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Swallowing hard, I struggle to find my own voice. To process his words and this new information that’s so far beyond what I pictured.

Tell him what you want.

Camille’s words ring in the back of my brain, but I have no idea what to say. What do I want in this moment? From this man I believed was my husband-to-be.

From the life I pictured for us both .

I’m shaking so hard I can no longer hide it. Not just my hands, but my shoulders and knees and the jaw I’m clenching so hard my teeth squeak. Tears clog my throat, surging up as they threaten to spill down my cheeks.

I know what I want.

I want to escape.

Chalk it up as one more thing Trent and I have in common.

I stand up so quickly my seat topples back. Trent jumps up, too, moving to reset the chair. To cut off my exit or urge me to share what I’m feeling.

But even a SEAL can only do two things once.

By the time he reaches my side of the table, I’m running, sprinting, tripping my way out the door, down the walkway, over the pool deck.

Wind whips my hair as I race for the beach as a rustle of palm fronds applauds my escape.

The slosh of the sea sounds like laughter as my stupid high heels sink into the sand.

I bend at the waist, tears spilling into my cleavage as I yank at the buckles on my shoes.

Holy shit.

I can’t call my friends. Eve and Camille would probably not bat an eyelash at the sex stuff. They’re both open-minded, and the stories they’ve shared about their own escapades sounded wild to my young virgin ears.

But this is Trent we’re talking about.

My Trent.

The boy who threw out his best pal’s Penthouse because he found it disrespectful to women.

The son who takes his mother to church every Sunday he’s in town.

The SEAL who dove into the pool at a Bible study barbecue to rescue a child who’d tripped into the deep end.

The man who insisted we wait until marriage for sex. Even when I begged for it, when I threw myself at him four weeks ago.

How did he hide all those secrets ?

And how do I reconcile that Trent with the one I just met in that room?

“Sara?”

I’m braced to see Trent, but I look up and find it’s Logan coming toward me. He’s barefoot and windblown with his hands in his pockets and that big, jagged scar on his thigh.

Concern creases his brow as he crouches beside me in the sand. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head slowly, gulping back big waves of tears. “I’m not.”

“Are you hurt?” Alarm fills his eyes. “I’ll kill him if?—”

“I’m not hurt. Not like that, anyway.” God, what a mess. I glance back and forth up the beach, but there’s no sign of Trent anywhere. Maybe the guards held him back.

“What do you need? Anything at all, Sara.” He searches my face for the answers.

But I wouldn’t be crumpled in the sand right now if I had any answers. There’s only one thing that I’m sure of right now.

“I hate him,” I choke out, swiping my face with the back of my hand. I end up with sand in my eyes, which makes me cry harder. “And I love him so much that my heart feels like it might explode.”

“Okay,” he says softly, sympathy filling his eyes. “I hear you.”

Sniffling, I try dusting sand off my knees. It’s caked on with tears that keep spilling out of me. “I know it sounds stupid, and I know what he told me just now should send me running for the hills. And I did run, but not for the reasons he thinks.”

“All right.” Logan puts a hand on my arm, kindness filling his calm hazel eyes. “What can I do to help?

Sniffling again, I take the tissue he pulls from his pocket. “I’ll let you know.”

All night I toss and turn to the sound of the sea. I paid extra for this suite with a view of the water, so I get out of bed and pull on a robe.

The night air feels clammy as I open the patio door. Stepping onto my private balcony, I ease myself into a plush rattan rocking chair. As I set it in motion, I’m reminded of the double rocker my grandfather built.

The thought of my family springs tears to my eyes. What would they think if they knew that I’d come here? If they had any clue what I did with a man who got paid to touch me like Logan did.

Or what would they say if they knew what I’m thinking right now?

Glancing around, I tug at the sash on my robe.

The satin falls open, baring my body to the moon glowing brightly over star-speckled water.

A soft breeze stirs the hair on my arms as I lower a hand to the place where I’m throbbing and needy.

To the wet, molten folds getting slicker as I stir my arousal.

I’m strumming that tight little swell, allowing Trent’s words to wash over me.

“I wanted to watch him whip out his cock and shove it inside you.”

A moan slips out as I feather my fingertips over that sweet, aching bud. God that feels good. I dip a finger inside me, then two, gasping as tension keeps building.

“Maybe I’d like to have three or four men hold you down, touching those pure, flawless tits while I take you hard and rough on a table. Would you like that, Sara? Would you?”

I know he expected me to blanch, and I did. But the truth?

It turned me on.

Plunging two fingers inside me, I search for the spot that Logan kept teasing with the tip of one long, rugged digit. Groaning with need, I bite down on my lip and keep fucking myself with my hand.

I need more. More friction, more pressure, more everything .

The hand that’s been kneading my breasts shimmies down to join the other one working between my spread thighs. Now I’m touching my clit with one hand while riding three fingers on the other.

It’s still not enough.

I pull in a breath of the balmy sea air and summon the words that Trent hurled like cruel weapons.

“I can’t stop thinking about shoving my cock down your throat until you choke and beg me to stop.”

“Oh, God.”

I come so hard I nearly slide out of the chair. I’m moaning and thrashing and strumming my clit like the lyre harp I played in the Sunday school choir.

My clammy chest heaves as I press my legs closed and swiftly fasten the ties on my robe. The pulse in my ears thunders loudly as the achy throb ebbs between my legs.

For now.

There’s a flicker of movement in the trees to my left and I squint. There’s nobody there, so I probably just gave the parrots a show.

God. That was intense.

And also a sign that what I’ve been thinking feels right. Something Trent said lit a fuse deep inside me and it hasn’t stopped sparking all day.

He might’ve shocked me with his confessions, but he also gave me the nudge that I needed to consider what I really want.

Not what my parents want, or my pastor, or even my friends.

Me.

Pulling my phone from the pocket of my robe, I find Trent’s contact still at the top of my favorites. I type out a text I’ve composed in my mind for the last thirty minutes.

Come to my room at 10 a.m. Knock first this time.