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“I was scared,” she whispered. “So scared you were going to drive off the road and end up in a ditch.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I needed to see you. I would have driven a thousand more miles in that if it meant getting you here in my arms.”

I pulled back, needing to see the beautiful woman before me. In the back of my mind, I knew my eyes burned with exhaustion, the muscles in my neck and shoulders aching with the stress of driving through that storm. And underneath everything was worry. Worry she’d think she was making a mistake. Worry I’d hurt her.

Worry she was still in love with a dead man.

But my need to be here was stronger. My desire was stronger. I shoved everything else aside. All I saw was her. All I felt was her.

Michelle didn’t say anything, just took me by the hand and led me down the hallway.

Her room was lit blue from the TV, silent behind her. She grabbed the remote, flicking it off. Then she stood before me, looking suddenly nervous.

I took her hands in mine. They were trembling.

“You’re cold,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have let the cold air in.”

“I’m fine,” she said. She climbed into her bed, then folded the duvet back for me.

Maybe she needed more time. The thought of that was torture, but of course I could do it. I stripped down to my shorts and t-shirt and climbed into her bed, hoping she wouldn’t see the need I had for her. Wanting her to feel no pressure.

I climbed in next to Michelle, and when she curled against me, something inside me swelled like a balloon. Joy, maybe. Elation. Whatever it was, I wasn’t willing to do anything that would make the feeling go away.

I let Michelle take the lead, and when she placed her head on my shoulder, pressing her soft body against the length of mine, I knew, if this was all she wanted, that this would be enough.

I wrapped an arm around her and inhaled the soft scent of her.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She hesitated. “I was worried about you. I didn’t like it. I thought I’d figured that stuff out, but clearly there’s something still there.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. Finally, I said, “I’m here now. Whatever you want, I’m here.” A few months ago—hell, a few weeks ago—I wouldn’t have ever imagined I’d say something like that. Not to Michelle—not to anyone. But right now, I’d say anything to keep her right here. And I’d mean it, too.

A long moment stretched out between us. Then Michelle took a breath. “I don’t really know what I want.” Another pause. “I thought I was ready before for something but I wasn’t.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” I said, stroking her hair. “Don’t say that. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

We lay there in silence, her breath on my chest a rhythmic warmth.

I could wait for her. I could wait a whole lifetime if I had to. So long as I got to keep this moment.

I blinked,disorientated, and more concerning, deeply fucking aroused, in pitch darkness.

I’d been dreaming of Michelle Franco. Of her whispering my name, and her pulling back a duvet to welcome me into bed. It was like that vision I’d had of her at the resort—the completely made-up fantasy my brain had concocted the moment the mayor had saidpresidential suite—had come to life.

My cock jumped. I lowered my hand to it.

But there was already a hand there.

I blinked my eyes open. Holy shit.

It was real. I was here. That was Michelle’s voice in my ear. Her warm body pressed up against my back. Her arm was around my hip and her fingers wrapped around the hardness in my shorts.

I nearly came right there.