“Of course not. I’d prefer not to fly at all. I insist you teleport me the next time we take a vacation to paradise.”

He finally cracked a smile and crossed to where I sat. He examined me for a moment in silence, then took the chair next to mine. He eased into it, all fluid grace, long limbs, and coiled power.

“The next time?” he asked, and I was pleased to hear his voice held a hint of teasing.

“Of course. I’ve decided that you and I are going to be best friends, just as long as you keep me in a steady supply of salmon cakes.”

“And cookies.”

“Yes. And cookies.” I bent my elbow on the high, cushioned arm of the chair and rested my cheek against my hand, let my eyes move over his handsome features and found him watching me, his eyes intent.

His mouth curved into a smirk that was mirrored in his stare. “And dancing lessons?”

I grew very still, my eyes locked on his, because by dancing lessons, I knew he meant orgasms. Probably mutual orgasms. And lots of them.

I swallowed thickly, and heat traveled up my chest to my neck. The cold lump in my stomach seemed to balloon and press against my lungs. I thought about the marks on my skin and the soreness between my legs, reminders of how physical intimacy with Martin had been exciting and satisfying, but also extremely intense and a little scary. Maybe too intense.

He reached for my hand where it rested against my cheek and I stiffened, straightened, and yanked it away, opting instead to twist my fingers together on my lap. I also tore my gaze from his and stared at the floor.

We were silent for a stretch as I tried to figure out what to say, how to respond. This was problematic as I didn’t know what to say or how to respond.

“Look at me.”

I tried to swallow again but experienced a swallow misfire, and released a shaky breath. “Martin…” I covered my face with my hands. My cheeks were hot and I shook my head.

“Kaitlyn, if you tell me you regret what happened...” His voice was low, sounded tight and barely controlled.

“I don’t regret it,” I blurted, because it was true. I didn’t regret it. I liked it, a lot. And I wanted to do it again.

I peered at him from between my fingers, found him watching me, his jaw set and his eyes fierce. When I spoke it was muffled by my palms pressed to my mouth. “I don’t regret it. But I don’t know how to feel about it because it was a little scary.”

His gaze grew introspective, like he was searching his memory, and I noted his forehead was marred with wrinkles of concern. “Scary? How so?”

I tried to distance myself from the conversation and approach it with pragmatic analysis. “Well, I think the first true ‘sexual experience’ for any girl is going to be frightening, so there is that. But also…well…I’m sore. And you left bruises on my hip and bites on my neck. You were quite intense and I liked that a lot, but you weren’t very…gentle.”

He blinked rapidly and a flicker of something like dismay clouded his features. He studied me with pensive unhappiness. Then his head fell backward to the cushion of the chair and his chest expanded with a large breath. “Goddammit.”

He looked angry.

“Are you…mad?” I asked, my hands dropping to my lap as I studied his face for a clue. I couldn’t believe he was angry. For heaven’s sake, I was new at this, at all of this.

He closed his eyes for a full five seconds, then said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, not at all. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I examined him, how upset he was, and realized that irritation was pointed inward. “Can you be—I mean—is it possible for you to be less rough?”

He lifted his head, his eyes opening and I saw his determination before he spoke. “Yes. You have my word. That won’t happen again.”

I got the sense he was disappointed in himself…very curious.

“I didn’t say that exactly. I mean,” I cleared my throat, trying to quash my nervousness, because it was weird doing a post-orgasm analysis with Martin Sandeke, “so, just to be clear, it was good. It was all very good. I liked what happened…earlier. My pants liked it too. But, as much as my pants want to get this party started, I’m very new to all of this.” I emphasized all of this by waving my hands over my pelvis then waving them in the direction of his entire body.

Some of his dismay gave way to amusement. “I know.”

“I’m not saying the rough was bad, and I’m not ruling it out for future interludes—if there are future interludes—as long as I get to be rough sometimes too.”

His gaze abruptly heated and his eyes narrowed, sharpened. I ignored this because the idea of getting rough with Martin was…epically arousing. I rushed to continue, “I’m just suggesting that, if this happens again—”

“When it happens again.”

“—you go a little easier on me until I know how to do this thing.”

He nodded and I was pleased to see him relax a bit more.

We stared at each other for a beat, and the air felt ripe and heavy. He was watching me as though he were imagining these future interludes, planning and preparing for them.

“I just wish—”

“What do you wish?”

A sudden idea occurred to me and I embraced it before I could think too much about the ramifications; I assumed he’d reject the idea outright, which is why I blurted it. “Heck, let’s go all in. If we’re going to give it a try, we might as well really give it a try. I think we should throw caution to the wind and label each other as girlfriend and boyfriend. Ala, Have you met Martin? He’s my boyfriend. I’m Parker, his girlfriend. We’re together in the biblical sense of the word, sans the sacrament.”

He stared at me for five full seconds, obviously caught off guard by my suggestion, but then he surprised me by reaching forward, and with a sure and smooth movement, pulled me onto his lap. I stumbled and basically fell into him. Meanwhile his hands cradled my face, his thumbs caressed the line of my jaw, and his eyes moved almost reverently from the progress of his fingers to my lips.

“Parker,” his voice was a rumbly, growly whisper, laced with warning, “don’t say it unless you mean it.”

Well, crap. Bluff called.

I licked my lips—a nervous habit—which had the byproduct of turning his aqua eyes darker. He looked…greedy.

“Martin, this is nuts. You don’t need or want a girlfriend.”

“I want you.”

Gah! Right in the feels!

He felt comfortable touching me, that much was clear. But I hesitated to touch him. I didn’t want to touch him when he wasn’t really mine; because when this was over, I wouldn’t be allowed to touch him anymore. Then I would have lost something.

Therefore, I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head.

“Let’s talk about our differences,” I said, hoping a well-reasoned argument would make some kind of dent in his crazy fixation.

Again, he ground his teeth; his hands slipped away from my face and his arms wrapped around me, as though to keep me from leaving.

“Yesterday, back in the limo,” I said, firming my resolve, “and then on the boat, and then when we left the marina, you did this thing where you gave the other guys dirty looks for talking to me.”

Martin stared at me, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

“I feel pretty confident in stating that you’re…well, you’re interested in me and it’s not platonic. Therefore, your behavior felt as though you were marking your territory. I’ve never had a guy do that before, but maybe I’m misreading the situation…?”

He cleared his throat again. “You’re not.”

“I didn’t like it.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“No. I didn’t. It made me feel like, I don’t know, like I was Chinese leftovers and you didn’t want anyone to sample me.”

“I don’t want anyone to sample you.”

“But I’m not food. I get to say who samples and who doesn’t.”

“I thought most girls liked it when guys were possessive.”

“Really?” I asked this because I really didn’t think so; then I shook my head. “No. At least…well, at least I don’t think so, not like that. It’s like, why would I want to be with someone who doesn’t trust me to be loyal? I’m not a buffet. Guys can’t sample the lo mien just because I’m standing there. I get a vote in who eats my noodles.”

“I trust you,” he said quickly, his gaze darting to mine then away. “After Friday night, what you did, I think I trust you more than anyone.”

Oh, gah! He sounded so…sincere. I ached for him, because I believed him and it made me sad. How was it possible I was the most trustworthy person in his life? How heartbreaking was that?

Unable to help myself and spurred by a sudden desire to touch him, I placed my hands on his shoulders. “Martin, it’s just, I don’t have much experience with dating or having a boyfriend. I’ve had one, but he wasn’t…well, he didn’t count. I’m not really sure how it works—”

“I have even less experience than you.”