HIS DRESS SHIRT STRETCHED ACROSS his impossibly huge shoulders, he turned his back on me and stalked into his apartment without a word.

Taking it as a good sign that he didn’t slam the door, I followed him inside, but the second I crossed the threshold, doubt caught up to me.

He grabbed a drink off the counter. “You got twelve steps or some shit like that you need to follow? You gonna freak out if I have another drink?”

Unsure if I hated his crudeness or appreciated it, I refrained from rolling my eyes. “I wasn’t an alcoholic, and I already told you not to patronize me. Have the damn bourbon.”

He eyed me a moment. Then he tipped the glass back and took a large gulp.

Tingles of awareness pricked over my skin and I thought about what his mouth would taste like if kissed me right now. Forcing the thought down, I glanced around his place but not a single furnishing suited him. All light grays and whites, everything was super modern and there wasn’t a single personal item anywhere. “How long have you lived here?”

His eyes on me, he took another swallow, but he didn’t say a word.

Oh my God. “Real mature ignoring me.”

“Says the nineteen-year-old who turned her back on me,” he stated flatly.

“Twenty,” I corrected, stretching the truth, wondering why the hell I was still standing here.

He snorted out a smirk. “Since when?”

“What do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Smarting at his callous remark, I told myself I didn’t give a damn what he did or didn’t care about. I hated myself for asking the stupid question in the first place. I didn’t need this shit. And I sure as hell didn’t need a Neanderthal alphahole who ran hot one minute, cold the next, and every shade of asshole in between.

Fuck this.

I turned to leave, but then I stopped myself and faced him. “You know what?” I didn’t wait for a reply, not that I was going get anything past the arrogant raising of one of his eyebrows. “You’re a fucking asshole. No wonder you’re alone at your age. Toddlers communicate better than you. I was stupid to even think we had a chance.”

“Yeah?” The already raised eyebrow rose higher. “A chance at what, sweetheart? Happily ever after?” he bit out sarcastically. “A white picket fence? Little trust fund babies running around calling Thomas gramps and wondering why their daddy is the same age as their fucking supermodel grandmother?”

Startled, I flinched.

Not because he said it, but because he’d thought about it.

He’d actually thought about having kids… with me. Summer Amherst. The spoiled, trust fund, ex junkie, rehab cliché fuck-up. And him. The war hero asshole.

I couldn’t help it.

I smiled.

Wide.

Then a giggle escaped and there was no stopping it. The ridiculousness of it all multiplied until I was clutching my stomach and tears were rolling down my face. I laughed my ass off.

All the while a Marine stood there with his drink in his hand and a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Holding one hand out, the other across my stomach, trying to catch my breath, I shook my head. “Wait.” A fresh wave erupted.

“For what?” he quipped sarcastically. “For you to lose your shit even more, so instead of a pickup at rehab, I’m dropping you off at the nearest psych ward?”

I laughed harder. “You… you…” Choking on the absurdity of the situation, I barely managed to get the words out. “You could call the Cowboy, Daddy.” I dissolved into a fit. Cry laughing, swiping at my face, trying to pull my shit together, I almost missed it.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, his expression changed.

Like the time on the side of the highway when I’d kissed him. Like the moment he’d let me touch him in his bedroom in the cabin. Like the second his gaze had landed on me under that cabin—his eyes darkened to an impossible shade of possessive dominance, and I knew all he saw was me.

He lifted his chin once. “You done?”

A rogue giggle escaped, and I nodded, but I had to slap my hands over my mouth to stop a fresh wave.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He set his drink down. “Get the fuck over here.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I walked toward him, and he did the most un-Shade thing I ever could’ve imagined.

He pulled me into his arms and hugged me tight. “I’m not fucking calling your stepmother, mom, and the Kid can suck my dick.”

Melting into his embrace, his warmth and spicy musk and sheer size making me feel safe, I smiled. “I’d rather he didn’t.”

Shade snorted out a half laugh. “So would he.”

My laughing fit past, I sobered. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“I fucking hate apologies.” He pulled back just enough to look down at me. “That means shit went south. It means we said or did things we shouldn’t have.” His hand fisted in my hair in a show of pure dominance. “I don’t want that kind of bullshit between us. Don’t ever apologize to me. Just give me honesty.”

“Okay.” I could do that. I would love to do that. More than he could possibly know. My whole life had been bullshit. “Simple, honest, straightforward.” That was exactly what I wanted.

He lifted his chin. “Good. And I’ll do the same.”

“Okay.” The corners of my lips curved up and suddenly I felt shy.

It was one thing to be in his arms in a darkened cabin during a blizzard without another soul around. It made the idea of us so much more tangible. But standing in his arms in a modern high-rise apartment in South Beach with each of us dressed for a black-tie affair somehow felt more real, but less concrete. Like at any moment this life, my life here in Miami, it could decimate us.

He frowned. “I missed your birthday.”

“You said you didn’t care.” I reminded him. “Do you like Miami?”

The lines between his eyes deepened. “I don’t give a fuck how old you are.”

“You did.”

The frown disappeared and tension eased out of his expression. “Now I don’t. What’s wrong with Miami?”

“I’m not sure.” Something didn’t feel right. “What changed for you?”

His eyes searched my face, then he brushed my hair behind my ear. “I like you as a brunette.”

I smiled. “I like you period, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

He smiled back, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “That, right there, is what changed.”

I didn’t understand, but for once, I didn’t push. I waited.

His gaze dropped to his hand as he traced my collarbone with a rough finger and left a wake of gooseflesh in his path. Exhaling, the smokiness of the whiskey he’d drunk drifted over me. “You want the absolute truth?”

“There’re shades of truth?” He’d said he wanted honesty. There wasn’t room for nuance in that as far as I was concerned.

He smirked like I was missing a private joke. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.” Almost. In a few hours.

“It doesn’t matter how many years you have under you.” He held me in his intense gaze for a breathless moment. “You’re the only woman who’s ever made me pause.”

Hope swirled low in my belly, but I had to ask. “I don’t know what that means.” Except I knew it was significant.

“It means we’re doing this,” he clarified.

A full body shiver spread from my head to my toes, and my smile stretched wide. “You’re gonna be my man?”

He snorted. “You see another Marine standing here?”

I grinned. “Nope. Just a surly bodyguard.”

“You’re fucking trouble, you know that?”

“Yep.” And for some reason, the fact he thought that about me made my pride swell.

He shook his head. “Wipe that grin off your face, woman.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll hysterical-laugh all over you again?”

His expression sobered. “You good?”

Insecurity crept in. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought we were talking about us,” I admitted.

Cupping my face, he swept his thumb across my bottom lip. And then he did what I was beginning to realize only an impossibly alpha Marine turned bodyguard could do. He both crushed me and impressed me with his insight and honesty.

“I’m not getting down on one knee and begging for bullshit words of forever, princess. I’m telling you I’m here. I’m saying I want this. I showed for you tonight, and I’m promising to be straight with you. I’m also expecting the same.” He held me in his captivating gaze. “This isn’t the destination, woman. This is the beginning.”

Because every little girl is poisoned with fairytales of Prince Charming and perfection that never exists, but sounds perfect nonetheless, a part of me was crushed. A part of me wanted the forever right now. I wanted a proclamation, and the accompanying security of that declaration. I wanted the promise of a ring that would tie him to me and me to him.

But the bigger part, the rational me, the woman that emerged from a shitty sixty day stint of navel-gazing rehab where I was forced to look at my own damn life—that part of me knew I couldn’t have asked for a more prefect beginning.

So I gave him the truth.

“I’m kinda partial to new beginnings now.” Then I did what I did on the side of that highway that felt like a lifetime ago.

I kissed him.