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This time, I know I didn’t imagine it.

My lips part, but I can’t seem to make myself breathe.

He leans closer, but only slightly.

Though it’s enough to make my entire body respond. I find myself tipping my face toward his before I can stop myself, closing a fraction of that impossible distance.

For one suspended moment, I’m certain he’s going to kiss me.

I can almost feel it.

My eyes fall closed.

Kiss me.

The words are silent, but the plea feels enormous inside me.

His fingers slide once more along my neck, and I wait for the warmth of his mouth.

I wait.

And then his hand falls away.

The loss of his touch is immediate and startling.

I open my eyes.

He has already stepped back.

The sudden space between us feels cold.

I stare at him, trying to understand what just happened, my heart still racing from a kiss that never came.

His jaw tightens. His eyes remain on mine for one long, unbearable second.

Then he looks away.

“Good night, Sunny.”

He walks away, leaving me standing in the dark with my glass of water forgotten and the ghost of his touch burning against my skin.

I hurry back to my room and climb into bed, but only end up staring at the ceiling, replaying my encounter with Dante. About the way the moonlight looked on his nearly naked body and the feral look in his eyes. I can still smell him, that warm, masculine scent that seems to trigger a carnal response in me whenever I’m around it.

I haven’t wanted a man to touch me in a very long time, and I was starting to worry I never would, despite my therapist assuring me someday I would.

Am I crazy for wanting it to be Dante?

Because I do want it to be him.

My whole body wants it to be him.

Right now, every nerve is a lit fuse, and the ache between my legs is so intense it almost hurts.

I slide my hand beneath my panties where I’m soaked.

I tell myself not to think about him, but it’s useless because he’s all I’m thinking about as I tease my clit.

I think about us at the firing range.