereas the total stud that he was? He'd have been fending them off in the hotel lobby.

His expression lightened fractionally. "You want to know how I spent my evenings?"

She nodded.

His voice dropped. "I spent every one alone in my room dreaming up new scenarios for you."

She touched her tongue to her lips.

"Holding your breath again?" His chuckle warmed her cheek. "Baby, you've got to learn to breathe. In fact, you've got to learn to..."

She waited for him to finish the sentence. But he didn't.

"I tapped out so many text messages to you," he said instead. "Didn't send one."

"Why not?"

He didn't answer. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Chelsea watched him. Waiting. Aching for him to touch her. Surely he knew it—couldn't he sense how her limbs were trembling? Couldn't he smell her arousal in the small space between them?

"You want a coffee or something?" she asked nervously as the silence grew unbearable. "Have you eaten?"

He growled, finally pulling her close. Willingly she went into his arms as he melded her to his body.

"I'm staying the whole night," he decreed, already putting a hand down her skirt even as he walked her backward into her apartment and kicked her door shut. "I'm a fugitive on the run with no home to go to and a driving need for physical intimacy. You're giving me the comfort of your home and body. For the whole night."

She didn't argue. Didn't deny.

"I should warn you I'm going to need a lot," he said.

"I should warn you I'm very dirty." She held up her hands.

He chuckled. "I don't mind."

As it turned out, Xander liked dirty.

An hour later Chelsea returned to the living room after a quick shower. Xander sat on the floor wearing only boxers as he carefully separated and transplanted her small herbs into the containers they'd be in for the display.

"You don't have to do that," she said, looking guiltily at the dirt already wedged under his fingertips.

He looked over the top of the pot he was holding. "I know I don't have to, I want to." He went back to the task.

Chelsea sat opposite and resumed transplanting a few million more of her own. To her surprise, Xander kept pace, his hands working gently and quickly.

"You're pretty efficient," she said.

"I used to grow vegetables for my mother," he said, carefully pressing a small plant into position.

"Those red peppers, huh?"

"You got it," he winked.

So they'd grown their own? Had he had a totally at-home cook-grow-create kind of mom? Nice.

"My mother gives me horrendous gardening advice," she said to keep the line of conversation open. "Endlessly."

He laughed. "I know how it feels." He glanced over at the long troughs she had ready for the transplanting.

"I bet your mom doesn't call you as often as mine calls me." Chelsea said wryly.

"Probably not. But maybe I get more intense sessions when she does," he chuckled.

"Do you have siblings?" Chelsea asked, unable to stifle her curiosity.

He shook his head.

"Does your mother have a new partner?"

He shook his head again. "How did you smuggle all this stuff in? I don't think they want market gardens established in the apartments."

Chelsea smiled. Yeah, he didn't want to talk family. "Brad helped. So did Terry."

"Ah, of course," he drawled. "You have your bunch of heroes."

"They're not my heroes," she denied with a frown.

He looked at her again. "They'd carry you off in a heartbeat."

She felt her cheeks heat. "That's not what I want."

"No. No being rescued for you, huh?" His lips twisted wryly.

She shook her head.

"There's nothing wrong with accepting a little help though, is there," he sent her a sly look.

"I guess," she answered softly, knowing he was making a point. And given her 'help' was all but naked, there was lots very, very right.

That night, she slept the best she had in months, held in his strong arms. She figured she was worn out from the backbreaking work and the intense sex. She had no nightmares—no dreams at all. Wasn't remotely conscious of anything until she felt the gentle touches. The kisses. The suction on her nipples, the wicked tongue sliding south to her clit. A warm way to be woken—to make her open and easy. She smiled and opened her eyes. The moment she did, he slid to the hilt inside.

"Good morning," he muttered, pressing a kiss to her throat.

She arched up, trying to let him plunge further to satisfy the searing hunger so deep inside. He chuckled as she clutched his butt to stop him slipping too far out. He established a rolling, maddening rhythm. She moaned. She could so get used to this.

"Always ready for me. Always willing."

She wasn't sure if it was a comment, or an order, but satisfaction at his pleasure smoldered in her cells. His intensity heated her own.

He pulled back and circled his hips teasingly before thrusting harder. "Come."

That _was_ an order. And one she couldn't ignore.

He watched her. She knew he watched her. And it was only when she tipped over the edge that she felt him gather his strength and channel it into her in long driving movements.

An hour later he roused her again with a shake to her shoulder. "I'm going for a dip on the roof."

"You swim everyday?" she asked sleepily.

"Absolutely." He shot her a look. "I like the feel of the sun on my back." He paused, like he was waiting for her to reciprocate and say something more.

So she did. But she was wide awake now and it wasn't about swimming. "And you run every day too?" Even Sundays?

The smallest sigh escaped him. "Yes." He kissed her. "I'll be back in an hour. Be ready for me."

"Shall I even bother to get dressed?"

"Yes." He laughed. "We're going out."

He'd gone before she'd had a chance to ask more.

She quickly showered and dressed, stupidly excited about the idea. This was going past their established boundaries again, but he'd been away and they'd missed a few nights, so this was just catch-up, right? He was probably taking her to a different venue—some outdoor sex perhaps, or a wild hotel in which to indulge some other outrageous fantasy?

She clenched her thighs together to stop her excitement mounting so soon and rolled her eyes at her physical reaction to mere _thoughts_. But it wasn't just the sex she was anticipating so fiercely. It was just the fact she'd be spending more time with him.

"Where are we going?" she asked when he knocked on her door again.

"It's a surprise." He didn't walk into her apartment but waited for her to walk out before checking her door. Then he took her hand and led her to the elevator and hit the button for the exit level.

Her nerves twanged sharply when he stepped out on the pavement and scanned the road. Less than ten seconds later a car service pulled in. Her discomfort must have been written on her face because he leaned close and kissed her. Another of those too-soothing, comforting kisses.

She pulled back and tried to tease, to keep them on the straight and sex-only. "You are so one track."

"You love me for it."

She snorted and shook her head as she got into the car—glad the action hid her eyes from his. Not love. Definitely not love. But she was beginning to _like_ an awful lot.

"So where are we going?" she asked again when he slid into the back seat beside her and nodded for the driver to go.

"It's a surprise."

He wasn't going to tell her. So she let him lead the conversation—telling her about the project he'd been working on in Houston. She told him about some of the other work her Institute had been doing.

Finally the car pulled over and she looked out the window. An aquarium? Seriously?

"What are we doing here?" she asked as she got out of the car.

"Just hanging out."

He looked innocent enough but there was something in his tone. Something about it made her suspicious.

"Is it open?"

"Not to the public. They're still fixing things after that last storm but they're reopening any day."

"So how can you get in?"

"I worked on their security system."

"I thought you specialized in bars and clubs."

"Restaurants, hotels, lots of entertainment venues, yes. But it's fun having diversity in my clients."

"I guess this is diverse." She looked at the big sign with the fish logo. "So this is a business meeting?"

He shook his head. "No, I thought you might like have a private peek before they reopen next week."

"Okay." She couldn't help the feeling there was more to this than he was saying.

"They take really good care of the animals," he said, opening the door for her to walk in. "Do a lot of good research as well as operate an education and entertainment thing." He waved at a woman working behind the glass reception. The woman waved back but Xander didn't stop to chat. He led Chelsea straight into one room off the side, clearly familiar with the layout. It was darker. Chelsea saw the enormous fish tanks. That was a lot of water.

"I've always liked the seahorses," he said. "And the jellyfish. With the neon uplight they look like something from outer space. Beautiful and weird and mesmerizing."

She stayed at the edge of the room and only briefly glanced at the fish. "Yeah they are." They were graceful, but this room was too dark.

"There's a really big shark pool." He walked back out to the corridor, stopping at the end to face her. "We go can underneath the tank, through a tunnel. It's perfectly safe."

His effort to reassure didn't help. He thought she was scared. And she was. It might be a tunnel, but they'd still be going _beneath_ the water.

She swallowed. "I um..."

He took hold of her hand before she could finish her sentence. His grip tightened almost instantly and she saw him take a double glance at her. It was a sweltering summer's day, yet her hand was ice-cold and damp.

"You okay?" he asked outright.

She said nothing.

"You know," he said quietly, keeping a tight hold of her hand. "There's an exhibit outside that you might like more."

"There is?" She leaped at the chance to avoid the tunnel thing.

"Yeah." His smile appeared. "Come on."

They retraced their steps along the corridor and then he opened another door.

The bright light outside made her blink after the semi-darkness of the tanks inside, but she still registered what he was leading her to. The cutest aqua-theater—painted bright blue with a small stand of seats. It wasn't huge, but it was beautiful.

"They have dolphins?" Her heart melted.

He grinned and released her hand only to put his arm around her waist and cuddle her closer. "Only for a short time. Then they go to another facility. I think the main attraction here is sea lions."

His affection warmed her, but she directed her unstoppably huge smile at the dolphin. It was smaller than she'd thought dolphins were. And the creature had that lovely perma-grin expression on her face.

"She's beautiful."

"Yeah." Xander agreed. "You want to touch her?" He walked up to the edge of the pool. "She'll swim right up to say hi if you come closer."

The pool had wide steps on one side—clearly designed for trainers, or visitors to enter.

"And we can wade into the pool with her if you want," he said. "To your ankles, knees. You don't have to go deep if you don't want."

Chelsea froze, looking away from the beautiful sea creature to the tall man standing watching her expectantly.

As a kid she would have leapt at the chance. Even now her heart tugged. It was a beautiful, beautiful day and that animal was so gorgeous.

Both of them were.

"You don't have to swim," he spoke again. "Just a couple of paces in. You could throw her a fish. One of the trainers will help you."

Her happiness in the moment of seeing the dolphin was dashed. Xander wanted her to get in the water. That's what this whole trip was about—it was so blindingly obvious. She stepped back from the pool theater, walking around the side of the building so she was out of sight of the lurking attendant in his wetsuit and broad smile.

"Chelsea?" Xander followed her.

He was trying to be nice. Helpful. Even though she hadn't spoken of it, he knew about her fear. He was trying to help her with it. But that wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to get in that water. She didn't want this to develop into any 'thing' between them. Defense rose fiercely within her.

All she'd wanted from him was that heat, right? She wanted away from here and alone with him. She wanted his body and the way he moved it. She wanted the satisfaction of the pleasure he gave her, and the pleasure she got in seeing him sated.

She didn't say anything. Just reached out a hand and got a fist full of his tee. She lifted up onto her tiptoes and kissed him. Pressing her lips to his, her tongue teasing, sliding inside his mouth. A tremor shook her at the contact—not enough. She wanted more. She wanted everything he had to give her. Everything _physical_ —his strength, his heat, his touch. She took him on. Daring him, challenging him. Trying to incite him so it would be impossible for him to refuse her.

Her hands clutched him tighter, closer as she strove to drive them both. Inside she focused on this one thing—so he'd believe it. And so she would too.

That _all_ she wanted was this.

Xander's hands shook as he tried to grip her hips—tried to halt the undulating, devastating, movements that were hurtling him towards insanity. Her breasts were pressed to his chest, her hips plastered to his, rocking on his erection in a rhythm that was so good it was painful. He ripped his mouth from hers with a violent wrench of his head. He heard the breathless gasp she gave as he released her.

She stumbled back, putting a hand out to the wall beside her for support. Xander needed more than a wall, he needed concrete pillars with iron cuffs embedded—to restrain him from taking everything here and now.

He'd never experienced a kiss like that before. She'd blown out his brains with how hot that'd got in a flash. Her lush, hungry mouth caressed, her tongue sent to torment a mere mortal like him. But it was the expression in her eyes that killed him. He could almost hear the words forming on her lips. Everything he'd wanted—her pushing, playing, taking.

_Siren_.

His heart thundered, his skin stretched over a body too tense to be bound. He didn't want to just kiss her again. He wanted to back her up to the nearest tank and shift her knickers to the side and thrust deep in one movement.

No need for foreplay. He was there already. So was she. The way she'd rubbed against him said it all—he could feel the damp heat through his shorts. Heaven help him, he wanted her. Now. Except he did want the foreplay—he wanted _all_ the play. He wanted her to wield that body, let loose all those delicious wanton thoughts so clearly consuming her. But he couldn't.

Because she was hurting. And he wanted to help her with that more.

She sighed, turning her head away as he took another step back.

Damn. Was he really refusing what she was offering? Yes. Because she was only offering this as a distraction. Because she was pushed into a corner and could see no other way out. Because she didn't want to go in the water and this was her way of avoiding it.

Her first moment of truly inciting something between them had been out of necessity, not real desire.

Bitterness chaffed like rock salt rubbed into sensitive skin. Disappointed and frustrated, his patience evaporated—because she'd still never told him. For all their intimacy, she still hadn't uttered a word about what had happened to make her so water phobic. More than anything he wanted her to talk to him.

"Chelsea," he said her name more harshly than he meant to. "Do you want to go in the water or not?"

The flush receded from her cheeks. The flashing sparkle in her eye dimmed, leaving them deeper. Damn mysteries.

She walked back around the corner to the theater where the dolphin was playing. She looked at the gorgeous animal in that clear, blue water for a long time.

Xander looked at her. Silent. Waiting. A hopeless chill sinking into his bones.

"This was a really nice idea." Her voice was a thin, tear-clogged thread as she turned and walked towards the exit. "But I can't. I'm sorry."

_Damn_.
Chapter Fifteen

Chelsea walked faster and faster until she was running. But he kept pace with her every damn step of the way. Of course he did. Because she was still slow. She still had a leg that refused to recover to be as strong as it had once been. Because it had been that badly broken. The bloody thing was never going to be back to what it once was.

Nor was she.

"Chelsea—"

He'd followed her outside.

"I don't want you to do this." She kept her face away from him—even when he stood smack bang in front of her, less than an inch away.

"What do you want me to do then?" he demanded. "Why don't you tell me what it is you want from me?"

Startled she looked up. Her pulse skidded when she saw the alertness in his eyes, the energy in his body. The aggression.

He was as angry as she.

"What is it you want from me?" he repeated, even angrier.

His emotion was a tinder strike to hers. Fury rose. A tsunami built of muddy, confused emotions—frustration, fear, _guilt_. She didn't want him to try to fix her. She wanted him to fuck her. And that was all. Right?

"You want to get back in the water," he challenged. "I've seen the way you look at it. You want back in Chelsea. You do."

"That's something I need to do _myself_." She didn't want to deal with anyone else over this. Certainly not with him.

"Because you won't let anyone help you?" He shook his head. "It's bullshit."

"I don't _need_ someone to help me," she flung back at him. "I don't need someone to rescue me."

If anything he looked angrier. "But you need someone to get you off?" He stepped forward. "I don't want to be that guy anymore."

"Really." She crossed her arms and glared at his groin. The guy's erection from the kisses before was only just subsiding.

"I'm not that out of control," he growled.

"No," she murmured. "You never are."

"What does that mean?"

She just held his gaze, glaring at him.

"Isn't that how you like it?" The skin around his mouth whitened. "Isn't that what you wanted from me? To take the lead?" He shook his head in frustration. "This isn't about _me_ , Chelsea." He spoke quiet, quick. Lethal. "This is about you."

That was the last thing she wanted. "I don't want you to—"

"You don't want to talk, you don't want to swim," he interrupted in a furious tumble of words. "Well save yourself the struggle, because I already know why. It's the accident. It's about the night your fiancé drove off the road and you both ended up in a river."

Chelsea reeled back like she'd been punched in the nose. Her eyes watered, pain howled through her head. He knew? How did he know? Horrified, she clapped her hand over her mouth. She stared as disbelief raged through her system.

"When did you find out?" She breathed harshly. How the hell had he found out? Who had he talked to?

He hesitated. "A day or so after the fire alarm." His expression blanked, his answer came calm and even. But his eyes never left hers.

She leaned against the wall, dropping her gaze to the ground. All this time he'd known? Since almost the moment they'd met? Before they'd even had sex? He'd known basically the whole time? And what had he made of that? Was this whole thing part of his wretched lifesaver syndrome? Had this been nothing but sympathy sex?

No wonder he'd waited those little moments for her to fill in an extra detail—and she never had. She'd not wanted to. She _still_ didn't want to.

"You should have said something," she said. "You should have told me that you knew."

It hurt. Betrayal, pain shafted through her chest.

"I was waiting for you to be ready to tell me."

Her mouth dropped and she stared at him. She wasn't ever going to be ready to tell anyone the whole truth. She'd never be able to. She _couldn't_. "That's not..." she broke off. "That wasn't what this is about."

"What was I supposed to do?" He turned away, running a hand through his hair and then whirling back to face her. Defensive. "You were walking around with a giant diamond on your engagement finger but giving me those eyes and you—" he drew in a sharp breath. "You wouldn't tell me."

"That was my _right_. I don't tell _anyone_ here." She'd never told another person the whole truth of that night. "I wanted to forget it for a while. Wasn't that the whole point of this thing between us. Isn't it all about the _fantasy_?"

"Yes." His face had paled. "But it's still based on trust, Chelsea. There's honesty at its core. There has to be. You could have trusted me."

"I did trust you Xander." She shook her head. "Do you think I'd ever have put myself in such a vulnerable position with you if I didn't?"

His expression shuttered. "But only physically."

She couldn't trust anyone with anything more. "That's all this was meant to be."

And now she felt betrayed. He'd changed the protocol—the status of this arrangement.

"So you didn't try to find out anything about me?" he asked. "You didn't ask Brad about me?"

He knew that? Oh that was embarrassing.

"And you didn't ask Logan?" he added.

And she thought she'd been subtle. "That's different."

"How?"

"They were never going to tell me something so..."

"So...?" he prompted.

So _personal_. So private. Something that if he knew...

"Okay," she said crisply. "So you know. Tom died and I lived and I'm single and staying that way."

He shook his head. "You're just not over it yet. You're never going to stay single. You're not built to be alone."

"Don't patronize me. I'm stronger than you can ever imagine." But even though it was the truth, her stupid eyes filled with tears again.

"I know strength." He stepped forward, framing her face in his hands. "I know how strong women can be. But you don't have to be alone all your life. That's not right for you. You'll fall in love again one day." He pressed his lips together firmly.

That ridiculous prophecy made her all the more determined not to.

He suddenly laughed. "Sometimes you're so obstinate."

"Don't belittle me."

"Chelsea." He sighed and took a step back. "I'm sorry I tried to get you to do something you weren't ready for. I was trying to help."

"I don't want you to help in that way. I just want—"

"Me to fuck you."

Her heart clenched. She couldn't let this become more than that. And he didn't really want anything more, did he? She couldn't bear to be hurt again. "I just want to have fun with you. And yes, having sex with you is a big part of that." She closed her eyes. "I just wanted to have a good time. And for you to have a good time."

_That_ mattered more than it probably should.

His hands settled on her shoulders. "I do have a good time with you, Chelsea."

"Then we're okay." She willed him to understand. "Xander, this is what is. Don't try to change it," she pleaded. "Don't try to help me. Yes, I'm scared of going in the water again. I can't ever tell you what that night was like. What happened. Please don't ask me to. Please don't try to help me with that." She looked down. "If you can't leave it, then we need to end this."

There was a long moment of silence as she waited for his answer.

"We're not ending it yet," he said in a low voice.

Relief swept through her in such a force her legs went weak. But he still looked serious, his jaw firm. Shadows lurked in the depths of _his_ eyes too.

Everyone bore some kind of scarring—it was part of life. Of course now she wondered what troubles his life had dealt. Even though she'd just said physical was all this was, her curiosity about him rose.

As they were driven back into the city, she twisted in the back seat to face him. "You know, it's not fair you know something of my past and I know nothing of yours."

He shrugged, keeping his focus on the window. "Not my fault if my research was better than yours."

"But maybe we need to even things up. You could tell me something."

"I could." He answered light enough.

But he wasn't going to. Which, she supposed was fair given she'd been the one to ask him not to try to help her, to ask her to talk. But his attitude sparked her own. "I could force it out of you."

He turned his head, his eyes kindling. "How would you try to do that?"

Her brain fuzzed at his changing expression—the predatory sharpening of his features. _Lust_. Excitement thrummed in her veins. That's what she wanted—for _him_ to be aroused. For him to lose all control in his desire for her. Maybe that's what she needed to make him do.

Xander didn't go back to his apartment after the aquarium fiasco. He didn't want to give her time to retreat back into her shell. He'd agreed not to ask, but that didn't mean he was going to back off completely.

Maybe he was a damn fool, but he just couldn't. He followed her into her apartment, took a seat in the centre of her sofa and pulled out his phone to check for emails—his basic displacement activity. But to his utter shock, given the tense conversation they'd just had, she didn't try to distance herself from him. Instead of retreating, she _sashayed_ towards him. It seemed the last thing she felt at the moment was anger.

"What would you like to do with me? To me?" she asked.

"You're offering yourself up for anything?" Xander asked, somewhat bemused. Didn't she get that she did that to him on a nightly basis already? He spun the story and she danced.

She nodded, her gaze fixed on his.

Her wide-eyed supplication rubbed off the thin scab that had barely grown over the unresolved frustration.

"What do _you_ want to do?" He watched her eyes as he asked her straight out. "Tell me what you want to do. You know you can tell me anything."

Shadows appeared. Uncertainty. Reluctance. She wasn't going to—either say or do. Why the hell not? As much as he still wanted her, it pissed him off.

He could be as dominant as any other red-blooded guy when he had to, but he wanted a _partner_ , not a slave. At least, he could do the master/slave thing for fun sometimes, but sometimes _he_ wanted to be the slave. Well, for about two minutes before he broke the chains and staged a coup. But still, he'd make an effort to submit for a few minutes. Trouble was, he wanted her to make the effort. But she wouldn't. Nor would she talk to him. She didn't want anything more than what he came up with, she'd just made that more than clear.

He stood up from the sofa and pocketed his phone.

"This isn't going to work Chelsea. I'm sorry I pried into your life, I shouldn't have," he said walking towards her door and avoiding looking at her eyes. He didn't want to see her hurt at all. "I can't be the guy you need."

It wasn't enough for him anymore.
Chapter Sixteen

The Sunday from hell was followed by the Monday from an even deeper, hotter part of Hades.

"What do you mean the space is no longer available? Are you sure?" Chelsea tried not to screech into the phone.

"Look I'm sorry. The construction crew have a gap and they can start work sooner. I really am sorry but I have to go with them."

"Oh." She tried to think. "Of course."

She hung up the phone and stared at it glumly. That was it, her project was screwed. She'd tried so hard to hide the disappointment as she'd taken the call but she'd failed. She knew because the guy had kept apologizing.

She'd wanted to make a go of it, wanted to succeed in something—her first real challenge since the accident. She'd wanted to get her career and study back on track. To make the other interns and her boss proud of her. To get some good data for her research project. She didn't want to let them down. But she had.

She closed her eyes, tried not to panic. Maybe she could figure a way out of this? Maybe she could find another venue? Maybe she just needed to work harder?

She didn't think about Xander. She'd been ignoring the low ache beneath her ribs for hours now and she'd keep ignoring it. Every time his name, his face, appeared in her thoughts she pushed him out.

She got a really bad headache.

She worked as late as she was allowed in the office. And then, unwilling to face the bazillion basil plants in her apartment, she set up at the twenty-four hour diner down the road from her apartment. She surfed the Internet, put an SOS call out on the pop-up's Facebook page and drank coffee in desperation. But she was getting nowhere fast.

She rested her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands. Eyes closed.

"Everything okay?"

She jumped. Oh _hell_. Xander stood by her booth.

"Of course. I'm fine." She forced a bright smile. She so didn't want to go into any of this with him.

"Really?" He dropped into the seat opposite, bringing his eyes to the same level as hers. "Why don't you try answering that one again." His expression was implacable but he sounded concerned. "You know you can tell me anything, Chelsea."

Could she? There was one thing she'd told no one. And she wasn't going there today. Today was all and only about work. Even so, it distressed her and she didn't want to fall apart in front of him. Yesterday's emo nightmare had been more than enough. But there was no getting away from his determination. She was just going to have to stay tough, matter of fact—unemotional. "My space has fallen through."

"Your space?" He frowned.

"My 3 by 3. For the pop-up pizza." She swallowed back the painful lump in her throat. No tears. She didn't want to cry and cling and _complicate_. She didn't want to force him to offer the kind of comfort he didn't want to have to. He'd known all along about her history and while he'd been waiting for her to open up, she also knew that part of him didn't really want to deal with her personal fallout. He'd only wanted fun. Originally he'd only wanted _one_ afternoon.

He looked surprised. "But you're building this week?"

"Not anymore." She sighed. "The construction crew putting up his permanent building came to him ready to start much sooner than originally thought so the two weeks space is now nothing." The two weeks it had going to be a cute little pizza parlour.

She looked at the table between them, trying to sharpen her brain and think of solutions, as she'd been trying these last six hours. "I could put it on the back of a truck," she mused aloud, mainly to stop herself from looking longingly at him. "But I'd really wanted it to become part of the local environment. To be green from the outside." She shook her head. "I'm just going to have to find somewhere else."

But at such short notice? Property in Manhattan was premium, the island wasn't getting any bigger. She'd never manage it. And now she had a thousand basil plants taking up every spare inch in her apartment for no reason and an on-loan pizza oven taking up valuable space in Wroxton HQ. It would never be fired up.

She finally looked back into Xander's eyes. He was watching her too closely. Now he reached across and put a hand over hers—not a sensual touch, but a supportive one.

She stiffened, determined to hold herself in check. Because she didn't want pity, didn't want him to empathize, didn't want him to be all understanding and _kind_. She'd lose it completely.

She sat back, slipping her hand out from under his. "I'd better keep working on it," she said.

He froze. "You want me to go?"

"I'm going to spend the night online trying to find alternative venues." She gestured at her laptop.

If he didn't leave shortly she'd break down in front of him. That was the last thing either of them wanted.

"Alright," he said coolly. "I'll leave you in peace." He slid out from the booth and stood. "You know if you don't want company, you should lock yourself in your apartment."

She closed her eyes in frustration he walked out of the diner without a backwards glance. He was chilly, and pretty much had every right to be.

She'd failed. Not only on the pop-up front. Her months in New York were going to be a total washout.
Chapter Seventeen

Early in the morning Xander laced his shoes, still mulling Chelsea's problem. _His_ problem. Serving pizza by the slice in a pop-up pizzeria made of plants for a couple of weeks might an 'out there' idea, but he'd wanted to see it work. More importantly, she'd _needed_ to see it work. She needed to have her interim beautiful _something_ to see her out of her personal wreckage.

But he'd been cut by her dismissal last night. Hell, for a moment he'd thought she was looking all sad and weary because of _him_. As if. Then she couldn't have made it clearer that she didn't want his help. But he'd helped her with the plants the other night without asking and she'd coped okay with that, so what had been the difference?

He loped down the stairs, checking his watch. He was on time. Hunter was just walking through the foyer and they broke into an easy stride without saying anything. Five minutes later Xander managed a laugh as he saw Logan and Rocco heading towards them.

Logan's running outfit looked like he thought it was winter. Long sweats, long sleeves, a cap pulled low and sunglasses large enough to cover half his face. The newly grown beard covered the other half.

"What's with the disguise? This because you're a sex celebrity now?" Hunter teased as they turned along the pavement, almost at the park.

Logan muttered foul things under his breath.

Xander chuckled. For Logan to be this bothered was unusual. He was already a celebrity of sorts what with his skiing record, and having become the 'face' of his company. Normally Logan never eschewed media attention.

"You're really not proud of it are you?" Rocco commented from a half pace behind. "Just forget about it."

"I _have_ forgotten about it," Logan growled, his feet thudding faster. "It's the family who haven't."

Xander winced. He knew how hard Logan's father could be. The guy sliced away emotional support with a single look. The ultimate lack of forgiveness. For all the extra-marital activities he might have indulged in himself, the old devil was always discreet and expected his sons to be the same. He'd hate the playboy notoriety Logan had earned. And it was getting to Logan. It was obvious from the grim line of Logan's lips—the slight pallor encircling them. He was having it tough. Well, Xander could do some distraction for him. "Rocco, I need a favor."

"Sure, what?"

Xander grinned at his buddy's agreement before he'd even heard the request—but he knew it wasn't really going to fly. Not with Roc. "I need some space. About 3 by 3."

"Inside the hotel?" Rocco frowned. "You can have a whole suite if you want."

"No I need a space outside—where the public walk. For a stall."

"A stall? Like a bake sale or something?" Hunter asked dryly, sounding as incredulous as he ever got.

Xander tried to explain the concept as best he could—and then cajoled. "Come on Roc, can you do it for me?"

"Planning, permission..." Rocco shrugged, a negating gesture.

"They love you," Xander argued. "You've brought so much traffic into the area. So many consumers."

"Hell, sorry Xan, but you're never going to get a pop-up pizza joint in my block." Rocco pulled an apologetic face.

"Logan? You can find me a space. I know you can." Xander looked at his quarry. "You have contacts like no one else."

"This is that important to you?" Logan took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow before tugging the hat down low again.

"Not to me, but..." he trailed off and saw the sly grin flash over Logan's face. _Shit_. How easily had he walked into that trap?

"And _she's_ what's important to you." Logan had it already.

"No." Xander gritted his teeth, refusing to think that even in private moments. "But she's had a tough time. I'd like to see her have some success."

Logan's jaw tightened. "Never seen you this way. Why so keen to please her? You pussy whipped?"

"Must you be so crude, you asshole." Xander curled his fingers into fists.

"Like that's not crude?" Hunter chipped in.

"You not bagged her yet?" Logan continued to taunt. "Your technique slipping?"

"I'm not discussing this with you." Xander deliberately pushed faster, ahead of the pack. The group of walkers coming in the other direction quickened their pace to get out of way.

"Clamming up?" Logan provoked, a bare pace behind. "Even more of a sign you're a broken man."

"I can still beat you Logan. Don't push it."

Logan strode up to match Xander's punishing strides. "I think we're an even match," he puffed. "She's really got you hanging. Holding out on you."

She was and she wasn't. She'd looked at him with her big eyes and let him do anything he wanted. Which wasn't enough. Which in itself was insane. He didn't get himself at all. "Just find me a damn space."

Logan was silent for twenty yards. Then he sighed. "I'll need to check it out. I'll see what I can do."

Xander smiled. He'd known he could rely on his cousin—for all his grump. "Just don't let her find out we're behind it."

"You sure that's wise?" Logan asked.

"She'll never know," said Xander.

"Women always know. They have their ways." Hunter came abreast of them. "They always find out. Question is whether it's going to be worth the fall out."

Xander thought about it for all of two seconds. Chelsea might be mad, but he figured he could get around that. She'd be too pleased to have gotten her pizzas cooking.
Chapter Eighteen

Chelsea worked the phones like she'd never worked them before. Failed at the first fifteen calls—and the next fifteen. She probably needed to do this in person with the plans and her artist impressions to help people understand what she was on about. But she didn't have time. As it was she was squeezing all these calls in amongst the data entry, filing and design mock-ups she was supposed to be doing as part of her internship. Fortunately Steve had turned out to be an awesome ally and a whiz at data entry. And even though she knew it was a lost cause already, given the pop-up had been scheduled to be built and go live this week, she refused to give up. She was _not_ a quitter.

Except for when it came to Xander. But she wasn't about to fight a battle she could never win. He'd had enough. He'd called it. But she was mad with him—he wanted more, yet wouldn't give more. He had walls of steel around his heart and he wasn't going to let anyone break them down.

Fine. She wasn't going to hurt herself by trying. She wasn't going to _think_ about him any more.

"Hey Chels, you seen this?" Steve called across the small office.

She walked over to read the screen over his shoulder. "No way," she breathed. "No _way_. Is it for real?"

Steve picked up the phone and handed it to her. "Only one way to find out."

Some random company had put an offer of a tiny site on the Facebook page she'd created to detail and publicize the event. Her fingers trembled as she pushed the buttons to contact the person listed. Was it legit or not?

Xander couldn't stay away. Late in the evening he walked down to the site with Hunter matching his stride. A small square structure was perched on the corner of a construction zone. Logan had worked damn fast—the legend. But Chelsea had worked even faster. To have achieved this in less than twenty-four hours?

But Xander couldn't smile. He was thinking about her every second, every minute, every hour of this damn long day. Still dreaming up the most outrageous scenarios to see how far she'd get before she got the giggles. Not that there was any point in thinking that way. It was over.

But he couldn't stay away. How she'd gotten the foundations done so quick he didn't know. Then he saw the two builders grinning and chatting with her and figured it. It also ticked him off.

She glanced over and saw him. Her expression changed completely—instantly lighting. He felt an intense sense of pleasure that she responded so swiftly, so naturally like that. He couldn't stop his own huge grin back. She might smile for others, but she ignited for him.

"Been sweet-talking guys to help you out again?" he teased as she walked towards him. He wished she'd sweet-talk _him_.

"They're sponsors actually," she answered earnestly. "I'm putting a sign up thanking their company."

Yeah, it wasn't for the company promo that those guys were working late. "It's looking good."

"Thanks," she answered.

That's when the awkwardness arose. It was like she'd just remembered they weren't 'together' any more. Her face flooded with color and she turned away. "How did you find us?" she asked.

He held up his phone with her Facebook page on it.

"Oh." She bit her lip and nodded. "Well you want to take a closer look? It's getting there." She walked him over towards the small shack.

It really was small, just big enough for the pizza oven and the work counter and a space under the roof for customers to linger while waiting for their pizzas.

They'd placed the plants all over the roof but were still working on filling the walls. She was putting the herbs in patterns—vertical stripes. It was amazing.

He watched as she bent and picked up some tools and a plant, readying to get back to work.

"When did you get so handy with a hammer?" he asked.

"And wire." She laughed. "Needs must, right?"

Steve was in the far corner inside the small structure, stacking wood next to the small wood fired pizza oven.

Xander had to hand it to her. Was there anything—aside from getting into water— she couldn't do?

"Are you going to make and serve the pizza as well?" he asked.

"Sometimes. But I wanted a stereotypical 'Italian chef' to engage the customers. See?" She pointed out the wall decorations.

Xander stepped closer to inspect them properly. In amongst the few plants that had already been placed were framed prints of the supposed 'chef' with famous New Yorkers. Xander frowned. 'Luigi' was in the same pose in every single image—the 'guy' was clearly Photoshopped in. "He's not even Italian, is he?"

"No." Chelsea started to laugh.

"And not even a 'he'?"

She turned and waved towards the pavement. "See for yourself. He's coming to do a test run."

Sure enough 'Luigi'—in full costume—was walking towards them carrying a giant bowl.

"This is crazy," Xander muttered.

"I prefer to think quirky," Chelsea corrected. "It's part of the fun. People have expectations of a pizza stand, but we're flipping it and giving them something else—something that bit twisted. Expectation versus reality."

Xander nodded and then wandered out to find Hunter. He'd been walking around the site giving it the full recon.

"Security issues here, Xan."

"Multiple."

Hunter nodded and studied the plant ready framing again. "I don't know if you've noticed, but that Luigi guy isn't a guy."

"I had noticed."

Hunter grunted then asked. "Why does she have some strip of girl cross-dressing as an ancient Italian guy?"

Xander shrugged. "Because she's a little crazy."

Hunter laughed. "So long as you realize it."

"It's okay," Xander shrugged. "I'm a little crazy too."

"I think I might be as well, because right now I'm finding the rear end of that old Italian guy an incredible turn on. You ever seen legs as long as those?"

Xander laughed. "Jeez Hunt, you've been in the desert too long." The girl was a stick figure.

"Reckon so." Hunter moved.

Xander went back to the counter to talk to Chelsea. Hunter was right, the security issues needed fixing. This time as he went under the framing, the scent hit him—all the herbs, the fresh dough Luigi was working on, the vibrant color of the tomato sauce. It looked fresh and good. There was a touch of Wonderland about the whole place. Xander thought it was delightful—but vulnerable. He looked around it again, focussing on the problem areas. "Is that Luigi creature going to be alone in here at night?" he quietly asked Chelsea who was still squeezing pots of herbs into place in the walls.

"Another of the volunteers will be around," she answered distractedly.

Not Chelsea—not if Xander had anything to do with it. "A real man?"

At that she turned, a basil plant in hand. "You know on the surface you seem so apple pie."

He frowned as he sized up the lack of lighting. What'd she mean by that?

"You know, the good old American upbringing—the apple of mom's eye," she explained. "Sporty, academic, successful. Life guard, ski patrol..."

Yeah, he still didn't get where she was going, he was more interested in the lack of security cameras and wondering how he could install them without her thinking they were too intrusive and not artsy enough. "And your point?"

She cocked her head on a cute angle, an even cuter smile curved her lips. "Yet you're constantly scoping places for security issues. How did you get into this? What made you so interested in it?"

He stopped his automatic site scrutiny and stared at her—clocking the bright curiosity in her eyes. She'd asked him for personal info before, but he'd denied her mostly. _That_ , he suddenly realized, was his mistake. She wanted to know—she wanted to understand more about him. Maybe, just maybe, it was a way to build up some real trust between then. And while there were some things he'd never tell anyone, he could give her a little more than just sex secrets.

Chelsea smiled as she watched him automatically glance round again before turning towards her. She'd noticed it before—the way he scoped for threats, the weaknesses of wherever they happened to be. She could tell by the way his eyes had narrowed that he'd found plenty of weaknesses in the pop-up.

"I'm good at security because I know the mind of the criminal. The thief," he said quietly.

Her jaw dropped. From surprise that he'd actually answered her as much as because of what he'd actually said. "You do?" Knew the mind of the thief? "How so?"

"My feckless father."

His dad was a con? Chelsea's pulse thudded—but that didn't stop her pushing for more. "Was he a white collar crim?"

"He wasn't that smart." He grimaced but kept talking. "He was your common garden thug who'd bash someone and steal their purse."

No way. Chelsea bit her lip and wondered what Xander had been exposed to. "He was desperate?"

"Don't try to find excuses for him," Xander said firmly. "He just got off on it. He liked burglary and theft. Liked to own." A grim look froze Xander's eyes. "He took me along with him when I was little."

"No." Appalled, she gazed up at him.

"I made a good look-out. And I had to or there'd be trouble."

"Trouble?"

"I'm sure you can imagine."

She could and she didn't like what was flashing through her mind. "Were you scared?" She winced as soon as she'd asked. Stupid question.

"I was a seven year old boy sitting in a beat-up car in a broken down, violent as shit neighborhood. Yes, I was scared." He walked out of the pop-up into the darkened evening.

Chelsea followed, sensing he was holding so much back. So much had been unsaid in that bare explanation. What had happened? She wasn't going to get it from him—not now. And this wasn't the place to push things further.

He'd turned back to look at the small structure from the outside. "As a result, I see things other people don't tend to look for." His tone lightened. "I see ledges and balconies, all kinds of exit and entry points. I see shadows and corners and places to hide."

She shivered. But she knew he identified those to shine the light onto them—to help people. Save people. Protect.

"You going to let me help you out with these herbs again?" He turned to face her, eyeballing her—like he was daring her to refuse him. "Isn't it supposed to be a collaborative, community thing?"

His eyes were too beautiful—that brilliant blue, and on his lips there was that irresistible, charming smile. How could she possibly resist? She handed him the basil plant. "Be my guest."

An hour later all the plants had been placed—the leaves almost woven together to create the lush green walls. It was exactly as she'd envisioned it—beautiful.

"Come and try some!" Luisa called in her ridiculously _un_ -Italian accent. She walked out of the pop-up holding out a giant tray.

Xander's phone rang at the exact same time. He answered, gesturing for Chelsea to go get some anyway.

Chelsea blew on a piece of hot pizza, aware of the tall, silent Hunter standing beside her. The man was obviously made of iron given he made short work of the steaming hot pizza and was onto his second slice already.

His silence tweaked Chelsea's nerves. He clearly didn't do idle chit-chat, wasn't the kind to say something for the sake of it and she couldn't think of a thing to witter on about. Certainly wasn't going to ask him about Xander. Not after Logan.

But then he finished that second slice and glanced at her. "Pizza's good."

"I'm so glad." She really was. "Thanks for helping out."

He shrugged like it was no bother and resumed his intent study of the people passing. Most stared at them to see what was going on. Some stopped to ask—Luisa was in full flight telling them all and handing out fliers. It was going to be a crazy busy couple of weeks.

"Your serving guy's quite a character too." Hunter said slowly. "Where'd you find her?"

Chelsea smiled. "She was the barista at the coffee cart outside work and was happy to take on something random. She's travelling round and just happened to have worked in a pizza restaurant before—in New Zealand. That's where she's from. Not Italy."

"You don't say."

Chelsea chuckled and took another look around the pop-up. The pizzas were good, the greenery was gorgeous, the pictures hilarious. "The inspectors are coming first thing to sign it off. Then we can start selling."

"Fast work."

She nodded, thrilled. "That's part of the project. UP over night, here for a few days and then it vanishes."

"Good thing that this site came up for you."

Hunter knew about that? Xander must have told him. "Yeah, I can't believe it."

"Almost too good to be true, right?"

She turned and met Hunter's eyes—discovered he was as good at staring right through people as Xander was. "Maybe?" she asked cautiously.

"Who is it who owns this site?"

"I'm not entirely sure, some consortium I think."

Hunter made a sound that sounded like a cross between a mumble and a snort and wandered off.

Chelsea frowned as she watched him walk away. Why had he asked? Why had he questioned? It made _her_ question.

She pulled out her phone and quickly Googled the name of the company the Facebook comment guy had given her. It was a holding company. She searched the info page—saw some of the subsidiaries listed, some of the management team were named and some of their recent deals were profiled. She paused as she read the third one down. They'd recently announced a collaboration with Logan Hughes?

Of course. _Contacts_. It was all about contacts and Logan Hughes had arranged this. Chelsea winced. What a fool she was. She'd been so glad to secure a spot she didn't care who the site belonged to. She hadn't taken the time to think how coincidental, how 'too-perfect' the timing was. But now it was all too obvious. Xander had pulled strings. He'd helped her out. He'd damn well rescued her.

And she was furious with him.
Chapter Nineteen

"I'll see you home."

Of course he would. He was that kind of guy. But Chelsea didn't argue, her leg ached. Hell, her whole body ached. Besides, she wanted to call him on it.

She was silent for the cab ride home. Still said nothing once they got to the building.

He got out on her floor of course. Seeing her safely to her door. She unlocked and opened it and then turned to face him.

"You got Logan to find me a space."

It was almost three in the morning, she was tired and seriously grumpy.

He looked at her for a moment then glanced away. "Bloody Hunter," he muttered.

"I didn't want your help," she said.

He swiftly moved—taking five paces forward so she had to retreat. He slammed the door behind him.

"I watched my mother bust her butt for years trying to get us ahead and I'm damned if I'm going to sit by and watch _anyone_ work their fingers to the bone if there's something I can do to help them out," he growled.

Just like that he snuffed her anger. Suddenly she felt sorry. "I didn't know that about your mother." She'd known there had to be reasons why he worked so hard, why he'd liked to be the lifeguard. His mom had needed help? Of course—if his father had been that awful. Horrible suspicions entered her mind and she looked at him. Waited. Wanted him to speak more.

His shoulders lifted but he didn't say anything else. Her frustration resurged.

"I didn't need that kind of help, Xander," she said, pride surging again. "Not that 'secret angel' kind of thing. It makes me feel like I can't do anything on my own. People have been helping me so much these last couple of years. For once I wanted to be the one to achieve things, to lead. Without the secret 'let's help out the hurt girl' stuff."

"It wasn't like that," he grumped, every bit as frustrated. "Logan would never have gotten onboard if he wasn't interested in the idea. He wouldn't have done this just because I asked the favor. If it didn't have its own merit, he'd have walked away without a second glance."

"Really?" It seemed to her those guys had a pretty tight bond. That they'd back each other to the wall if necessary.

He inhaled deeply. "Well, he'd have tried to come up with another alternative. He wouldn't have put it smack bang in the middle of his biggest partnership." He looked at her. "And you have led this Chelsea. It's all your idea, your effort. Hell, you're the one who grew those plants from seed. And it's brilliant. It looks bloody brilliant. And the damn pizza is delicious." He held his hands out wide in an uncomprehending gesture. "You hate people helping you so much?"

"Only because I've had so much of it, it makes me feel useless," she said sadly. "I know that makes me sound ungrateful and I'm not really. But I just wanted that one thing to be mostly me." She shook her head. "But how do you think I got to stay in this apartment block?" She turned away from him. "It doesn't matter. I didn't do any of this on my own. Those guys built the foundation platform, Steve and Luisa did so much. So did you."

"Don't go thinking that having people help you lessens you in any way. _Everybody_ has help. Nobody does things in total isolation. It doesn't make this any less _yours_ , or any less _your_ success."

She turned back. "Don't you do everything in isolation? Aren't you a total Superman—all capable all on your own?"

"No." He stomped across the room. "I have an amazing PA. She organizes everything. I have a great team working for me. And I have my buddies."

He was exaggerating things for her. He was tough and capable—so much more than she. She didn't know why it bothered her so much. But it felt like all she'd wanted was slipping through her fingertips. Her independence, her achievements... everything she'd wanted wasn't quite what she'd wanted. Not quite the way she'd wanted. _Nothing_ was quite right and as crazy as it was, she didn't know how to make it.

But as she looked into his damn gorgeous eyes and saw that natural upturn to his lips, warmth trickled in, easing all those aches. Goose bumps lifted on her skin.

Chemistry, Chelsea. This is just chemistry.

Xander rolled his shoulders, trying to shake out the tension burning his muscles. Why should it bother him that she'd rejected his help? He shouldn't _want_ to help her, right? He shouldn't be making this any more complicated. He didn't want complicated or emotional. It was exactly what he'd sworn away from. He should have stayed away. He'd ended it already. Except he still wanted her. He couldn't seem to stay away.

_Sex. Just sex_.

That's what _she_ wanted. And what he needed to take it back to. No more dates, no more meeting her outside her bedroom. Nothing but a quick screw and then home alone to sleep.

Irritated, he could think of no tease tonight. No scenario for them to laugh through, to turn her on.

But from the look in her eyes, he didn't need one. He pressed her up against the wall, the need to dominate biting hard. Heat bloomed in her cheeks.

"Don't make a sound," he instructed. "Not a sound." He didn't want to hear her ecstatic little sighs. This was just sex. Nothing else. No emotion. Her eyes widened and he saw her clamp down on her lip.

It was so damn easy to excite her. Given he was already painfully hard, this was probably good. He leaned against her. Flattening her against the wood. Letting her feel just how hot he was.

He heard her groan and paused. "No noise whatsoever."

He wanted to see her needing him. Hell, when had he needed the ego trip? But her hips writhed against his hand. She was wet and hot and her teeth tore at her lower lip as she tried to keep her sighs inside.

"Uh huh." He rubbed her lip with the tip of his finger. He didn't want her hurting herself.

It only took seconds to get her ready, to get himself sheathed—seconds too long.

At last he slid home. Happiness burst through his chest. Hell he'd _missed_ this. Missed being so close to her. But looking into her eyes was a mistake. He saw the slight pain hidden in there along with her desire. Suddenly it wasn't enough. He needed more than this.

"Damn it Chelsea." She wrung so much from him. "Say something."

"Xander." Her hand lifted.

He grabbed it, held it to his jaw. Then he bent and kissed her. Taking the breath from her because this time he needed it. She kissed him back—soft and sweet and hungry and wild. His heart melted, warmth flooding his body as he closed his eyes and let it wash over him. So different. So good. And still not enough.

An hour later Chelsea smiled as Xander slid down more comfortably in her bed. Clearly he had no intention of leaving for the rest of the night.

Good.

"Are you still mad with me for asking Logan to help?" he asked slyly.

Oh was that what the incredible sex had been about—making her forget? She shook her head. "Tom always said..." She trailed off, suddenly chilled.

"What?" Xander prompted softly. "It's okay to say."

Yeah, it probably was. Chelsea took a breath. "He always teased me for taking things so seriously and always trying to do everything on my own. He said it was stupid."

"He was right." Xander laughed. "He sounds nice."

"He was." And it was also stupid the way her heart stuttered at Xander's easiness in hearing about her former fiancé. She tried to steel herself. It was a good reminder that Xander wasn't after a relationship—that the lapse in their initial boundaries didn't actually mean anything more. Because if he was starting to fall for her, wouldn't he go all jealous and not want to know a thing?

She sure as hell _never_ wanted to know about his past lovers. Jealousy surged at the mere thought. She hated them all. Worse, she was terrified she wasn't a match for them in bed. The guy had experience. It oozed out of him. He hadn't gotten to be such a hot lover with only the one other lay.

"Tell me more about him," Xander said.

Yeah, see there you go. So not bothered. "We met at college," she answered. "We were in the same class. First year."

"He was an urban planner too?"

She nodded. "He was funny. Kind. Talented. It was..." Different to this. "So easy. We were just happy."

It had been sweet. He'd been caring. They'd had plans to go into business together and forge a partnership across all areas of their lives. She'd loved the idea. It had beckoned, secure and safe. She'd wanted that so much.

"He was your first serious boyfriend?"

She nodded. "My only."

Xander's eyes widened. "And now this?"

She nodded again. "This." She'd dived headfirst into a hot and heavy 'arrangement' with the most testosterone-laden man she'd ever encountered. The most outrageously sensual. The most playful. Probably not the smartest thing to have done but she was committed now.

"Did you play the fantasy game with him?" His question was sharpened with a rough edge.

She flushed and looked away. "I'm... not." Discussing this. She couldn't.

"You didn't." He inhaled deep.

"Xander, please." She squirmed with embarrassment, sliding right under the sheet.

He was silent for a while, then sighed. "Sorry. That was rude of me."

"No." She shook her head, pushing back the sheet so she could look at him again. She hated the way he'd retreated—his expression now blank. "It's okay."

It _was_ a fair enough question, she was just too inhibited to answer properly. It should be okay to tell Xander anything. He'd told her often enough.

As she lay looking at his strong features, she felt the slipping of a barrier within herself. She _could_ tell him. He didn't judge, wouldn't. He was utterly accepting. Finding someone like that was rare. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

Was it that simple? Could she tell him anything and he just listen and not judge? Her burden had become too heavy. Xander was so strong, she had the incredible urge to offload to him.

"The accident was my fault. I caused it."

He immediately rolled to his side to face her, his eyes serious, concerned, sympathetic. "What happened?"

She breathed in. "I've never told anyone."

He didn't touch her. Didn't try to console her. He didn't move. Just kept looking at her with that strong, steady gaze. "You can tell me."

"I know." She did know that now.

He still didn't move. Didn't smile. But she sensed the slightest softening.

"We'd been out," she started, her voice hideously wobbly. "It was a really big night but—"

"You fought?"

"No," she whispered. It had been so much worse than that. "We'd gotten engaged that night. I was a little drunk."

"Was he?"

"No." She shook her head. "He was really solid like that. He'd never drink and drive."

"It was just the two of you?"

"Yes." She gripped the sheet over her icy body. "We'd gone out for dinner. I'd finished the champagne myself. We were celebrating. We danced."

"You were happy."

" _So_ happy. And silly."

He waited a long moment. "What did you do?"

"It was quite a drive back to my parent's house. They live a bit out of town."

She rolled to her stomach and stared at the pillow between them. She couldn't meet his eyes anymore. "I wanted to have some fun. I wanted to do something for him." She bent her head. "I turned the music up loud. It was one of those sexy dance anthems. I did a strip. Distracted him. I didn't even realize we were on the bridge. He was laughing," she said. "He was looking at me and laughing. And I was laughing back at him." She'd never tried such a thing before. "I was trying to act sexy but I was self-conscious at the same time."

"You didn't usually vamp for him?"

She shook her head. "I was young and shy and not that experienced..."

"But you wanted to."

She nodded her head. "And he loved me. I wanted to play up for him. Wanted to give him something he'd never forget. You know, 'how to blow his mind'—like something you read in those damn magazines." She closed her eyes—bringing the darkness back—but she forced herself to keep speaking, recounting the horror. "Next thing I know the horn is blaring and the car is sinking and it was so dark. There wasn't any traffic behind us. No one saw. I was frantic. I unclipped my belt. I was a strong swimmer, Xander. Always been a strong swimmer..."

"But your leg?" he prompted.

"Got crunched in the smash. Broke in three places."

"But that didn't stop you swimming down to save him."

She turned her head to look at him. "I've never told anyone. I figured my clothing could easily be explained from the swim out. But..."

He waited, his eyes compassionate.

"He was still fully dressed. Jeans." She frowned. Denim dragged a person down in water. "I'd been going to undo his fly. Was going to get him to pull over and I'd..." She stopped. "I should have owned up. I'm so guilty."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It was," she sobbed.

"No." Xander leaned towards her, his words tumbling. "He could have been distracted by anything—a bug on the windshield, a tyre could've blown, a truck coming the other way with lights on full beam... so many things."

"But it was me." She sat up. "For crying out loud, I was all but naked and about to go down on him. It was _me_."

"It was still an accident," he said firmly. "And you tried to rescue him. No one could have tried harder."

She paused, tears streaming down her face. "I dived and dived. I tried so many times. And I finally got him freed—got him to the surface. But he was already dead. He was killed on impact." There'd been no water in his lungs. He'd died before he'd had the chance to drown. She'd tried so hard to save him and it had been too late.

"You hadn't known that."

"I thought he was knocked unconscious. I couldn't leave him to drown."

"No," he said. "Hell Chelsea, I am so sorry."

Not as sorry as her. "I've never told anyone. Not my parents. Not his." Her whisper was so small she could hardly hear herself. "They supported me so much and I feel so guilty."

He looked at her somberly. "You want their forgiveness?"

She nodded. She did. She wanted it all to be okay. She wanted to turn back the clock. Nearly two years on and she still couldn't move past it.

He leaned closer. "You need to forgive yourself first."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"You loved him. You never wanted to hurt him," he said quietly. "Maybe you have to trust in fate. Maybe it was just his time. If not distracted then, then hit by a bus the next day."

"I shouldn't have done it."

"It was a mistake. Wrong timing. He could have told you to stop."

She shook her head.

Xander put a hand over her fist, holding her firmly. "You have to let this go or you're never going to be able to move on. You have to accept that what happened, happened." He looked at her. "Is this why you don't like to initiate sex anymore?"

Shocked, she gaped at him.

"You need me to take control," he continued firmly. "You need to please me."

She yelped in distress then clamped her mouth shut.

"You're a generous person, and I see what you're doing." Xander kept talking. "If you make it good for me, make it all about what I want, then that makes it okay for you to enjoy it too. Because you're putting my wants first. Is that how this is working for you?"

"Xander." She was appalled and horrified that his words hurt her so deeply. "I've just told you something so... so personal and all you can do is bring it back to sex? To this thing—"

"This thing with me _is_ about sex for you."

Oh but it wasn't _only_ about sex. Not now. It was about trust and honesty and understanding and wanting and needing so much _more_. She shot out of bed, grabbing some clothes to pull on.

"Chelsea." He too left the bed. "Don't get mad with me for speaking the truth."

_His_ truth. She looked away from him. "I'm not mad."

"Don't lie either. The truth is you're afraid to act up, to play, to open up. You want to, but you're inhibited—like you think you can't or shouldn't."

"I just opened up," she snapped back angrily. "And _you're_ hardly the poster-boy for deep and meaningful sharing."

"Fair point, but I share what I can." He thrust his tee over his head. "You can share more."

"I just told you my most horrible thing _ever_. What more do you want?" She stared at him, furious that this _was_ only about sex with him. "You want to know what I really want?" She spat. "You want to know my deepest, darkest fantasy?" Irate, she wanted to test him. "Me with another man. Two men." _Take that, you bastard._

His eyes narrowed like he knew she was goading him. But he inhaled deep. "I can almost cope with the idea of another man watching you," he answered infuriatingly evenly—like they were discussing the weather. "But any man touches you, I'd have to hurt him. I wouldn't like that. Nor would he. Nor would you."

"You'd go Hulk on me?" she laughed bitterly. As if Xander-effing-Lawson would get jealous? He so didn't care enough. "I don't think you're capable of really hurting someone." Not physically. "You're a _lifeguard_ ," she taunted.

"Actually, I get angry about all kinds of things. But it can't become rage. It can't become uncontrollable."

Control. There it was again. She gazed at him, barely noticing his breathing was as uneven as hers or that her blood was rushing in her ears. "Control is important to you."

"As it is to you." He sent her a hard look.

"Okay yes, I liked you taking control." He'd released her from her self-restraint, let her enjoy sensual freedom without guilt. But she wanted _more_ now. She'd opened up so much, but he had only shared a very little. It wasn't fair.

"Because you don't think you deserve to have a good time anymore," he said.

"Stop trying to analyze me."

"Well someone needs to. You're caught in your inability to communicate. Your family—his family—would be appalled if they knew you were sabotaging your life because of misplaced guilt. It's time to talk. Time to give it up. You don't talk honestly to anyone. You can't even ask your mom to call you an hour later."

"Well I'm not going to talk to you. I thought superheroes didn't speak. They only _act_." She picked up his jeans and hurled them at him.

"That's right, try to shut down the conversation." He caught and pulled them on in record time. "I take it I'm not welcome to stay."

"You said it was your preference not to stay the night," she snapped coolly.

For a moment something like admiration crossed his face, before that bland expression settled again. Permanently. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me what happened."

Yeah and look where that had gotten her— _hurt_. She'd told him her 'anything' like he'd said he wanted—and then he'd _twisted_ it. It was awful, awful, awful because she had the horrible feeling he was right. And this had to end before her heart broke over something that could never be.

Just before he got to her door he turned. "You cannot blame yourself anymore. You have to forgive yourself. Tom wouldn't want you to be so unhappy. Or so unfulfilled."

Oh hell, it hurt to hear that. "I'm not," she argued, her teeth clenched together. "I'm okay."

Xander took a step back to grip her chin, forcing her to keep facing him, to keep her eyes on his. His were narrowed. "You sure?"

She'd lied so many times to so many others. Said she was fine when she was bleeding inside, her heart ripped to shreds. So she could do it again. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't. And now she knew she was going to have to do something about it.
Chapter Twenty

"Where are you?" Xander frowned, vastly relieved at the same time. She'd finally answered her phone. The first seven calls had gone to her message service. He'd resorted to checking her Twitterfeed. She'd maintained regular updates, he'd thought she was still in town at least. But he'd been down to the pop-up and to Wroxton, and she wasn't at either place. Neither Luisa nor Steve knew where she'd gone or when she'd be back. So he asked. "You've gone away?"

He held his breath for her reply. She might have finally talked, but he didn't know if he could handle the true cost. He wasn't ready for this to be over.

"You go away," she said lightly.

But he could hear the defensive note. "At least I tell you."

"It was a last minute thing." She brushed him off. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon."

Of course he was worried, he could hear the stress in her voice. She was beating herself up and he couldn't find her to help her. Hell, he didn't know _how_ to help her. He'd screwed up the first chance already and he didn't know if he was going to get another. "When?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"What about the pop-up?"

"Luisa will cover me."

"Okay," he said shortly. "Have a good trip."

There was a micro-pause. "Thanks."

She disconnected before he could say anything else. His muscles tensed, talking to her hadn't eased his concern at all. She was nervous. Why? He wanted her to tell him everything. To try again. He'd listen hard this time, try to help in whatever way she needed. He knew it wasn't fair of him when he didn't tell her everything. But there were things he told no one. Could never, _ever_ tell.

So now he faced the prospect of who knew how long without her. All the next few nights alone. He could go away too. He could schedule in a work trip or something. But he didn't move from the sofa. His apartment felt stupidly huge and cool and empty. He liked hers better. He missed the plants and the scent and the cramped delight.

Most of all he missed her.

Shit. He'd really fucked up.

Chelsea wiped her hands along the seams of her skirt before knocking on the door. It opened immediately. She'd rung ahead and made sure she was home alone. No way could she say this with Tom's father present.

But Xander, for all his bluntness, had been right. She didn't talk honestly to anyone. She didn't explain what she needed or really how she felt. So she'd already been to see her mom and told her the full truth about that night. Told her that she needed understanding in learning to move on. That she needed more space—but at the same time more support in other ways. Initially her mother had wanted to come with her now, but Chelsea had refused. And then her mom got it and let her go. She needed to do this herself.

"Chelsea!" Helen, Tom's mother, enveloped her in a hug. "It's so good to see you. You're looking so well."

Chelsea couldn't prevent the tears instantly stinging her eyes. This was going to be so hard. But she'd told one person the truth, she could tell another. It was too important not to. She _had_ to—to try to find peace.

Helen looked at her and immediately moved back towards the open door. "Come in. Come on, we'll have a drink. It's been so long."

She already had refreshments ready—a jug of iced tea on the table, as polite and perfect and kind as always. They talked for a couple of minutes—those easy icebreaker questions about Chelsea's time in New York, what she was working on there. But neither went in depth in answering.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you more." Chelsea put her untouched drink down. "I wanted to tell you what really happened." She could hardly speak her throat was so painfully tight. She pressed her hands to her forehead, hiding her eyes from the older woman.

"What really happened?" The uncertainty and confusion in Helen's voice nearly broke Chelsea's resolve.

"I distracted him," she whispered. "I was being an idiot. I was so happy about our engagement and I was acting up. I'm the reason he took his eyes off the road. It was my fault he veered. My fault we crashed."

"Chelsea."

She felt Helen's hand touch her knee.

"I've read the police reports," the older woman said. "I know he was going too fast—not crazily, but over the limit. And I know it was raining and that the road was even more slippery because a truck ahead of you had spilt some fuel. There were several factors at work that night."

Chelsea knew all that too, but none of those things had been the primary factor. She had. "If I hadn't distracted him."

"He could still have veered."

Chelsea shook her head. "You don't understand—"

"I understand that he was so happy with you. He died happy." Helen said firmly. "I still have that voice message you guys left when you were at the restaurant—the one telling us you'd just gotten engaged. That's the last thing he said to me—how happy he was. He was so excited. And that was because of you."

Chelsea covered her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry."

The other woman wrapped her arms around her. "You loved him the way any mother wants her son to be loved. Wholly. That's all I could ever want. I know he died happy—that brings me such comfort. It should to you too."

Chelsea couldn't speak anymore. Couldn't.

"You poor thing. You've been feeling guilty all this time?" Helen sighed as she rubbed Chelsea's back. "Of course you have. You're sweet, Chelsea. Don't shut away that warm heart. Love again. Love well. _Live_."

Chelsea finally lifted her head and looked into the hazel eyes that reminded her so much of Tom's. "You forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive." Helen gave her a watery smile. "You tried so hard to save him. I know how much you loved him. So did he. I thank you for making my son so happy." Tears trickled down her face. "He would want you to be happy. He wouldn't want you beating yourself up, or not following through on things because of what happened. Let it go."

She'd repeated words that Xander had said. That others had said before him. That Chelsea understood, but was still struggling to _believe_.

"He'd want you to be happy," Helen added. "Just as you'd want him to be happy if your positions were reversed."

Oh she would. She'd want him to have it all. Chelsea sighed deeply then slipped the ring off her finger and held it out. "You should have this."

"No." Helen shook her head. "He gave it to you. He loved you." She reached out and curled Chelsea's fingers around the ring, locking it into her fist. "But perhaps it's time to put it on the other hand."

"Thank you." Chelsea whispered.

She'd never forget. But perhaps she could find solace. And maybe she could fix up some of the mistakes she'd made.

She went back to the small hotel she'd booked into, walked straight into the bathroom and flicked on the taps. She didn't add bubbles or any scent. But she undressed, watching the water rise in the bath until it was deep. She dipped the tip of her fingers in to test the temperature.

Warm.

She drew a breath, released it and then breathed in again. Regularly counting, she kept breathing. Time to let it go. She had courage, right?

She put one foot in the water, refusing to act on the instinct that would see her pull out again in a heartbeat. She stepped the other foot in so she stood in the water. It came to just below her knees. She'd never forget those moments that cold, wet night almost two years ago. But maybe she could accept them.

"I'll always love you, Tom," she whispered. "You'll always be in my heart." He'd been her first love, a wonderful love. She'd been so lucky to have him. Because of him she knew _how_ to love. "But there's more room in there. More I need." She drew a breath. "More I want. And I know that's okay. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

He'd loved her. He'd want her to be happy—just as she would him. Because she had loved him so very much.

She sank right into the water, lying back and closing her eyes. It was so warm and so scary but at the same time, so good. She'd missed it so much. She'd always loved swimming. When she was little her mother had told her she had a few drops of mermaid in her. She'd dived and played in the local pool for hours and hours. She'd swum in a junior varsity swim team—until schoolwork became too much and she'd had to concentrate more on her studies. But swimming was her thing. Anything on or in the water. But she'd gotten so afraid. Associated it with those terrifying minutes.

The water washed away her tears the moment they left her eyes. She surfaced and took a deep breath. She thought about Tom. Remembered when she'd frantically dived for him. But he'd gone and he wasn't coming back. And her life had to go on.

She rested her head on the edge of the bath and looked out the window at the vibrant blue sky. Her thoughts switched to that beautiful pool on top of the apartment building. To the color of the water at the polo pool. To Xander. The last knots of tension in her muscles eased.

Her heart still hurt, but maybe, just maybe it was starting to heal. Because it wanted to love again. She'd been such a fool about Xander. He'd asked her time and time again—what was in her head, what she wanted. Maybe it wasn't just a line, he'd really wanted to know. Because she'd wanted to know about him too and she'd wanted to know because she was beginning to _care_ for him.

But now she wondered what more she thought she needed to know when his actions told her all she needed. That he was loyal, strong, compassionate. That he was kind and good-humored. That he'd always try to help someone out. Why did she think she needed him to spill all his personal details like he was a can of beans? She already knew the kind of person he was from the way he treated her, the way he treated his friends. With kindness, loyalty and humor.

He was the kind of person she wanted to be with.

And he, like she, liked to play. He wanted a playmate. What was it he'd said to that old lady the night the alarm had gone off at the apartment?

" _I like a woman who stands up to me."_

She finally got it. He mightn't admit it, but he wanted a match—someone who could equal him. And he'd told her not to be afraid of expressing what she wanted.

" _You can tell me anything. Ask me anything."_

And he was right.

But he was also wrong. Her fear of asking hadn't just been about sex. Not about the bedroom games and light fantasies. It was about putting herself out there and possibly being hurt again. Being rejected. Losing someone you cared about.

Had she really thought that if she didn't fully engage she wouldn't care so much? That she could 'manage' her emotions somehow? What a fool. Because he'd fully engaged her emotions anyway. It hadn't just been about pleasing him, she'd been so into _him_.

She wanted to give to him, because he'd given to her—support, companionship, he'd listened, he'd pleased. And even though he might not want it forever or anything, she owed it to him to be honest. _Emotionally_ honest and open.

And do what they both truly wanted.
Chapter Twenty-One

"Someone's grumpy." Logan laughed at him from the other side of the pool table.

"Shut it."

"You not getting any lately?"

Xander didn't answer.

"Well, why don't you find someone else? Plenty of women around here who'd do anything you wanted them to," Logan said, bitterness rasping.

Xander didn't want any of them. Damn it. "Shut up."

"You're so pissy. Why don't you take your mood home and spare the rest of us who are ready to party?"

Xander rolled his eyes. The rest of 'us' was only Logan. Hunter was away, Rocco was here but technically working. Xander might as well leave. He'd been here for two hours already and not left the table once. Hadn't bothered to look anyone in the eye. "You're going to get in real trouble sometime, Logan."

Logan just laughed and kept assessing the women in the room.

Rocco's bar was pumping—the place filled with beauties who were up for it. But Xander was sitting in the far corner by the pool table, trying to swallow back the bitter irony. He'd told Chelsea this would end if she developed feelings for him. But more fool him, for he was the one getting all sappy just because they'd been having sex. Often.

And that was his problem tonight, right? She'd gone away and he was missing it. The sex that is. Not _her_.

Wrong. It was all her. Calling in to see her for five minutes when he had the chance wasn't for sex. It was to see her. His need to understand and help her out over her nightmares wasn't because he'd come over all good Samaritan. It was for _her_. Because he liked her.

But she was so at ease with the deal she was happy to just pack up and go away for who knew how long. She didn't miss him. Damn it. And she didn't seem at all troubled by her imminent departure from the city. Sure, it was another month away, but Xander felt it like the bomb was ticking and about to detonate. And the target about to be blown to bits?

His heart.

Exactly what he didn't want. He'd never wanted it. Hell, he had no clue about relationships—had never seen a decent example in all his life. He'd been all about play.

And Chelsea had liked make-believe. Except now Xander wanted it all to be _real_.

Yeah. That was the problem.

He knew what he had to do. When she got back, whenever that might be, he was ending it. No more games, no more getting off on the wicked laugh she let out too rarely. No more wishing she'd fully set free her spark of playfulness. No more wishing she'd open up and talk to him, trust him the way she had that night.

Because he hadn't said the right thing. He'd only upset her. He wasn't the guy to help her find that freedom again. He'd tried but he'd failed. He had to walk away because she had him wishing for things he'd always believed he never wanted. Things that were beyond his limited emotional ability.

The good deeds he did merely masked the anger that he felt deep inside. The rage he felt for his father. And the fear that it was all inside him too. That darkness. That ability to brutally hurt. He wanted no risk of that. Chelsea of all people didn't need to be hurt again. He had to walk away.

But he was fucking angry about it. Furious with himself for letting things get this far. He was a damned fool, falling for blue eyes and a swimsuit.

He slammed his glass down on the table. "I'm calling it a night."

"Good." Logan answered with an evil tone and took an easy swig of his beer. "Go home and be boring there."

Xander flipped him the bird and left.

As soon as he opened his apartment door his senses went on high alert. His muscles tensed but he kept his hands loose, bending his knees slightly—ready to either attack or defend. His eyes narrowed, he listened. Then he caught the scent. A little basil.

Chelsea.

"You think you're so great with security?"

The sound of her voice thumped him in the chest—his heart stopped. Then started again—off beat and skittering.

"A little catburgler like me can sneak in so easily." She appeared at the end of the hall.

What the fuck was she wearing?

Top to toe she was clad in black. Skin tight, sexier than hell black, with the six-inch heeled, dominatrix boots to finish it off. The only part of her skin visible was her jaw—her pointed chin, her pretty, kissable lips. Right now they were slicked red. Absolute vixen.

"How did you get in?" It hurt to breathe, hurt to move given how hard he was. So he just stayed statue still.

Hands on her hips, she saucily shrugged a shoulder. "I used some contacts."

Did she now? Xander's mind whirred.

_Logan_. He was the only one who could have let her in. Hunter was away. No way in hell would any of the building team let her in. They were too scared of how he'd react. So all the while Logan had been goading him at the bar, he'd known this creature was lying in wait for him?

Damn jerk cousin. And for a moment, mad jealousy rioted through him—that Logan had seen her looking like this? The guy was going down. But Xander had other things to tend to first.

"Catburgler, huh?" He cleared the rock from his throat. "What is it you're planning on stealing?"

She slowly walked towards him, her spiky heels punctuating her carefully spoken words. "Something very, very precious."

Hell, he was in trouble. He waited, refusing to risk moving, as she strolled right up to him.

"Cats love to play with their prey..." she said softly. "We love to torment them. We like to let them think they've escaped..."

"But they haven't."

"No." She ran a fingernail down his chest. He felt its edge through his shirt. "They can never get away."

The only sign of nerves was in the slight wobble of her fingers.

"What else you cats like?" he asked, hoarse. Barely containing the urge to grab her. But he was determined to let her lead—she was playing. He ached for her to follow all the way through.

"We like to lick."

Yeah, he was screwed. His control slipped with every brazen word she uttered. But he summoned enough strength mutter a reply. "Oh you do?"

"Every... last... drop." That fingernail tapped sharply—staccato to her smooth purred words.

His innards burned, muscles seized—wanting to burst free from the confines of his skin. "And then?"

"We devour."

He closed his eyes, refusing to come on the spot. Refusing to grab and take in a ferocious frenzy.

"Chelsea." He all but begged for mercy. "I can't be..." he huffed out a breath and tried again. "It's been too long since I saw you. I'm like... a bullet here."

He wanted her. Wanted, wanted, wanted. Her beneath him. Savage and raw and rough. He wanted to ram into her so hard, to have her all and his. He wanted it so much and so instantly, he didn't think it could be any good for her.

"You want me to lose control?" His voice cracked and he shook his head. "You'd better tie me up." He warned. "I've missed you too much to be gentle."

Her eyes were on fire. He didn't miss the way her hips did a little rotate—a small circle, the heat inside was making her dance already.

"Don't worry," she said. "You won't hurt me."

But he couldn't help noticing she backed up a pace.

"I might," he said. Honest.

Shaking her head she laughed. "I'm strong. So strong. And so are you," she murmured, taking another step back. "Besides..." Her eyes glittered. "You'd have to catch me first."

He froze for one moment, stunned as she laughed—really laughed right at him. And then she ran.

A heartbeat later he was running too—thundering quickly around the apartment. Hunting her.

She was playing with him. Really playing. Heart thumping, he wanted to roar with satisfaction. But adrenalin had him, and basic instinct. He wanted to win. He caught sight of her darting into the kitchen.

Cat and mouse? Right now he didn't know who was who.

He got into the kitchen a split second after she'd gone out the other door to the dining room. He listened, hearing her heels tap unevenly on the wood as she skipped as quickly as she could given her weaker leg. The corridor.

He retraced his steps, got to the door just as she was opening it. He reached above her and slammed it shut but she ducked out from under his arm.

Sneaky and surprisingly fast.

"Run all you like," he called out to her, his heat growing. "You're not getting away."

Never again.

He heard her laughter coming from his room. Clearly she'd gotten acquainted with his apartment in the hour or so she'd had it to herself. He grinned at the sound of her amusement, the sheer delight. Yeah, the chase turned him on more. Her laughter tormented him. All he could see was her. A slim thing in black, a few paces in front towards the lounge, half-running ridiculously fast in those shoes.

And it was time to put an end to it. He closed doors as he went, aiming to narrow down her options. Then he got her cornered in the lounge.

For a moment they both stopped still. Her chin was high, her eyes alight with amusement and excitement. It only took an extra burst of speed, there really wasn't anywhere for her to go. He swooped, taking her to the floor, grunting in raw satisfaction.

"Oh," she sighed. "You got me."

But before he could do anything, she twisted, flipping up onto her knees and pushing him to his knees at the same time. His heart seized with how quickly she undid his zipper. With the rough way she yanked his jeans open, and freed him from his boxers. She laughed—that sexy-as-fuck throaty laugh as she bent. A split-second later her reddened lips sucked him in.

He couldn't help it. He thrust, too hard. And nearly died when she leaned forward for more. "Chelsea..." His voice gave out. "This is..."

Her jaw dropped and she sucked harder. Her hands worked in time cupping his balls, gripping the root of his cock tight and squeezing while her tongue circled over his tip. He trembled, pre-cum spurting.

No.

He pulled out, a loud smack sounding as he left her suction. Her growl of disappointment was fierce. Her hands tightened almost painfully on him. He grasped her wrists and dragged her arms wide before releasing them. He didn't give a damn about any kind of control anymore.

"Hands and knees, puss." He demanded, shoving down between her shoulder blades, pushing her down to all fours, pushing harder still so her ass was high in the air. He knelt behind her.

She turned her head over one shoulder to watch him. Wearing that tormenting smile on her lips. Frustrating him as he gazed at her black-clad body.

"How do I get you out of this fucking suit?" he growled.

"You don't need to," she said slyly. "It _is_ a fucking suit." She lifted a hand from the floor, sliding it between her parted thighs. Xander's heart seized as she touched herself, pointing out the smallest of slits in the clinging black fabric. In that opening he could see her—pink, glistening.

He nearly came on the spot. He dragged in a pained breath and then swiped her fingers away. He leaned forward to touch her with his tongue. More than glistening, she was wet. He heard her groan, felt the ripple through her body. She planted both hands, fingers wide, on the wooden floor to brace herself. She was as close as he. He all but snarled, then let his tongue learn just how big the slit in that fabric was. Hell, she tasted so damn good, he couldn't get enough.

She shook violently and he grabbed her to stop her moving too much. He wanted to screw her with his tongue first so he was sure she'd come. Because once he shoved his cock in, it'd be over too damn quick. He lapped at her, loving how she groaned, how she tasted, how she tensed. He pulled back for a second to finger her well—teasing, shallow plunges designed to send her insane.

It worked. She pressed her forehead to the floor, her ass up high in the air and screamed.

"Now Xander!" She howled for him—telling him oh so bluntly what she wanted. He heard her fury, her want. Her desperation. Her total loss of control. He felt her pulsing around his tongue—her tight body trying to grip onto him. Hungry for more. For all of him.

Damn. Now she was free and he didn't know if he was going to be able to keep up with her after all. But he sure as hell couldn't take anymore of this. There was nothing else he could do—he was bare and her wet sex was right there.

He gripped her hips with a hold that had to hurt. But he didn't care—and nor did she. Not when she was screaming 'yes' at him so loudly over and over and over.

He thrust deep. Instantly rocking back to thrust again—deeper, harder. Vicious. Frantic.

Still she screamed for him. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Rabid lust rolled over him, snapping the last remnants of his control. He reached forward and ripped her mask off. Her head jerked with the force as he tore the little elastic strap that had gone under her chin. Her hair shook out and he gripped a swathe of it—forcing her head back. Her mouth parted, he could see her eyes glazed with passion. Her breathing ragged.

With one hand on her hip and the other in her hair he held her still—so she could never escape. He shouted her name as he thrust into her again and again. Pounding more wildly than he'd ever done in his life.

No more words came from her hot mouth, just a raw scream. And all he could see was red. A cloud of passion drowned him in an orgasm so intense he lost all sense of his surroundings. There was nothing but her.

Nothing but him owning her.

She fell forward and so did he—landing right over her. Pinning her. It shouldn't feel so satisfying. He forced himself to roll to the side so she could breathe. He was having trouble enough filling his own lungs.

He looked at her. Her lips were still slick and red—her cheeks red now too. His body shook. He didn't know how he was going to survive this.

He leaned forward, instinct driving him. He kissed her. Swirling his tongue around the warmth of her mouth. She gasped deep and opened for him—he loved the way she opened for him. He wanted back inside her tight, wet heat. Memory of that sensation seized him—that heat, that wet?

Shit. He hadn't stopped to use a condom. He hadn't even thought of it. How out of control was that? How irresponsible? How freaking _insane_? Cold panic flooded him. He was going to have to confess. "Did I hurt you?" he asked carefully.

"No." She stretched, just like a little cat.

He smoothed his hands down her body. Petting her. Touching her helped settle his frantic pulse. So did the sweet smile on her lips.

"I didn't use protection then," he quietly admitted, watching close for her reaction. "I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry."

Her blue eyes widened slightly. "I wasn't thinking either."

She licked her lips, a gleam lighting her eyes—it couldn't be satisfaction?

"We don't need to worry about contraception," she said. "I'm covered for that. And I'm clean otherwise."

The cold lump in his chest eased. He nodded. "Me too. First time I've gone without a jacket in a decade."

She smiled that sly smile. "It felt good."

Hell, he was hard again. He wanted again. Which should be impossible—he'd been almost unconscious a couple minutes ago. And right now he should be freaking out about making such a rookie mistake. But the insanity was sliding over him again, a hot haze clouding his rational mind. Sliding straight back into fantasy.

Her fantasy.

"Burglars. When they're caught. Have to be punished." Her voice was so husky.

"Good point," he answered. He watched the color of her eyes get swallowed her black pupils. "What's the usual punishment?"

"They're usually incarcerated."

His heart stopped pumping. "Locked up?"

"Restrained."

Fuck freaking out. He was having this moment while it was here. Good thing he knew how to improvise.

He manacled both her wrists in one hand—gripping them tight enough to leave a faint mark while he hauled her to her feet and marched his sexy prisoner to his room. He yanked aside clothes hangers in his wardrobe.

Neckties. He loathed wearing them at work but it seemed they did come in useful on occasion. He had a collection—variants of blue. He grabbed a few of the most navy to match her darkened eyes. He dangled them in front of her, silently asking the question.

She bent her head and coyly looked up at him like she was some saucy penitent. "Xander." She answered in that way he'd told her that first time.

Consent.

He walked her to his bed and then, jerking his arm quickly, released her so she fell onto the mattress. She rolled with a little shimmy so she was on her back in the middle of his bed.

"You'd better tie me up tight," she said in a kittenish voice. "I might try to escape."

Satisfaction streamed through him—a torrent of hot, male pleasure. She'd asked. And he was more than happy to give her everything she wanted.

Chelsea couldn't stop the tremors shaking her body in regular bursts. She'd never been tied up before. Never thought she'd be into it. But she'd never felt as sexy when he took her arm and stretched it up, tying the material around her wrist and then securing the other end to his headboard. He did the same to her other arm. Then he did one leg—spreading her so she was like a star in the centre of his bed.

She'd creamed up in excitement already. The trust she had in him. She'd dared him and he rose to her challenge.

She loved that.

She circled her hips even as he tied the last of the restraints carefully around her ankle.

"Tug for me," he instructed.

She strained to pull her legs together. No way could she achieve it. Oh man, he really had her tied tight. Open.

"Hurt?"

She shook her head. It was tight but not painful. And so thrilling.

"If you don't like it, say the word, anytime." He looked at her. "That word would be no."

"Xander." She said her yes-word instead. Because she wanted this so damn much. She couldn't wait for him to touch her. She was on the edge of an orgasm already—just from the anticipation. From the dominance he had over her. But it was at her instigation. She knew, ultimately, she had the control in this.

He ran a hand down her body, eyes following how her black suit clung to her. "I'll get you another of these, he promised. "In fact. I'm getting in a bulk order."

He turned and walked out of the room. She swallowed, wondering what he'd gone for.

A minute later he reappeared—large shears in his hand. The steel blades glittered. She shivered, doubly excited by the frisson of danger. She knew he'd never really hurt her—she knew he planned to cut her free later.

His eyes were cool, his gaze firm. His brows flickered at the ripple of desire that trammelled through her body. "This turning you on, pussycat?"

She licked her lips.

"You gonna purr for me?"

She tilted her chin at him—about the only movement she could make. "Make me."

His grin flashed but his jaw hardened. "I do like to make my prisoners scream."

Her nipples were so hard it was a wonder they hadn't poked through the material already. He pinched the tip of one with his thumb and forefinger. The tiny pain made her jump. Heat and tension made her sex clench.

Then he let her nipple slip from his fingers so it was only the fabric he still held. He pulled it further from her body and snipping that pinch of black away. He released it and the fabric snapped to cling back to her skin. He tweaked where it lay, so her nipple then poked through the circular hole he'd just cut.

He looked at it for a moment, satisfaction in his gaze. "Nice," he nodded.

Chelsea melted in the heat. How had she thought she could compete with him in any kind of game?

He bent, holding the shears against her tight breast. Pressing the cold, closed blades against her soft flesh, pushing her nipple higher. He opened his mouth and sucked the very tip into his mouth, his tongue pushing the sensitive bud to the roof of his mouth.

She cried out—couldn't help it. It was too sensitive.

He released her and grinned. Leaned to the other side to pinch her other breast. To cut away the fabric covering that nipple. Then kissed and squeezed the nub he'd exposed.

Chelsea writhed as much as she could, desperate for him to touch her everywhere—oh who was she kidding? She just wanted him to eat her.

And he knew it. He laughed.

"What treasures have we got underneath here?" He patted her pussy with downward strokes just like she was a little cat who didn't like her hair being rubbed the wrong way. She shimmied under his touch—wanting him to go lower, to bare her. To make her come. She wanted to come so badly.

Very carefully he snipped the slit wider—taking inches of material away. She could feel the air against her skin. Then she could feel his breath.

The scissors clattered to the floor and her eyes all but rolled back into her head as she went delirious. The guy could do wicked things with his tongue.

"Please, please, please."

Finally he found the scissors again, running them the length of her legs to cut the fabric—she gasped as cooler air hit her skin. She needed it.

Needed him more.

"Xander."

He thrust home, arched up on his hands to driving deeper, deeper still. She cried out, calling to him, revelling in his possession. The most _unrestrained_ she'd ever been with him. And he called right back—his eyes, his movements as wild, as passionate. As complete.

There was nothing between them. She arched her neck, smiling though her eyes were closed. The catsuit lay in ribbons around them. Their skin stuck in the sweaty heat they'd built.

She felt replete. So consumed. So content.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?" he murmured.

"Letting go with me."

He didn't answer. But he lifted away from her to kneel on the bed beside her and looking down the length of her body.

"You going to untie me?" She had a mind to tell him not to, to tell him to keep her there for the afternoon and do it all again.

"No." His answer was uncompromising and exactly what she'd wanted. "You went away without telling me where. Left me not knowing when or if you were ever coming back. I'm not letting you go again."

"Ever?" she teased, her toes curling in anticipation. "I'm tied to your bed for good?" She laughed. "Next time I'm tying _you_ up. You've no idea how liberating it is."

He stared at her for a long moment. To her surprise the amusement in his eyes faded.

"Xander?" She lifted her head as she saw him freeze back into 'bland'.

"It's okay." Xander coughed, and turned his back to her. "I guess I'll set you free."

He picked up the shears and sliced through the ties, unbinding one of her ankles, then the other. He avoided her gaze as he moved round the bed to release her wrists as well.

Xander felt like a cement truck had just dumped its load of cold wet concrete into his veins. Now it was solidifying—stopping his heart from pumping. From feeling. He didn't like this game anymore. Because it wasn't a game.

He wasn't going to let her go?

Those words echoed. He heard another voice snarling them.

Xander froze. He didn't want to threaten her that way. He knew what it was like to be so afraid. Terrified of what might happen when his dad caught up with him and his mom.

Only now he feared he understood his father's madness. He had it in him. He didn't want to let her go. He'd do anything to stop her leaving him again.

You can't leave me. You'll never get away from me.

The words his father hadn't just shouted at his mother. He'd whispered them to her through a locked and barricaded door, bloodcurdlingly soft as Xander had curled in a ball beside his mom. They'd been so scared they didn't even breathe, hoping they hadn't been detected.

Xander never wanted to see Chelsea afraid of him. But he understood his father now. Xander too was possessive to the point of madness. He couldn't go down this track. He gritted his teeth. He was a stronger man than his father. He wasn't doing that to Chelsea.

He rummaged in a drawer and tossed a tee-shirt at her. "I need you to go now. I've got somewhere else I need to be tonight."

He saw confusion bloom in her eyes, shock rob her cheeks of that pretty post-orgasm flush. He glanced away. He didn't want to see it. It was the best thing for her. For them both.

"Pardon?" She sounded stunned.

"I need you to go." He looked at her again. "I've got other plans."

She blinked but didn't move.

"I need to spell it out?" Bitter anger surged in him. Mostly with himself. But he had to get away from this nightmare. The horror in his own head. "I don't want to see you again."

She got off the bed and stalked towards him. "Xander, we just had the best sex ever. You couldn't get enough of it. You were—" she broke off.

He knew why she had. He'd been out of control. He had. So caught up in his lust for her, his need to make her his. To own. To control. To keep.

And that was the problem.

"We're done." He walked out of his bedroom. "You can keep the tee-shirt."
Chapter Twenty-Two

Patronizing bastard. Furious wasn't the word for how Chelsea felt. There were no words to describe her rage. Her hurt.

She'd finally done it—instigated, acted out a fantasy only to have it fail. Except it hadn't. He'd been so into it, she'd have said he _loved_ it. But then he'd done the whole Jekyll and Hyde thing—turning into a totally different person. A side of him she'd never seen—a side she didn't believe in.

It pissed her off. Royally.

She felt like chopping his precious frickin' tee-shirt into dime-sized pieces and stuffing them into his mail box. Except she wasn't going to go psycho-ex-lover on him. He wasn't worth it.

And she was worth more.

Twenty-four hours later she was still raging. And she'd accepted she wasn't going to walk away from this. She wasn't going to bury this for too long and have it fester.

_Not this time_.

She'd learned from that mistake. She was going to deal with it. Clear the air. Express her emotions. Because wasn't that part of this whole thing? Learning to communicate was part of forgiveness. Was part of being able to move on.

Well she'd just aced the art of communicating her sexual needs, now it was time for the emotional. She had to be honest. Even though she knew she wasn't going to like what he was going to say, she damn well wanted to hear it. And she wanted to tell him more than a few things too.

Because Xander Lawson was every bit as much of a coward as she'd been. Every bit as constrained in his ability to communicate. Well that was changing. This minute.

She knocked on his door. Kept knocking. She knew he was in there. She'd gotten Brad to text her the moment Xander walked through the door. He wasn't at the pool—she'd just checked that. So she was sure he was here in his apartment.

His door jerked open. He looked at her, his body language freezing. Slowly he lifted a single eyebrow as if he couldn't for the life of him understand why she was bothering him.

"You owe me answers." She barged past him, not caring if he had company. "And don't you dare say it's because I don't do it for you anymore. I can get you hard in seconds. I'm willing to bet you're hard for me now."

"Chelsea." He closed the door and turned to lean against it.

She pivoted and got right in his face. Still furious. "You wanted me to tell you what happened with Tom. You wanted me to trust you enough to open up to that. And I did. But it's a two way street. If you have a problem, it's not fair to hold back from me. Because I'm feeling like I'm failing again." She rubbed away the annoying tear that had escaped. Damn it, she hadn't wanted to get emotional, but here she was welling up already. "Don't do this to me. I played, Xander—I finally played up. For the first time I felt good about doing something sexy and silly and naughty again. I finally felt like owning my body and what I wanted from you. I felt released from that guilt. And I _loved_ it. So if that isn't what has you going so cold, then you need to tell me. Because this isn't fair." She'd been through too much.

"Chelsea." Her name was wrenched from him. "It wasn't you. It's not you. You're..." He didn't finish. Instead he put his hands on her shoulders—but didn't draw her close. Rather he literally held her at arm's length. "I'm sorry." He searched her face, his own expression somber. "It wasn't that. I loved that. Not just the Catwoman moment and that wildness. But that you came back to me, that you were there for me. I loved that too much. And _that_ was the problem. It wasn't you. It's me."

Chelsea gritted her teeth through a momentary hit of rage, before she could speak again. "That's the worst line ever. I need more than that." She fisted her hands and crossed them in front of her breasts and then jerked her arms wide—knocking his hands from her shoulders in a sudden, slicing move.

She stepped forward before he had the chance to blink—slamming her body against his.

"I need you to be honest," she snarled at him. "You wanted me to open up, you damn well do the same. You're as chicken as I am, Xander Lawson. Only you hide behind your charm and your easy arrogant playfulness. You think you can stop from getting involved by keeping things light and fun and all just a game. Well we moved past light and fun days ago. Be brave. You like a woman who's your match? I'm more than a match for you. You need to step up to my level and you need to do that now."

For a moment he stared at her, but then he closed his eyes. A second later he pushed past her. It wasn't hard, he had the greater strength after all. She turned and watched him walk. She'd never seen him hunch before but right now he sat with his shoulders raised, his elbows propped on his knees as he pressed his forehead into his fists.

"Xander?" She knelt sideways on the sofa beside him, facing him. It hurt to see the person she loved suffering and in pain and not knowing how to help. How to reach out and comfort. But she had to try. Because she did love him. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Please."

"I don't like the person I've become around you." His voice was low and croaky.

Her hand fell from his shoulder in her surprise. "Pardon?"

He looked up at her. "Being around you has brought the worst out in me. The very worst."

She wasn't hurt at what he said. She was too perplexed to be hurt. "What do you mean? Xander?" She shook her head. "I don't get it. You're fantastic around me. You... you're..." He was her dream guy.

Dear Heaven, he was sex on toast with double sides of humor, strength, and loyalty.

"Chelsea, my father wasn't just a thief. He was a thug. Sub-human. Missing a link or twenty. He liked stealing—got off on it. He also got off on hurting people. He beat up on my mother."

Chelsea's blood chilled. What about Xander? Had he beat up on Xander?

"He was alcoholic," Xander added. "The charming kind until he went one drink too far."

"You don't drink." She remembered at the restaurant he hadn't. Not once in all the nights they'd shared.

"Never."

"But you wouldn't be that kind of drunk." She was sure he wouldn't. He was fundamentally _kind_.

"I'm not taking the chance."

Chelsea's heart ached. He doubted himself? Did he really worry he could be like his father? "So what happened? Your mom left him?"

"Remember I said I was scared—in the car?"

She nodded.

"One time he left me behind. He got sprung and he hightailed it out of there on foot. He left me. Anything could have happened but he didn't care. I was okay—just, but that's when she finally made the decision to leave him. He'd beat her so many times, but it wasn't until he started grooming me for the jobs that she finally got the strength to get away from him. When she realized he'd sacrifice his son to save his own skin."

Chelsea tightened her grip on him—ached to draw him close and just hold him.

"Don't judge Mom," he said in a low voice. "She'd tried to leave before."

"And what had happened?"

"He nearly killed her. He threatened to take me from her."

"So how did she do it that time?"

"She called her family. They planned it. A co-ordinated escape. She'd had to get within the safety of the Hughes home."

"Did he come after you?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"My uncle is a powerful man." He looked down. "He ran him out of town. But my mother was so afraid. She wouldn't leave the family compound. She was scared for me too." He looked grim. "So we stayed with my uncle.

"Logan's father."

"You can imagine the difference. We were poor. My mother was always reminded of her bad decisions. I was always looked at with suspicion. As if they expected me to go off the rails at any moment. After all, I had his genes." He lifted his head and stared sightlessly across the room—away from her. "I look like him. I look just like him."

But he and Logan shared that smile? There was so much more to him than his father's genes. He was his own person. "You didn't go off the rails."

"Never."

"And you went into security."

"I liked engineering. I wasn't going to inherit any kind of family business. It was made known that I'd inherit nothing of the Hughes fortune. Nor would Mom. So there was no threat to us. No point to my father coming after us. But it was true anyway—we had nothing. Would get nothing. Not like Logan and Conner. My future was my own. I wanted to study, get good at something. Succeed."

"And you did."

He nodded. "Rationally I understand why she didn't leave him sooner. She'd tried other times and gotten a couple of broken bones for her trouble. But part of me couldn't understand it. And I could never understand the insanity that _he_ had. Because it wasn't about the money for him. It was the anger—the sheer need to win. Vengeance. Control. Ownership. As far as he was concerned she was his. He had this belief in absolute possession of a person. I just couldn't get my head around that. Until now."

Chelsea's heart thudded. "Where is he now?"

"In a cemetery on the outskirts of California."

"What happened?"

"He crossed the local gang. Was so arrogant he thought he could get away with it. He couldn't."

No wonder Xander always been keeping an eye on how to make a place safe. For years he'd always wondered if—when—his father would come after them. So Xander had worked out the ways in which he could get in and made them secure.

No wonder he liked to play in the off time that he took. Like to play and be easy with women. No wonder he didn't do 'emotional drama'. No wonder he liked to be in control of every situation.

Because as a kid he'd had no control. Watching his mother get hit? Being put into fearful situations as a look-out for his father on a job?

All out of his control.

"You'll never be like him. You're not him." Chelsea whispered.

"But I am like him," Xander whispered hollowly. "For the first time in my life I understand exactly how he worked."

She knelt closer, desperate to understand. "In what way?"

"You left. And then you came back." He bent his head. "I don't want to do to you what he did to Mom."

"Why would you think you _would_?" She was shocked. Not once had Xander physically threatened her. Not once.

"Because that's how I feel. That other night—I loved it. Chasing you got me so hard. It got me feral. Having you tied to the bed?" He breathed out harshly. "It was like something snapped in me and when you said about leaving you there forever I was like _'hell yes'_ inside."

"That's when you panicked."

" _Realized_ ," he corrected. "Yeah I did want you there forever. For the first time I could understand the mentality. The insane sense of _ownership_. That you were mine, mine, mine."

Chelsea's heart thundered. "You wanted to own me."

He looked at her, his all-seeing eyes picking up the heat in her cheeks. "It's not a healthy thing, Chelsea. Not where I come from."

"Xander..."

"I don't want to be like that. I don't want to feel that out of control. Hell I was so out of control I had unprotected sex with you. What if you weren't covered with contraception? I could have put you at risk."

"You don't want kids?" she asked, unable to hide the plaintive thread in her voice.

His eyes widened. "Don't Chels," he whispered. "Don't tempt me."

She put her hand on his wrist. "I want to tempt you. I want you to want me. To want everything with me."

He pulled away from her. "I don't want to be like him. I have to let you go."

"And you did. You have. You've already proved so many times over that you're not anything like him. The number of times you had me—and held me. You've never once hurt me. You've been more about protecting me. And you left when I told you to, you let me go away without coming after me." She smiled as she saw his involuntary shiver. "But I've come back. There's such a huge difference here and you know it. You're never going to beat up on me, right?"

"Never." He flinched. Then groaned. "I know what you're saying. I _know_ I'm not like him in that way. But I _feel_..."

"Feel what?"

His big shoulders lifted an inch higher. His muscles flexed with tension. "Afraid."

Afraid of losing control? Afraid of wanting her too much? "I don't want to leave you," she said.

He lifted tortured eyes to look at her. "Please mean it."

"I do," she whispered. "And as un-PC as it might be, I want you to own me. Not in a 'you must obey my every command' way, but I want to know you're there for me. That I can depend on you. Because I want to own you too. I want to know that you'll come if I call—because I'll always run to you if you call for me. Always." She drew breath. "I don't think that's an unhealthy thing. I think that's love." She suddenly moved, kneeling on the floor at his feet, so he couldn't hide his face from her. "I know you said this would be over if I became attached, but it's your fault I did. You were the one bending boundaries taking me out to dinner and on dates and to your damn waterpolo match. You were the one staying the whole night and making me laugh. It's your fault I've fallen in love with you." She breathed hard, so vulnerable yet so invigorated. "Well, you're a big tough guy with a heart of gold. You like to help people. And you're strong. So strong." She lifted her chin. "And I'm strong too. I survived. There's nothing you can throw at me that I can't handle. So go ahead and end this if you want to, but do it with _honesty_."

"I know how strong you are. I'm sorry."

"Don't let him win. Don't let him deny you what you deserve. You deserve it all. Maybe you don't want that with me—"

"You Chelsea," he interrupted sharply. "Only you."

She swallowed.

"I have no clue how these things work, Chels. My own parents were a disaster. My aunt and uncle—Logan's parents. They might be still married but it sure isn't happily. I'm good at keeping a short-term fling fun," he said. "I can be a lover, a playmate. But beyond that? When you tire of that?"

"I'll never tire of that," she half-laughed, half-cried. "I'll never tire of spending my time with you. But you have to talk to me Xander."

"Chelsea." He bent forward, so she couldn't hide her eyes from him. "It wasn't a game anymore for me. It wasn't a fantasy fling. It was real." He framed her face with his big hands. "To be honest it's always been real. It's always been me, Xander, making love to you, Chelsea."

She shivered. "I thought it was only about the fantasy for you?"

He shook his head. "I've never played like this with anyone else. Those little scenarios—they were what you needed. Wanted. _You_. I was doing that for you, because it seemed to be how you could ease into it. The way you could let yourself want me." He brushed her lip with his thumb. "And you wanted to please me—I knew that was part of it. That you wanted to satisfy a lover physically was part of the deal for you. It was exciting and fun. But for me it was always _you_. And always _real_. And you're right. It's love. I love you."

"You were right," she whispered. "I did need that—I was too frozen or whatever, to ask outright for what I wanted at the start. And I love the fantasies you wove. You got me so hot. Hell, from the moment I first saw you I was hot. But then you opened your mouth and all this fun poured out. Tease and danger and laughter. I thought I could handle a no-strings fling. That keeping a lover satisfied could be the way forward for me. But the truth was, it was you pleasing me..." She turned her head to kiss the center of his palm. "I'm not ever leaving you." She raised her eyes at him. "I love you."

The last plank of resistance within him broke. His arms wrapped around her tightly. So tightly.

"Xander?" She whispered in his ear. "Let's make love."

"Hell, yes."
Chapter Twenty-Three

Chelsea had bailed on watching waterpolo tonight, promising to meet him in bed with some kind of surprise. Xander had nearly bailed on waterpolo himself knowing that. But she'd shoved him out the door with a laugh and told him to be sure to stay for dinner with Rocco and the guys afterwards. That he was going to need the sustenance.

He had never been so happy in his life. Nor had he ever been so shit scared. He'd never had a girlfriend for this long before and he'd no idea what course this thing was going to take. But they'd travel it together—that he did know.

Now, with Hunter silently strolling at his side, he walked back into the building, eager to get upstairs and into whatever it was she had planned.

"See you Hunter," he said as they crossed the lobby.

His buddy nodded.

"Xander?" Someone else called him.

He glanced at Terry. He so didn't want anything to delay him right now. "What's up? You got a problem?"

"I think you do."

He stopped striding towards the elevator and turned. "What is it?"

"Someone in the pool. After hours."

His eyes met those of the building security man and he raced to the screen the guy was looking at.

She stood at the side of the pool. The lights around the deck danced in the light breeze, casting patterns over her suit and skin. Her face was pale in the light that emanated from the surrounding buildings. She glowed like a star—just about the only one visible in light-polluted New York. As he stared at the screen, she peeled one strap, then the other, from her shoulders.

There was a hiss as Hunter—behind him—sucked in a breath. "Seems to me you're gonna have your hands full getting her out of there."

Xander half smiled, half grimaced. "You have no idea."

He reached forward and hit the button on the monitor to turn it black, knowing damn well that Terry was going to turn it straight back on the second he got out the door. Xander didn't give a shit how much Terry saw of him. And given Xander would be all over Chelsea, he'd hardly see her. Xander needed to be beside her, supporting her. Needed to be with her every step of the way.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes." Hunter grabbed Terry by the arm and hauled him out of the swivel chair and into the reception area.

"You're kidding me. I'm supposed to watch the screens." Terry protested.

"I'll take full responsibility." Hunter growled, easily blocking the guy from moving. "Xan, you have fifteen."

Hell, the way he was feeling he'd need less than two.

"I'll take care of the tape too," Hunter called as Xander reached the door to the stairwell. "Good luck."

"Gonna need it," Xander muttered beneath his breath as he ran. "Gonna need every damn inch of it."

She was going in the water?

Not without him.

Chelsea took one step. _There_. She was on the first step into the water. It was a notch cooler than the warm air, both were sensual on her bare body. She was hyper aware of every tiny feeling. Every change. She took another step down and deliberately drew air into her tight lungs.

Behind her the door to the stairwell opened and banged shut.

She smiled and stepped down to the third step—out of arm's reach. Then she turned.

He stood at the edge of the pool. He'd whisked off his tee and was grappling with his jeans. His chest rapidly rose and fell. He'd run all the way up? Her lower belly tightened. She did like this man.

"You want me to rescue you?" he called to her.

She let her hands swirl in the water, trying to keep herself connected, grounded. "I've never wanted that."

"I know." He sent her a cautious look. "You know it's after hours."

"I do know that, Superman." She managed a smile.

"And you know you're giving Terry a show? The security camera is just there."

"Only in black and white," she shrugged. "And no sound."

"That'll only make it all the sexier for him," Xander half choked. "He'll be coming all over the screen in seconds."

"Hmmm," she nodded. "That wouldn't be good for security." She acknowledged.

"So you'll get out then? Put your swimsuit back on?"

"No. I don't think he'd see all that much if we stay under the water." She took another step down—so the water came to just below her breasts.

She breathed in slow and deep. Not panicking. Not remembering. But not forgetting either. Just moving forward. With Xander watching her. Xander here for her if she needed him.

But she could do this.

"I've been under in the bath you know." She took another step. "I'm okay. I'm never going to forget, but I want to make new memories as well now. I need to do that," she said. "I'm going to dive." Her voice wobbled.

"I'm right here." And he was.

As naked as she. She looked at him, saw his belief in her. His compassion. His encouragement. And his understanding.

She inhaled a deep breath and lifted her arms above her head. With a little spring she did it—plunging deep, submerging. Swimming. She opened her eyes, saw his shadow walking alongside her as she swam underwater—the length of the pool.

She surfaced at the deep end. He'd come to the very edge, was on his haunches, his expression searching and concerned.

But she smiled at him. "I'm a mermaid."

"Are you now?" He sent a small smile back at her.

"Yes."

"And who am I?" He asked carefully. "A sailor?"

She knew he was making sure she was okay with this fantasy. That it wasn't too close to wounds. It wasn't.

"You're a pirate," she corrected him.

"Oh." His smile widened.

She put her hands on the tiled edge and pulled herself out of the water a little, whispering. "You've captured me."

"I have." He reached down and grasped her wrists.

She pushed back against the wall with her feet—with all her strength—and surged back into the middle of the pool. He tumbled in with an almighty splash.

She broke the surface again, laughing as he swam after her to the shallow end. He reached for her, clutching her tight.

He drew in a ragged breath. "Pirates can be a little rough."

"Mermaids are tougher than they look."

"Maybe they are," Xander hauled her back against him. His heart thundered. She'd given him a hell of a fright with this stunt. But he understood it. She was in the water again. This was what she'd wanted.

"Umm hmmm." She wriggled a little closer. "And I'm figuring out my way to escape your villainous clutches."

The rope around Xander's heart tightened, but he felt lighter than an eyelash. He smiled, not quite as pirate as he'd hoped—it was too loving for that. And he slid into the fantastic reality she wove for him. "This mermaid is never escaping my clutches."

Her smiled deepened. "Why's that?"

His spirits lightened more as his groin tightened to beyond painful. "Because I'm too good at keeping her satisfied."

"Oh, you think?" Her smile deepened. "You see I'd say she can't escape because she always wants _more._ "

The movement of her hands made soft splashes. Her warm wet fingers walked up his abs. Soft touches. Tender touches. The fairy lights twinkled in her eyes and she suddenly dived under the water.

He felt her warm mouth on him. He reached out, just able to brace on the edge of the pool. Barely holding on, he kept his balance until she resurfaced with a small splash.

"And mermaids aren't as pure as all that," she said. "We're the ones who really win. We take hearts. Even from the most elusive pirates. You think you have me caught? It's the other way round."

Oh he was so caught. So in love. And still so concerned. He put his hand to her jaw.

"I love you," she whispered, the tears sounding in her voice. "I love you and it's okay to love you. It's okay to enjoy everything with you. Everything, everywhere. The water. It's okay."

"It is."

"Will you hold me?"

He wrapped his arms right around her. "For as long as you want me to."

"For ever," she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder.

Xander tightened his grip on her and waded through the water to the steps.

She'd changed his life, opened it up to all kinds of wonderful possibilities. He still couldn't believe his luck.

He held her close as he carried her home, uncaring that they were naked and dripping and could be sprung by anyone in the elevator or the corridor. But luck really was on his side.

Their way was clear.
Chapter Twenty-Four

11 months later

Chelsea stopped outside Xander's apartment door and quickly slipped her panties off, scrunching them into her bag. She glanced round to ensure the corridor was still empty. It was. Xander had texted her ten minutes ago on her way home from university with the no-knickers instruction. Smiling, she unlocked the door and went inside.

"How was your class today?" Xander called from the kitchen.

"Good." Chelsea went to the doorway and sent him a look—waiting for his next instruction.

"Come here."

Oh she'd be coming real soon given the size of his erection. The guy was naked—that had been the instruction _she'd_ replied to him. He'd chosen to sit on a dining chair, his cock armed, fully loaded and aiming right at her. He gestured so she walked forward, hitching her skirt to sit on his lap. She chose to straddle him face to face—but didn't take him yet.

"Do you know what today is?" he asked, idly stroking the inside of her thigh—her weak leg. It'd never be as strong as the other, but that no longer mattered. She shook her head.

"Random fire drill day."

"Really?"

"Well it was a year ago."

"So it's a year since we met?" She slid her hands up his chest and curled them over his gorgeously broad shoulders.

He nodded. "Happy anniversary." He wrapped his hand round the nape of her neck, pulling her close to kiss her tenderly. Lovingly. But at the same time, the tease lifted her dress to her hips.

"I love you." He kissed his way down to her collarbones.

But she sensed something wasn't quite right. He was too tense—not in a purely sexual way. A worried way.

"What's wrong?" She drew back to look into his eyes as she asked.

He licked his lips and looked her straight in the eye. "Marry me."

Warmth burst in her chest. It was like all the fireworks in the world had gone off, lighting her from the inside out. "Yes."

He lifted something from the table beside him. A jewellery box. She hadn't even noticed it when she'd come in. She'd been too excited about seeing him.

Now she looked at it and then, concerned, looked at the diamond that she still wore on her right hand. Tom's diamond.

"Shall I take this off?" she whispered. "I should take it off. I'm so sorry. I should have done that months ago." But it was just there. Part of her. She wasn't an accessories girl—didn't wear a different necklace with each outfit. She just wore what she had—which was Tom's ring. Now she realized how insensitive that might have been.

"No." Xander's hand gently covered hers.

"You don't mind? It doesn't bother you?"

Xander shook his head. "I feel sorry for him. He had everything. He had you. And you are you, in part, because of him. Loyal, loving. Strong. I'd like to have met him. He sounds like he was a nice guy. And though he's gone, he's a part of you and I don't think you should have to forget about him. So if you want to, wear it."

Tears welled in her eyes. "Xander." She'd never met a man more generous. More accepting. More loving.

"I don't feel the need to give you a bigger diamond." He grinned wryly but his eyes were somber. "To compete. There's no contest. He's dead. I'm here now. And I know how happy you are with me."

He opened the box. The ring he'd selected for her was a sapphire, the blue the exact shade of her eyes. Diamonds sat on either side.

"You can wear both rings," he said. "One on each hand."

It was beautiful. But she could hardly see it through her tears. "I don't deserve this," she struggled to speak with the huge lump in her throat. "The love of two fine men."

"You do." He took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. "Everyone deserves more than one shot at happiness." He drew in a breath. "Even me."

"And I'm so happy," she whispered.

"You love me." His eyes burned into hers and she read the rawness in them. "You need me."

She nodded, cupping his jaw. "And you love me. You need me."

"More than you'll ever know."

She lifted up a fraction and slid onto him, locking tight onto his body. He looked up at her—the most gorgeous, confident, vulnerable smile in his eyes.

There was a time for play and a time for nothing but love. This was nothing but slow, sweet love. He was her beautiful lifesaver.

"I love you so much." She held her breath as the sensations build so unbearably.

"Breathe for me," he said hoarsely. Holding her, rocking her to pleasure. "Breathe for me."

"Kiss me so I can."

And, as always, he did.

THE END

Be sure to read the other books in the Be for Me series—head to Natalie's website for details and buy links. Also sign up to her newsletter, and follow her on Facebook for details on her upcoming releases.

If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at the e-tailer you bought it from. Meanwhile learn more about the other stories in the series...

BARED FOR ME

Danielle Hughes' longstanding crush on Rocco St Clair has turned her into a virgin spinster ahead of her time. She needs to quit craving the impossible and get control of her life. But this time, running away has gotten her more than she bargained for...

When you owe a man everything, you don't repay him by sleeping with his sister—no mater how much you might ache for it. Rocco St Clair owes Logan Hughes, so when Logan asks him to mind his runaway sister for the night, he can't say no. It's only one night, right?

But Danielle Hughes is temptation incarnate. Forced together in the one hotel room, she's testing his resolve every innocent way she can. Rocco is determined not to break and take what's forbidden.

But when control is broken, _all_ will be bared.

BEG FOR ME

One mistake means she's his to marry?

No one needs an image overhaul more than Logan Hughes. His notoriety has reached epic proportions thanks to a sex clip circulating on the Internet. But when his newly contracted social media manager inadvertently tweets his happiness at his _engagement_ , he—along with the rest of the world—is astounded.

With one wrong click of a button Min Jones just committed career suicide. Mixing up her client's account wouldn't have been so bad if he had only a few followers... unfortunately he has almost a million. Summoned to meet with him face-to-face, she's more tongue-tied than ever. Then he announces that his engagement is to stand and that _she's_ to be his fiancé. For six months she's to play along, but it only takes six seconds for her to realize the extent of the man's charm. He's temptation incarnate.

With her career on the line Min agrees but she isn't going to hide away meek and mild. If Logan Hughes wants a fiancée, he's going to have to play by _her_ rules and that means he's going to have to learn to handle some _restraint_...

BOUND FOR ME

No names, no repercussions, no regrets...

Tense and tired from working back-to-back bars shifts, Savannah Nash finally lets her guard down, escaping into a moment of passion-fuelled fantasy with the six-foot-two, muscle-packed piece of temptation who's celebrating his last night in town.

Best. Ever.

But then she discovers who her ultimate lover really is. He's the reason she came to Summerhill, he's the one she wanted to make pay.

Revenge or a repeat?

Connor Hughes knows he should have confessed his true identity to the town's newly crowned ice-princess sooner, but the delicious discovery that the so-called 'frigid ball-breaker' is actually hotter than molten metal, makes him question what else she might be hiding. Sure enough, turns out she has his company on her hit list.

Not. Happening.

The woman might hate him, but she also wants him, and he knows exactly how close to keep this enemy.

Bound together by lust and distrust, it's not just bodies, but hearts, that are about to get burned...

BLAZE FOR ME

See. Want. Have...

When Austin Tate busts Nicoletta Valeri in a blistering moment of voyeristic orgasm-envy, it's the perfect chance for some much needed payback, but instead she's lit a fire in him that can be extinguished by only the one thing...

BROKEN FOR ME

Desire. Denial. Desolation...

Nothing is more important to Luisa Williams than her freedom to explore new destinations, new jobs, new connections... She never spends more than a few weeks in any one place because life is too short to stand still. But when she meets Hunter Shaw, her instinct is to stop and stare and—to her horror—move closer. Her wild attraction to him stuns her, but his silent inscrutability puts her on edge. She suspects he sees that she hides secrets...

Retrieval specialist Hunter Shaw's survival depends on his ability not to become emotionally involved with anyone or anything. He has intimate understanding of loss and betrayal and isn't about to score himself a repeat of either. But he sees suffering in the eyes of the capricious, determined, gorgeous woman who so defiantly turns her back on him. Still, her hidden desolation isn't his problem, right?

But the searing attraction between them is.

Luisa can run, but in the end she can't hide. Not from Hunter. Not from her need. And when desire is denied too long, it becomes dangerous. Ultimately all resistance, and all protection, must be broken.

Turn the page for other titles by Natalie available now...
Other Titles Available Now

Other recent titles by Natalie include:

The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

The Secret That Shocked De Santis

Whose Bed is it Anyway?

Dating and Other Dangers

Waking up in the Wrong Bed

First Time Lucky?

The End of Faking It

Head to her website for more details and buy links.
About the Author

_USA TODAY_ bestseller Natalie Anderson writes fun, frisky, feels-good contemporary romance. She's published with Harlequin Mills & Boon, Entangled Publishing and independently. She's also written young adult fiction for Penguin NZ under a pseudonym. With over thirty books published, she's been a _Romantic Times_ Award nominee & a finalist for the R*BY (Romantic Book of the Year).

She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand with her husband and four children.

Find out more at her website, and sign up to her newsletter for a free read, latest release details, and sneak peeks. You can also follow her on Facebook.
