Then she kisses me.

Oh hell.

I should stop her. I really, really should. But she’s warm and soft and she smells so good I can’t fucking think straight. Her mouth moves eagerly over mine, and I kiss her back hungrily, wrapping my arms around her and stroking her lower back as our lips mold together. She tastes like piña coladas, and she makes the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard as she takes deep pulls on my tongue like she can’t get enough.

“Hannah,” I mumble against her eager lips. “We can’t.”

She licks my bottom lip, then bites it hard enough to summon a growl from my throat. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need to derail this lust train before it hurtles to the point of no return.

“I love your chest,” she breathes, and holy hell, now she’s rubbing her breasts against my pecs and I can feel her nipples poking right through her shirt.

I want to rip that fucking shirt off. I want to draw those puckered nipples deep into my mouth and suck. But I can’t. I won’t.

“No.” I thrust my hand in her hair and bunch it between my fingers. “We can’t do this. Not tonight.”

“But I want to,” she whispers. “I want you so bad.”

She’s just uttered the words every guy wants to hear—I want you so bad—but damn it, she’s drunk and I can’t let her do this.

Her tongue circles my earlobe and my hips shoot off the bed. Oh Jesus. I want to be inside her.

It takes superhuman strength on my part to push her off my body. She whimpers in protest, but when I gently touch her cheek, the whimper turns into a happy sigh.

“We can’t do this,” I say gruffly. “You trusted me to look out for you, remember? Well, this is me looking out for you.”

I can’t see her expression in the dark, but she sounds surprised as she says, “Oh.” Then she nestles closer and I instantly tense. I’m prepared to lay down the law again, but she simply snuggles against my body and rests her head on my chest. “Okay. Goodnight.”

Okay? Goodnight?

Does she actually think I’ll be able to sleep after what just happened?

But she’s not thinking at all. Nope, she’s out like a light again, and as her steady breathing tickles my nipple, I swallow another groan and close my eyes, doing my best to ignore the hot lust pulsating in my groin.

It’s a long, long time before I fall asleep.

22

Hannah

I wake up in Garrett Graham’s arms for the second time in two weeks. Except this time…I want to be there.

Last night turned out to be a series of eye-opening experiences. I drank in public without having a panic attack. I was forced to accept that the rape screwed me up a lot more than I let myself admit.

And I decided that Garrett is the answer to all my problems.

My seduction attempt might have failed, but it wasn’t because of a lack of desire on Garrett’s part. I know exactly what was going through his mind—Hannah’s drunk and not thinking clearly.

But he’s wrong.

My brain was sharp as a tack last night. I kissed Garrett because I wanted to. I would’ve slept with him because I wanted to.

Now, in the light of day, I still want it. Seeing Devon left me feeling scared and uncertain. It made me question what would happen if I got involved with Justin. Made me wonder if I’m simply inviting more frustration and disappointment into my life.

As insane as it sounds, a test run with Garrett might be just what I need to work through my issues. He said so himself—he doesn’t date girls, he sleeps with them. There’s no risk of him falling in love with me or demanding a relationship. And it’s not like we don’t have any chemistry. We have so much of it we could inspire an entire R&B song.

It would be the perfect arrangement. I could have sex with a guy without getting bogged down by all the relationship pressure. With Devon, my sex issues were made a hundred times worse because of that pressure, because the sex part was tangled up with the love part.

With Garrett, it can be just about the sex. Trying to put the pieces of my sexuality back together without worrying about disappointing someone I love.

But first, I need him to agree to it.

“Garrett,” I murmur.

He doesn’t stir.

I scooch closer and stroke his cheek. His eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t wake up.

“Garrett,” I say again.

“Mmmmfhrhghd?”

His gibberish makes me smile. I lean in and press my lips to his.

His eyes fly open.

“Morning,” I say innocently.

He blinks in rapid succession. “Did I dream that or did you really just kiss me?” he asks groggily.

“You didn’t dream it.”

Confusion fogs his eyes, but he’s growing more alert. “Why?”

“Because I felt like it.” I sit up and take a breath. “Are you one-hundred percent awake? Because there’s something really important I need to ask you.”

A huge yawn overtakes his face as he slides into an upright position. The blanket falls to his waist and his bare chest is revealed, and my mouth promptly goes dry. He’s cut like a diamond. Hard edges and gleaming skin and pure masculinity.

“What’s up?” he says in a sleep-gravelly voice.

There’s absolutely no way to phrase this without sounding desperate and pathetic, so I simply blurt out the words and let them hang in the air.

“Will you have sex with me?”

After the longest pause imaginable, Garrett wrinkles his forehead. “Now?”