No doubt, because she’s a bloody nun. “How very decent of you.”

She grunts with frustration and throws a pillow at me. It’s probably the angriest she’s ever been in her life. I raise an eyebrow to see how much madder I can make her. “Pillow fight?”

She wants to scream. I can see it in her rigid, huffing demeanor, but she takes a cleansing breath and deflates a notch.

Nice trick. If only I could do that. I’ve got some parts that could use deflating.

“Get off my bed,” she orders. “Please. I’m ready to go to sleep.”

That’s a load of bollocks. She’s not tired. She’s as filled with passion as I am, but she’s too bloody good to embrace it. Her self-control burns me up. I want her to throw a wobbly and break things. Then pounce on me.

But seriously. We should be naked.

I get off the bed and wave an arm toward it. She climbs deep into the covers and puts her back to me. I try to bring her back to life by reminding her that I saved her from the plonker who drugged her at the party and almost stole her first kiss. But she doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t leap from the bed and jump my bones. Doesn’t even turn to face me.

Then I remember—I had her first kiss—that’s right, me, and I want to beat my chest like an ape.

“So that’s it, then?” I say. My lust is still working at full-throttle-rocket mode, but there will be no countdown to launch. I’m torn between disbelief and a rising ache deep in my abdomen. It hurts like hell. It takes everything in my power not to be the caveman my father wants me to be and ravage this girl senseless. “I always wondered what it would feel like.”

“What what would feel like?” She finally looks at me.

“Rejection.” It would be humorous if it weren’t for the pain element. I’ve never felt this before.

“What are you saying? That no girl has ever told you no?”

She needn’t sound so shocked.

“Not one,” I say. I won’t tell her I seek out those who show interest to begin with.

“And what about you? Haven’t you ever stopped or said no to a girl?”

Pfft! “Why would I do that?”

“Lots of reasons,” she mumbles. “Never mind, just go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

She rolls back over, making all sorts of ruckus as she settles. I’ve never had much cause to hate my lustful heritage. I’ve always been able to sate the beast. But at this moment all I want is this mad need for her body to disappear. It’s more than just pain now. It feels as if a black cloud is consuming me, fogging my mind and vision. I attempt to blink it away.

I think about Anna’s last question, and suddenly my childhood mate Ginger’s face fills my mind. That awkward, terrible night when she hit on me in front of Blake comes rushing back. “I suppose I did refuse one, but she doesn’t count.” I’m babbling now, but talking seems to help. Will this feeling pass?

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because she was Neph.” My stomach tightens when I think of Ginger. She was my friend once. My closest friend.

Anna says nothing, and I’m left standing there with a rather large problem. The feeling is not passing. I desperately need to have sex or I may have to curl into the fetal position and howl. I adjust myself while she’s not looking. How do regular blokes deal with this torture when they’re turned down all the time?

“This must be the part where I take a cold shower?”

Can’t she sense my need? Doesn’t she care at all that it feels as if I’ve been racked by a giant?

Apparently not. “Good idea” is all she says.

Cold. Hearted.

I trudge stiffly to the bathroom and climb into the shower, but it does nothing for me. I cannot believe this is happening. I shouldn’t have lost control while we kissed. I should have taken my bloody time and gotten her so hot she was begging for more. How the hell did the little nun get the upper hand over me? I am reduced to showering with myself, which is an inadequate substitute for what I need. But then I remember the girl at the hotel desk who checked me in. Midtwenties. Bored out of her gourd. Completely hot for me.

Brilliant.

I dry myself and walk into our room stark naked, but she doesn’t even peek. The girl is infuriating. I quickly dress, find a room key, and open the door.

Anna perks up from her bed. “Where are you going?”

Look who suddenly cares. I frown at her, hoping she feels a bit of the pain and frustration I’m experiencing.

“I have to work,” I say.

“Have to? Or want to?”

Anger and indignation rip through me. This girl has no clue, and she has the nerve to try to make me feel bad? She’s never feared for her life. She’s never given in to her dark side and then experienced the physical impossibility of ignoring it ever again. I cannot stand here and listen to her.

“Why should that matter, Anna? I’m going now.”

“Where will you go?” she all but shouts. She sounds a bit desperate, which gives me some amount of satisfaction.

I’m glad to tell her, and I hope it makes her share a bit of my agony. “I’ll go visit the girl at the front desk, just as she suggested. So unless you’ve changed your mind . . . ?” I give her one last chance, and I watch as envy and sadness fight for space in her aura. But she only shakes her head.

“Didn’t think so,” I mutter. Then I flick off the light and shut the door, checking to be sure it locks behind me.