EGAN WASN’T ONE to cry, but when Celeste wrapped her arms around him, he surrendered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. When Declan died, he was so angry with his father that he wasn’t able to release all of his pent-up pain. Then when his father passed away not even a month later, he was already too cold inside to shed a tear for him. Not that his father deserved it. He’d stood stoically over his father’s grave—the second funeral he’d gone to in a month—and felt his heart close for good. Or so he thought.

This was the first time he’d felt anything since before his life was flipped upside down by his father’s infidelity. It felt so good to be wrapped in the warmth of Celeste’s body. He wished he could stay here, enveloped by her forever. It felt so safe, so right.

When he finally pulled back enough to give them talking space, he was surprised when Celeste reached her thumbs out to wipe the tears from his face. She wasn’t looking at him with pity, as he’d expected, but with compassion and kindness. He’d never known anyone like Celeste before and he wasn’t quite sure what the hell to do with all of these new feelings that were flooding his body.

“I guess it’s my turn,” Egan said, trying to ease the tension.

“We don’t have to talk if you’re not ready. It was supposed to be fun—I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Egan laughed, running his hands along the thighs of his jeans. “It’s okay. Just took me by surprise. I can’t tell you the last time I cried. I didn’t even cry at my father’s funeral. Or my brother’s, for that matter, and I loved the hell out of that kid.”

“It’s okay to cry, you know. It releases endorphins and all that stuff. It’s actually quite good for you physically. Do you feel a little better?”

“Yeah, but I could really use a glass of water before sharing my story.” Egan stood. “Can I get you one too?”

He watched as Celeste swallowed the last of the wine in her goblet. She handed it to him with a shy smile. “You can now.”

He went to the kitchen and washed out their wine glasses, placing them in the drying rack. He grabbed two large Mason jars and filled them with water, then headed back to the great room. “Mind if I light your fire?” Egan asked.

Celeste burst out laughing. He hadn’t realized what was so funny until she said, “I bet you say that to all the girls!”

Egan grinned, his mouth turning up at one side. “I don’t usually ask . . . it just happens naturally.”

Celeste rolled her eyes, a smile still lighting them from within. Damn. If Egan could only make her smile like that all the time.

He loved the serious side of Celeste, but he loved her funny, lighter side even more. He’d never met anyone he could laugh with and cry in front of whom he also wanted to grab by the waist and dip into a serious kiss. God, that mouth. He would be dreaming about it tonight. He could feel himself staring, so he shook his head to clear it. He flipped on the switch for the gas fireplace, watching it spring to life. He settled back down on the couch next to Celeste. This time, he sat a little closer. He turned toward her, adjusting his leg, and brushed hers in the process. He felt the electricity shoot through his gut and straight into his heart. He wanted to hug her, protect her, and slide inside of her, all at the same time.

“What?” Celeste asked, using a small hand to gently turn his face toward hers. “You have such an intense look on your face right now. I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“But you know what I’m feeling, don’t you?” Egan couldn’t stop himself if he’d wanted. He leaned his head to the side and melted his cheek into the softness of her hand. It felt so right there, cradling his strong jawline. He knew his five o’clock shadow would feel scratchy against the incredible smoothness of her skin. He couldn’t help but wonder how that hand would feel tracing down his chest and over his abs. How it would feel to have it smooth over the muscles in his thighs. His groin tightened at the thought of her fingers trailing over him, touching him, taking him. He leaned his head back against the couch and groaned.

“Perhaps this isn’t the best idea, Celeste,” he whispered.

“It’s definitely not a good idea, Egan.” But instead of pulling back, she leaned further into him, settling into the crook of his shoulder as she rested her head against his chest. “You smell so good. What are you wearing?”

Egan wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “Um, soap?”

Celeste took in a deep breath again. “That cannot be just soap.”

“Soap and the natural scent God gave me.”

“Mmm,” she replied. “Lucky you.”

“Well, I don’t exactly sit around smelling myself, Celeste.”

“Yeah, that would be awkward.” She smiled when she looked at him, sitting up a little straighter on her feet, which she had tucked beneath her.

Her eyes were dark, but more. Flecks of amber kissed the brown that swirled around in her irises. He could lose himself in those eyes. Hell, I’m lost already. Who am I kidding?

She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving his. They were inches apart, and Egan had to clutch his fingers in a fist to stop himself from devouring her.

“Celeste,” he moaned, “if you start this, I might not be able to stop.”

“If I start this, I wouldn’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

She leaned in and brushed her lips over his. Soft. They were so freaking soft. She kissed his top lip, moving slowly, pulling it in between her own. She ran her lips over his five o’clock shadow, to his ear, where she nuzzled him. When she drew in a breath at the crook of his neck, he lost it. His body ached as he clung to her, wrapping both arms around her to press her closer to his body.

His hands shot into her hair and he brought her mouth back to his. This time, there was no hesitancy, no softness. It was pure heat. The moment their mouths met, he could feel her soft tongue part his lips, exploring, tasting, needing. He met her stroke for stroke, a desperation building that he’d never known. He could not get enough of her. His arms found their way over her back, down her waist, cupping her ass as he pulled her even closer.

Her hands were in his hair, on his jaw, demanding, drawing each kiss from him, and taking a little of his heart with each brush of her tongue. God, that tongue!

As if reading his mind, her tongue left his lips and trailed down his neck, suckling the soft flesh of his throat. He moaned as she slid up and drew his earlobe between her lips, her breath warm on his ear. Her hands inched up beneath his shirt and ran over his chest, exploring every ridge along his torso. Her fingers were just as soft and teasing as he knew they would be.

Their lips met again, and he moaned into her as her delicate fingers traced his nipples, then grabbed a fistful of his chest muscle as she kissed him deeper, rolling her tongue against his as if she couldn’t get enough. He knew the feeling. He was drowning, losing himself one stroke of her tongue at a time.

When they were together, he didn’t think about his heart, or his inability to love. She made him forget the pain that he’d been carrying around for so long. All he wanted to do was to sink himself inside of her and be surrounded by her light. Forget the darkness ever existed.