I feel like I need to do something. Going home right now just doesn’t seem like an option.

What I really want to do is fuck, but I’m not screwing some random to relieve an itch.

The only one I want to scratch this itch with is India.

“I can’t. I need to go home and change. We’re having dinner with my dad. Why don’t you join us?”

“No, but thanks.” I wave him off, hiding my disappointment.

Owen Ryan is not my favorite person. Not that I’d ever tell Carrick this, but I think his dad is a total jackass.

“You got something better to do? Or someone?” He grins, raising his eyebrow.

Carrick knows about me kissing India. I don’t usually talk about my personal life, but I know I can trust Carrick.

“Nope.”

“You still haven’t heard from her?”

“No. I’m giving her time to come around.”

“You think she will?”

“Yeah,” I say, grinning. “I know she will.”

“Well, keep me updated.” He starts to back away, heading for his Bugatti. “Let me know when you’ve finally nailed the good doctor.”

Laughing, I shake my head at him.

I pick up my helmet and head out to the parking lot to my rental car. I toss my helmet on the backseat and head home to take a shower. I park my rental Mercedes in the driveway and head inside. Picking the mail up from the mat, I head to the kitchen. I toss the mail on the counter, and then I notice that the top letter has India’s office stamp on it.

I tear the envelope open. My heart suddenly has an uneven rhythm.

My eyes scan the letter.

Dear Mr. Silva,

I feel that I can no longer treat you effectively. I have included a referral for another therapist.

I wish you all the best for the future.

Sincerely,

Dr. India Harris

My hand tightens around the paper, crumpling it.

She’s throwing me out of her life like I mean nothing.

Yeah, well, I refuse to go so fucking easily.

Grabbing my car keys, letter in hand, I slam my way out of my house.

THE DOORBELL RINGS just as I’m about to have a soak in the tub. On a sigh, I pull my robe on, tying it at the waist, and turn the running taps off.

Kit and Jett are away for the night. They’ve gone to watch Chelsea play Manchester United at Old Trafford, so they’re staying overnight at a hotel, meaning I have the rare night to myself.

My plan was to relax in the bath with a glass of wine and feel sorry for myself over the whole Leandro thing.

I spoke to a colleague, Dr. Sanders, who I think will be perfectly suited to treat Leandro. He has great expertise in PTSD, and he agreed to take Leandro on as a patient. So, I had Sadie send out a letter to Leandro, detailing the termination of his treatment.

Did sending him that letter hurt?

Yes, it hurt like hell. But I know it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.

Now, I just have to lick my wounds and move on.

I wonder if Leandro has received the letter yet. He should have.

A flash of thought goes through my mind. What if he’s at the door?

That picks up my pace. I jog down the stairs.

Reaching the door, I peer through the peephole.

It’s him.

A rush of fear and complete exhilaration run through me.

He rings the doorbell again.

Stepping back from the door, I make sure my robe is fastened properly. I take a deep breath, and then I turn the lock and open the door.

Holy God.

He’s wearing racing overalls, hanging low at his waist, and a fitted black T-shirt is covering his amazing chest.

I have the sudden urge to pull him in here and tear that shirt from his body.

Of course, I don’t, but my body reacts to him and the scenario playing on a loop in my mind. My nipples tighten, and my insides coil.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a step forward, his gaze dark, making me take a step back.

“I came to give you your fucking letter back.” He crushes the paper in his hand, tossing it at my bare feet. “I don’t accept it.”

I lift my chin, staring him in the eyes. “You don’t have a choice.”

“No? We’ll see about that.”

He moves so fast that I barely get the chance to register it. Not that I would have done anything. He’s in my house, the door shut, and I’m turned around and shoved up against the wall in seconds.

“Wha—” I don’t get to finish that sentence because he slams his mouth down on mine.

I resist for about zero point one second. Then, I’m all hands in his hair, kissing him back like my very existence depends on it.

“Where are Jett and your brother?” His question is asked quickly and gruffly, against my lips.

I’m barely coherent enough to answer, but somehow, I manage to say, “Football match. Away game. Staying out overnight.”

He makes a low growling sound in the back of his throat.

Then, he’s kissing me again, harder, more aggressive. His hold on me tightens, and he thrusts his tongue in my mouth. The kiss is fueled with lust and anger.

I’ve never been kissed this way before.

And I love it.

God, he tastes good. And he smells good, too. A mixture of sweat and cars.

He smells exactly like a man should.

There are no words between us. Just hungry kissing, heavy breathing, and hot need.

His hand moves under my robe and trails up the outside of my thigh. As his fingers skim inward, I part my legs, letting him know that I want him there. When he finds me bare, he groans. His finger slides through my wetness.

He rests his forehead against mine. When I open my eyes, I find his on me, black and intense.

Then, he pushes his finger inside me. I let out a moan so loud that I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I’m too far gone with him to care.

His other hand opens the belt of my robe. He pushes the silk aside, revealing my body to him. His eyes go to my bare breasts. He lets out a total sound of appreciation that I feel as much as the finger inside me. His hand comes up, cupping my breast. Squeezing, he pinches my hard nipple between his thumb and finger.

My eyes close on the pleasure as he fingers me. Inserting another, he gets rougher, the heel of his hand rhythmically pressing against my clit.

I need him inside me.

I go for his clothes. Gripping the overalls, I pull the zipper the rest of the way and push the material down his hips.

His impatience gets the better of him, and he takes over. He pulls his wallet from his pocket and takes out a condom. Holding it between his teeth, he toes off his driving shoes. Then, he shoves his overalls down, kicking them off. The running shorts he’s wearing go and then his T-shirt.

Finally, he’s naked before me. Every inch of him is perfect.

He’s like a god in the purest sense of the word.

He removes the condom from between his teeth and tears the foil open.

I’m pretty sure I whimper with need.

He grins and then bites down on it, staring up at me through those long black lashes, and it might just be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

I’ve never been this wet or this ready for a man in my life.

His hands go down to put the condom on, and my eyes immediately go with them. I stare unabashedly as he rolls the condom onto his impressive cock. And the girth.