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It feels like Storm’s always beenhere,in this emotional space when it comes to me, so his declaration doesn’t scare me…but my reaction to it does.

Before I can put some distance between us, his hand lands on my cheek. His palm is warm, a little rough with precise calluses, and goddamn, it causes my traitorous body to do strange and unusual things.

Or, I guess, familiar and common.

“We still have so much to get to know about each other, Shae, but from the moment I met you, when you crashed into me in front of the Econ building, I’ve felt that warmth. I felt that sense of connection and rightness and home. And I’m so damn tired of denying it—denying myself. By most people’s standards, I’m not a good person, Shae. I don’t come from good people, either. But when I’m around you, all I want to be is good. I feelgood. And when I look at you…really see you…I can’t help but feel like you feel that way, too.”

He brushes some of my hair behind my ear, then finally stops touching me.

Damn him for making me like this.

His declaration of not being a good person feels false in a place deep inside me. Maybe it’s my spirit.

But…he’s right. I do feel it. I haven’t been able to name it until he’d laid his cards out on the table, but as he says the words….

What’s the harm in admitting the truth to myself?

Just then, the sight of Daddy’s disapproving face flashes in my mind, and it’s like hitting a brick wall.

Oh. There’s that—my entire life that hinges on my ability to focus and follow the plans laid before me.

Plans that, unfortunately, don’t have room for the all-consuming hurricane that is Storm Alexander Sandoval.

Something that feels like dread settles in my stomach, making my guts clench.

“Storm—”

“I want you to think about what I’ve said, Shae. Don’t give me an answer now, because I’ve just laid a whole helluva lot at your feet and it’s gonna take time to process.”

I suck in a breath, thinking really hard about inhaling and exhaling because my body seems to have forgotten how to do that.

“I want you to be sure about us, baby, because this isn’t a decision that can be rushed on your end. I know you’re scared, but if you think on it and decide you want to walk away, I’ll honor that decision. But I hope you’ll listen to your heart and let us be what we’re meant to be.”

He reaches out again, and this time, I realize with great mortification that I’m crying.

“Don’t cry, Sweetness,” he murmurs, wiping away my tears with his thumb.

Everything feels like so much, like I’m spinning in a tornado, and everything, all my responsibilities and goals are swirling around me, waiting for me to catch them.

Waiting for me to keep them, and myself, safe.

But in the cacophony, nothing, and I mean nothing, makes any damn sense.

Nothing except Storm.

When our lips touch, it takes me a second to realize I’m the one who jumped on him. Crawling onto his lap, I straddle him, mentally damning the thick tights I wear and hiking my long skirt up to my waist to get as close to him as possible.

I register the feeling of his broad hands on my hips as he groans, and I grind down on him, feeling a near delirious wave ofexcitement and desire andwant,fuckingwant, as I feel his hard length pressing against my heat.

“Storm,” I whimper, breaking the kiss as a shot of lust shoots an arrow to my clit when he pushes up, rocking harder into me, and clutching my ass in both hands.

“Fuck, Shae,” he says, panting as I lean into him more, my hands somehow finding their way beneath his shirt. I count the ridges of his abs, lightly scraping my fingernails up and down his chest and reveling in the purely masculine growl that comes from somewhere deep inside him. “I’m trying to be good, baby, but you’re making it hard.”

Hmm, hard.

“Girl, you’re trying to kill me,” he says, rocking his hips up again. “Yeah, hard.”

I must have said that out loud.