ic woke up in a rush, sitting up in bed. “Lillian Lavelle,” he said. “Holy Christ.”

“Wow.” Annie was already awake. Clearly, she’d been lying there, just watching him sleep. “Way to guarantee a sex-free morning. Wake up shouting the name of the ex–porn star you nearly drilled.” She pushed herself out of bed, walking naked across his room to his door to the bathroom, heavy on the attitude.

She was kidding, but not entirely.

“Wait,” Ric said, but she’d already closed the door behind her. So he shouted through it. “You’ve got to check out what my brain came up with while we were sleeping.”

“Ignoring you!” Annie shouted back through the door.

“I am definitely getting some. You’re going to be all over me when you hear this.”

His cell phone was on his bedside table. He’d brought it upstairs with him the second time he and Annie had gone to bed. It was done charging, and he unplugged it and speed-dialed Jules.

Who answered with a croak that might’ve been his name. “Cassidy.”

Ric had clearly woken up the FBI agent.

“Damn,” Ric said. “What time is it?”

Jules sighed. “That better not be why you called me, Alvarado.”

“It’s not.”

“Good. It’s…” Jules laughed. “Ten. The scary thing is that I actually feel rested after my fifteen minutes of sleep. What’s going on?”

“Last night,” Ric said, “Gordie Junior volunteered to get rid of Lillian’s body. Well, he didn’t know it was Lillian, of course, he thought it was some crazy ex-girlfriend of mine.”

“Yes,” Jules said as Annie opened the bathroom door, wearing his robe, toothbrush in her mouth, so she could hear Ric better. Ric put his phone on speaker. “I was there.”

“So today, you have to call Junior,” Ric said. “On my phone. I’m in a panic, so you’re the one who calls him—because, ready for this? I’ve killed her. You follow? You tell him I got a little too rough when I was asking her about the money she stole—remember, I told him—”

“Oh, yeah,” Jules said. He was sounding far more awake now. “I know where you’re going with this, and it’s brilliant.”

Ric looked at Annie. See? But she didn’t get it.

“We’re calling for Junior’s help,” Ric continued, mostly to explain to Annie, “to get rid of the body. You tell him if he does this for us, you’ll lower the price for the Chadwick sex tape to four hundred thousand. He won’t say no, we’ll all bond, and he’ll have something on us to make us keep our end of the deal—”

“And we’ll put a series of tracking devices inside the body,” Jules finished for him, “and find out where he dumps his victims—maybe stand a shot to recover Peggy Ryan.”

Across the room, Annie was still frowning. “Where are you going to get a body?”

“Can you get us one?” Ric asked Jules. “It’s got to be female and relatively young.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jules said. “Stay put, all right? I’ll call you back, but be patient. This could take a while.”

“Will do.” Ric hung up his phone and went into the bathroom, where Annie was finishing brushing her teeth.

“What if he chops them into little pieces,” she asked as she dried her face on his towel. “Junior seemed so convinced that a body would never be found.”

“I think Jules was taking that into consideration,” Ric told her, “when he said he’d put a series of tracking devices into the body.” He flushed the toilet.

“God, that’s grim.”

“Yeah.” Ric washed his hands and splashed water onto his face. Annie handed him his towel. “Thanks. It may not work, but if we had hard evidence that Gordie Junior was involved in the murder of a federal agent…Even just some DNA—bone fragments—I don’t know exactly how much they’d need. But if we could get it, Junior’d be looking at the death penalty, and he might be willing to make a deal—give up information that would help the FBI apprehend al-Hasan in exchange for a life sentence.” He grabbed the belt of the robe she was wearing and pulled her in for a kiss. “I thought it would be worth a shot.”

“It is brilliant,” she agreed.

Ric kissed her again. “Mmm.”

Annie pulled back, unable to hide her smile.

Damn, but he loved the color of her eyes, and the light and life that danced there. He loved the shape of her face, the curve of her smile, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“You owe me one heavy conversation,” she pointed out. “If you think you can trick me into forgetting—”

“Can’t we have sex or breakfast first?” He kissed her, more deeply this time. “Or sex while we’re having breakfast…” He got the robe open, and he slid his hands inside against the softness of her body and the smoothness of her skin. “You…and waffles. Sweet.”

Annie laughed as she kissed him back, but it was clear from her urgency that she was as aroused as he was. As usual, it didn’t take much to get them both revved up. Even last night, as tired as he’d been when they’d finally gone back to bed, he hadn’t been able to resist sliding into her sweet heat, and rocking her until they’d both exploded.

Still kissing her, Ric now lifted her onto the bathroom counter, pushing between her legs, pushing himself all the way inside of her. All the way.

It felt unbelievably great, deliriously, staggeringly, astoundingly incredible, and as he moved inside of her he knew he was going to come right away, which was okay, because he’d be ready to go again in minutes, she turned him on that much and…

He wasn’t wearing a condom.

Ric realized it at the exact moment Annie did. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, as he froze, pushed deeply inside of her.

“Ric?” she said. “We need to get—”

“I know,” he said, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

She looked at him, expectantly.

He closed his eyes. “I’m afraid if I try to pull out, I’m going to come.”

“Oh God,” she said.

“Don’t move,” he warned her.

“I’m not.” But she started to laugh.

“Don’t laugh!”

“Picture me pregnant,” she told him. “Picture me—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off. “That’s turning me on.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

And there they were, staring at each other. “Marry me,” Ric said. He just opened his mouth and the words came out.

Annie laughed—just once. “You just want to come inside of me.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said. “For the next fifty years.”

She laughed again, but her smile faded as she looked into his eyes. “You don’t really mean it, do you?”

“I do,” he whispered. “I love you, Annie.”

She kissed him.

And she came, too.

Robin woke up with a headache that rated a solid ten on the hangover scale of agony.

His room was dark, and the air conditioner was running, and he was actually in the bed instead of on the floor, lying in his own puke and filth.

That was new. A ten on the agony scale was usually accompanied by disgust and utter humiliation.

But he was clean, the sheets on the bed were clean, and he had no idea how he’d gotten here.

There was a bottle of water on his bedside table, as if someone had placed it there just for him, and he opened it and took a cautious sip. When it didn’t come right back up, he drank some more, swishing it around the cotton of his mouth.

Through a fog of disjointed pictures and sounds—a laughing man in a bathing suit; a stern-faced security guard, Time to move it upstairs, folks; a spilled bottle of Jack Daniel’s; a woman’s voice, We can fix that —Robin remembered Jules.

In his limousine.

It was distant, like a memory from years ago, or a dream.

A really good dream.

Jules. Kissing him. Go back to your hotel. I’ll come to you.

What the fuck had happened between then and now?

Robin swung his legs out of bed—no easy feat, considering his head was on the verge of imploding. The message light was blinking on his room phone, so he picked it up. Pushed the voice-mail button.

“You have one hundred and seven new messages.”

Jesus.

Robin hung up, dropping the phone back into its cradle.

Someone had plugged in his cell phone, which was still set on silent, and he checked to find that it, too, had over a hundred new voicemails. Forty new text messages. Two hundred and fifty missed calls.

He scrolled through the list—most of them were from his sister, Jane; his agent, Don; and Dolphina—the most recent being two minutes ago.

His manager had also called, along with a number of people from Riptide ’s production and distribution companies.

He’d even missed a few from his brother-in-law, who’d called him from overseas.

Robin kept scrolling down—the bulk of the calls started at around ten o’clock this morning, his time. It was only when he got beyond that, that he found five missed calls in a row from Jules—starting shortly after one A.M., each spaced about thirty minutes apart.

What had happened? Why did everyone have their panties in such a twist, trying so hard to reach him?

Everyone but Jules, who’d dropped off the map.

Who died? Jules’s voice echoed in his head and Robin’s memory shifted, but not enough for him to remember…what?

Jules stumbling sightlessly for a seat, anguish and grief glazing his eyes.

Someone had died.

Fear filled Robin’s throat, throbbing in time with the pounding in his head.

And when his cell phone lit up—its ring still silenced—and his caller ID told him it was his sister on the other end, he answered. “Jane?”

“Robin, oh my God. Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.” He lowered the volume with one hand and grabbed his head with the other, to keep it from splitting in half. “Am I?”

“Okay,” she said. “Where are you? Are you at least safe?”

“I’m in my hotel room,” he told her. “Janey—”

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Who died?” he asked.

“Who what?”

“Someone died,” he told her. “I want to know who it is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’d started this conversation upset, and it was escalating. Her voice shook. “Is someone dead?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Let’s try it this way. Are you alone?”

He walked—carefully—into the empty living room. Where a spilled bottle of Jack Daniel’s stained the hotel carpeting. The other bedroom was empty, too. “Yes.”

“So there’s no one in your room with you—”

“That’s what I just told you,” he snapped, the act of which nearly sent him whimpering to the floor, to curl into a fetal position.

“—either alive or dead?” Jane asked.

“No,” he said. “Jesus! There are hundreds of messages on both my phones, you’ve been trying to reach me for hours while I was sleeping off a slightly exuberant night—”

“A slightly exuberant night?” she repeated, her voice going up an octave and making his eyes tear. He held the phone away from his ear. “Do you have any idea what you did last night? Does a balance-beam routine on the rail of your twelfth-floor balcony ring any bells at all?”

Robin looked out the sliders to the balcony. “Oh, shit,” he said as somewhere, way back, a shred of memory flashed. I’m the king of the world!

“Someone uploaded digital video to YouTube,” his sister told him. “There are two different cell phone movies that hit the Web last night. One of them has you stripping to ‘Will It Go Round in Circles’ in some kind of, I don’t know, restaurant kitchen? The other has you stripping, too—except this time it’s full-frontal nudity. You can be thankful it’s low quality, but the audio track makes it clear what’s happening—or rather what’s not. Congratulations—one and a half million people and counting have now watched you not get it up. I’m so proud.”

Robin sank onto the sofa. “Oh, shit. Who was I with?”

“Some blonde,” Jane told him. “It was a woman, so congratulations again—your career’s not completely over. The rest of that one is seven minutes of the most terrifying footage I’ve ever seen. You’re partying, and I don’t know who all you’re with, but they are not your friends. You’re doing this crazy stuff—cartwheels into this pile of beach chairs, walking that railing, and…and…chugging a bottle of whiskey when you’re already too drunk to stand—and they’re cheering you on. ” On the other end of the phone, Jane was apeshit. “I was sure you were dead, if not from a twelve-story fall, then from alcohol poisoning.”

On the table next to the sofa was a note with a phone number. Call me if you want to hook up again. (Again?) It was signed Ashley.

Next to it was Robin’s key card.

The one he’d given to Jules. Right before Jules had walked into his hotel bar and found out from his boss and another friend that his significant other—Ben, the Marine—had been killed in Iraq.

Who died?

“Oh, shit,” Robin said again, past the misery that caught in his throat. “Oh, Janey, oh my God, I’ve really screwed everything up.”

Annie stood in the shower, trying not to cry, letting the water drum down upon her head.

“You okay in there?” Ric called.

Oh, God. “Yeah,” Annie called back, making her voice sound cheerful. “Sorry, am I taking too long?”

“No,” he said as she shut off the shower and squeegeed the water out of her hair. “I just…I know I surprised you. I kind of surprised myself.”

She so didn’t want to talk about this. She reached out from the curtain for her towel. “Did Jules call back?”

He helped her get it. “Not yet.”

“The two men who were with him last night,” Annie said. “The shorter one was his boss, right?”

“Max,” Ric said. “Dark hair, vaguely Indian American. India Indian.”

“What’s he doing here?” Annie asked, wrapping the towel around her and pulling back the shower curtain.

Ric was leaning in the open door—the one that led to his bedroom. He’d pulled on a pair of shorts, but that was it. It was a fashion statement that worked well with his six-pack. “I don’t know. The other guy wasn’t FBI. Sam. He works for some California-based private investigators—something called Troubleshooters Incorporated. Apparently it’s a big company, with lots of work—so much they can’t handle it all. He was trying to recruit us. You, actually.”

Annie turned from brushing out her hair to look at him. His smile was rueful.

“It definitely had more to do with you,” Ric admitted, “since all he’d seen me do was stand around with my thumb up my butt. I guess he figured if he could get you, he’d make do with me. I told him you had virtually no training, he said they’d take care of that. He left his card.”

“Are you serious? That could be so great—”

“I was afraid you were going to say that. I told him I’d tell you, so I had to tell you, but…” Ric shrugged. “I’m not interested.”

She stood there, just looking at him, her hairbrush in her hand.

“And now I’ve disappointed you,” he concluded.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Since when can you read my mind?” she asked.

“Since you were eleven?”

Annie had to smile at that. Ric had had an uncanny ability to show up at the least likely times, usually right when she was on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid.

Such as the time, shortly after they’d met, that she decided to go live with her grandparents in New York. Of course, she didn’t have much money—certainly not enough for a train or bus. So she’d made herself a sign on a piece of cardboard—similar to the signs she’d seen desperate-looking men holding on street corners: WILL WORK FOR FOOD, theirs had said. Hers read: WILL WORK FOR A RIDE.

In retrospect, the danger of what she’d almost done—an eleven-year-old hitchhiking hundreds of miles—took her breath away. She’d been a tough little kid, having survived all those fights between her parents—the last ones terrifyingly physical. But in so many ways she had been impossibly innocent.

Ric had not only figured out that she was leaving, but that she was planning to leave in the middle of the night—that night. He showed up, tapping on the back door at two in the morning—just as she was filling her backpack with food.

He’d come all that way because Annie’s mother had turned the ringer off on their phone. Annie’s father had managed to get their new number, and after last call, when the bars shut down in Boston, he often indulged in some heavy-duty drunk dialing.

At the time, Annie had believed that since her father found their phone number, it was only a matter of time before he showed up at their house in Sarasota. She’d tried to talk her mother into moving again, but her mother just told her they were fine—without giving her any details. It was only later that Annie had discovered that her uncle Ian, who was a Boston cop, was keeping track of her father. If he disappeared, Ian would call Annie’s mother right away.

Unaware of this, Annie figured if she went to Grandma’s, her mother and Bruce would soon follow—and they’d all be safe there.

That night, Ric not only talked Annie out of leaving, but he figured out her motive, and he got her to talk—for the first time since it happened—about what it had been like to see her father hitting her mother—and then to have him turn that rage on her.

It had started the healing process—and had taught her to ask questions instead of making assumptions when she got scared.

Ric had also used his mind-reading abilities through the years to mysteriously appear when Annie had accepted a dare to climb out to the end of a rocky breakwater as the tide was coming in, and when she tried to rescue a friend who was being targeted by a middle school bully.

But he’d missed quite a few, too. Like her decision, in tenth grade, to go to that party at Skipper Gleason’s—the one where his parents were out of town, and there were four kegs of beer and about four hundred high school students hell-bent on getting drunk. Or her genius choice, senior year, to go all the way with Mike Mattson, the big loser.

Although Ric had asked her about Mike, when he found out they were dating. “You sure this guy’s good enough for you?”

At the time, Annie had been offended. “You don’t know him,” she’d defended Mike. “He’s nice. You just think all guys are like you and Bruce.”

Ric had backed down and kept his distance—and Mike, the loser, decided it would be better to just be friends after taking Annie’s virginity in the backseat of his father’s Town Car.

“You only read my mind correctly half the time,” she told Ric now.

“Five hundred is an excellent batting average,” he pointed out. “I know you, Annie. I know what you’re thinking. You don’t understand why I wouldn’t be interested in a job with a real salary, but…” He laughed, obviously embarrassed. “You’re going to think I’m crazy when I tell you this…”

“I already think you’re crazy, Alvarado, so don’t worry about it.” She kissed him as she went past him, going out the door into the hallway, toward her room, with her closet and her clothes.

He followed her in, and made himself comfortable on her bed. Apparently he was going to watch her dress.

She tried not to feel self-conscious as she took clean underwear from the dresser, and shorts and a T-shirt from the shelf in the closet.

But then he said, “You know I left the police force because I killed this kid, right?”

And Annie forgot about getting dressed. She wrapped her towel more tightly around her and sat down on the other end of the bed to give him her full attention. “No,” she said. “The story I heard is that he almost killed you. ”

“Almost is one of those words that doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot in this business. You’re dead or you’re not. I wasn’t. He was.” Ric looked down at the spread on her bed. “He was the tenth for the precinct, for that year.” He looked back up at her with eyes that were haunted. “Tenth kill.”

Annie reached out and touched him—her hand on his. “I didn’t know.”

“I quit,” he said quietly as he laced their fingers together. “But I guess I didn’t really think it through. I thought I did. I thought if I worked for myself, then I could take the jobs I wanted, maybe do something worthwhile that didn’t include a body count. Instead I’m breaking up marriages—getting evidence for divorces. It really sucks. My one most lucrative job was retrieving what’s-his-name.”

“John Beasley.” Annie would never forget him—or the fact that his brother Frank had kicked Ric in the side so hard that he’d peed blood. Over the past few days, between the two of them, they’d acquired an impressive collection of fresh scrapes, nicks, and bandages. But she could still see a faint trace of the bruise that Frank Beasley had given Ric two weeks ago.

Ric smiled at the vitriol in her voice. “I didn’t enjoy that job very much, either. And yeah, he’s a scumbag who kicked the crap out of his girlfriend, so I can try to pretend that putting him in jail was a good thing, but…Turns out she deals drugs to high school students but they don’t have the evidence to bring her in, so who am I saving here, you know?” His smile faded. “Gunning down some kid who accidentally killed his own cousin…I wasn’t helping anyone, Annie. I was a youth officer for a while, until budget cuts took away the position.”

The muscle jumped in his jaw. “I think that was why I was so eager to take Lillian’s case. I actually thought I could help her. You know, find closure for her, for her daughter’s death.” Ric laughed his disdain. “Instead, it’s more bullshit. Instead, I’m the big freaking hero by saving Gordie Burns Junior—and I end up putting your life in danger. Christ, it’s like I’m this force of nature, destroying everything in my path.”

Annie squeezed his hand. “No, you’re not.”

“That’s what it feels like,” he told her. “I come from this world where everyone—everyone—is creative.”

She knew that he’d spent a lot of time as a child in his father’s recording studio, and when he wasn’t there, he was home, where his mother was painting.

“The musical-talent gene obviously skipped a generation,” he continued. “I love listening, but…And you’ve seen me draw.”

She couldn’t hide her smile. Yes, she had. Playing Pictionary with Ric had always been hilarious. “There are other ways to be creative.”

He nodded. “That’s what I always thought, but…”

He was silent then, and Annie just waited, because she knew he wasn’t done.

“I just…This isn’t what I want to do,” he admitted. “The private investigations thing. It’s just not. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and…I’m going to shut down the business. Or at least really revamp it.” He looked up at her. “No more divorces. No more destruction.”

Annie nodded. “Ric, I’ve done your books. Without the divorce cases…You earned approximately three hundred dollars last year finding lost dogs.”

“No more lost dogs, either,” he told her. “Unless it’s Pierre.”

“Then…?” She had no idea where he was going with this.

He smiled. “This is the crazy part.”

Annie waited.

“I really like the idea of helping to keep someone safe,” Ric told her. “It wasn’t until Robin said that he was looking for a head of security that I realized…I mean, I know he’s just a movie star. It wouldn’t be like protecting a head of state or…But I like him. I like his work and I like him as a person. He’s in a vulnerable position because of his sexual orientation and it shouldn’t be that way. He’s going to need to find someone that he trusts to handle his security—someone who already knows his secrets. Someone who’ll help keep him safe as well as protect his right to privacy.”

Annie didn’t know what to say. Ric wanted to work for Robin? It had been so obvious that Robin wanted Jules to work for him. But she didn’t want to start listing the reasons why Ric’s idea wouldn’t and couldn’t work.

She didn’t have to. Ric was right there, with her. “I know when he brought it up, he was talking to Cassidy, but that’s not going to happen. Jules isn’t leaving the Bureau.” He leaned toward her. “But I’m perfect for the job. I appreciate creative people. Most people think they’re nuts, but I understand them. And I’m good at what I do. So if it’s okay with you, I’m going to approach Robin. See if he’ll settle for me. Us. If…you want there to be an us.”

“Ric,” she said, her heart in her throat, uncertain how she was going to say this.

But he stopped her. “You should think about it,” he said. “Along with everything else. I mean, you never gave me an answer to, um, my proposal. Which is okay,” he quickly added. “I guess I hoped you wouldn’t have to think about it, but…” He laughed—a rueful burst. “Of course maybe the answer’s already a given. If you’re pregnant…”

Annie had to look away, because now he was looking at her as if he wanted to give getting her pregnant another go.

“Most guys don’t find that a turn-on,” she pointed out.

“I never did before,” he admitted. “But now…” His hand was warm as he slipped it beneath her towel, his palm pressed against her belly. “The thought of you walking around with something of mine, growing inside of you…” He kissed her, and his hand slipped lower.

Oh, God. “Ric.” Annie caught his wrist. “Remember how you said when you’re with me you always end up doing something crazy? Well, this really is one of those times.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

“I’m not talking about the job with Robin thing,” she told him. “Although you should probably think about that a little more, too. It’s…your other idea that’s, well, insane.”

“All right,” Ric said. “I get where you’re coming from, and okay, after some of the things I’ve said and done, particularly lately, sending out all these mixed signals…I understand how you could think that I’m, you know, less than sincere—”

“I don’t doubt your sincerity,” Annie interrupted him. “I think you think that you meant what you said, especially when you said it. And maybe you’ll be able to convince yourself that it’s true for a while. Maybe even for a few months, because, yes, the sex is incredible. But come on …”

Her blunt honesty hurt him. She could see it on his face, in his eyes. But he was trying hard not to get angry. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “Because you’re wrong.”

“You don’t have to marry me for us to have sex like that,” she tried to reassure him. “I’ll come back after this is over—I’m going to come back.”

“Good,” he said. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to come find you and, wow, that sounded creepy. I didn’t mean it to sound like a threat.”

“I know,” Annie told him. “Look, after I come back, we can both get tested, and as long as we’re both healthy, I can start taking the pill. Although, if you cheat on me, and put me at risk, I’ll never forgive you. And I do mean that as a very real threat.”

“I would never put you at risk,” Ric said. But then he looked away. “Except I did, just this morning, didn’t I?”

“I was there, too,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but I’m the man.” He smiled. “I said that just to piss you off. How’m I doing?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Extremely well.”

“Annie, do you love me?”

It was a question she’d never in a million years expected him to ask her, not point-blank like that. And now he was watching her, like a police detective scrutinizing a suspect during questioning.

“I don’t know.” It was stupid to lie, but she was flustered. She looked away. “I really don’t.”

Ric nodded, taking it as truth—or at least choosing not to challenge her. He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was just one word. “No.”

Annie didn’t understand. “No?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

She still didn’t get it.

“I was going to say okay to the whole let’s get tested and have lots of sex plan,” he explained. “I was going to ask you how long, you know, it would take before you believed me. Six months? A year, maybe two?” He was watching her closely. “Two would do it, huh?”

Annie laughed her disbelief, because, yes, two years with Ric probably would convince her of his sincerity. God, the idea that he might have actually meant what he said, that he actually loved her…It was almost too much to bear. “What did I do, twitch?”

“No,” Ric said. “I just know you.”

“Oh, you know me, but I don’t know you?”

“I think if you stopped and really thought about it,” Ric said, “you would trust me. I’ve never lied to you. I’ve never tried to bullshit you—well, not for the things that mattered. This isn’t about me at all—this is about you being scared. You don’t want to love me. I know you’ve convinced yourself that I’m not capable of a real relationship, and I know the thing with Lillian kind of sealed it for you, but damn it, Annie, look at me, and trust me when I tell you that I’m not that man.”

“Oh,” Annie said, grabbing onto the obvious, because getting mad was something she could handle. “Oh, good. Bring up Lillian. Unbelievable.”

“I kissed her,” Ric said, “because I was scared, too. I was scared of everything I was feeling for you—”

“That is such a load of crap—”

He was getting pissed now, too. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“No,” she said. “Because I’m too scared. ”

“Great,” Ric said. “Very mature.” He stood up. “My answer’s no. If you don’t want all of me, you’re not getting any.”

Annie laughed. “So…what does that mean? You’re going to withhold sex…?”

“Yup. I’m not going to be your toy. You either love me or you don’t, and if you love me, you’re going to have to trust me. It’s that simple.”

“Does the phrase cutting off your nose to spite your face mean anything to you?” she asked.

But Ric didn’t answer her. He just gently closed her door behind him.