His mouth found mine and we kissed, his arms latching around my waist, cinching me against him. I pulled my mouth away laughing. “I think we just wasted about fifty gallons of water.”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “It’s your fault for being so fucking irresistible.” He kissed me again—a dizzying caress of his lips on mine that made me want him again as ferociously as before. I pulled away, knowing that if this didn’t end now, we’d never get to dinner.

I took the brief time away from him to contemplate us in silence. Every time I was in his presence, that rushing force of nature tore at me, made me want to release my convictions and be blown away by him, whisked away into the unknown by gale force winds from the grounding bedrock to which I clung.

There were things I needed to do. A person I needed to become—that vision of myself in surgical scrubs, which had been so important to me for most of my youth. I was the one who was going to save others, save myself. I couldn’t get carried away by someone else’s will. My past failures notwithstanding—I closed my eyes and my fists in conviction—I had to hold on to that vision and not allow it to slip away.

On our last night together in St. Lucia, we ate at the Place, the resort restaurant that featured flavorful Caribbean-inspired cuisine. Adam dressed in a black suit and I wore the crème-colored gown from the night of Adam’s house party, feeling again like Cinderella about to dine with her handsome prince.

His eyes slipped over me appreciatively as we sat down. I shook my head, laughing. “You are unbelievable.”

He smiled. “What? I was about to tell you how gorgeous you are.”

“And how you can’t wait to get me out of this dress.”

“I was going to save that for a little later, but since you took the words out of my mouth…Let’s just say that dessert isn’t on the menu. The last time you wore that dress, I tore off your panties. I can’t be completely responsible for my actions later tonight.” He grinned wickedly.

“Unbelievable,” I repeated. “Making up for lost time.” And my eyes darted away. I tried not to think about the horrible letdown that would follow when we got off that plane in LA. Something tightened in my chest and—contrary to everything my head had been telling me, my heart began to wonder if I could bargain my way out of the decision to end things after tonight.

What if we agreed to get together occasionally for sex—and maybe dinner once in a while? Would he even want it? I glanced at him as he cut into his pecan-encrusted snapper.

He was so damn handsome in that suit—or who was I kidding—in just about anything he wore, and even better naked. And he was kind most of the time—the times that he chose to act like a human instead of a robot.

I was ready to make a tradeoff for more time with him, on my terms.

We lingered over our crème brulée dessert, which apparently was on the menu. He darted a pointed look at me from where his head was bent, scraping out the last of the custard with his spoon. I set aside my barely-touched dish, folded and refolded my hands on the table. It was time to stop being a coward.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t think I could’ve picked a more perfect night for our last night together.”

He didn’t look up but his features chilled. Setting down his empty dish, he stared at it for a long moment. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said in an even, quiet voice.

Maybe he’d been thinking the same thing I had. Maybe he was ready to bargain for a little more time, too. He looked up and fixed me with that intent, dark stare. The air pressure thickened between us, making the barometer soar as I struggled to find my breath, to find my will. I wanted to be with him again so much scared me. If it happened, it needed to be on my terms, not his. “It needs to be,” I said, my voice faltering.

His brows lowered just a fraction over those piercing eyes. He took no other action but to enfold one of my hands inside his, running a thumb across my wrist in a sensual, possessive move. I swallowed, struggling to ignore the desperate thumping of my pulse.

He seemed to be wrestling with himself, coming to some unknown decision. I braced for the myriad of possibilities of what it could be. Of them all, I could never have predicted in a million years what would next come out of his mouth.

“We are more to each other than you realize, you know,” he said.

My wrist trembled inside his hand, feeling so vulnerable, so delicate, so trapped. Cold fear clamped at the base of my throat. Was he about to admit to feelings for me? It was time to push him away. Far away. “Adam, we’ve had a lot of fun together and I’ve had an amazing time. But we hardly know each other. It’s only been a month—”