"Hey, babe, you comin' or what?" Brittany said. "Thought you were gonna shower?"

Nicole's eyes flared, but then all emotion shut down and she waved him off. "Go. I'm fine."

He kept his gaze on Nicole. "You're okay?"

She gave him a half-hearted smile. And that was what got him-this girl was all heart. So seeing her upset made him want to beat back everyone who stood in her way.

Worse, he knew she'd do the same for him. If he let her, she'd give him her whole heart.

Need roared through him-fuck, he wanted that more than he'd ever wanted anything.

He stepped back from her so quickly he landed on someone's foot. Shit. He had to get out of there. Keep his damn distance.

Because it was just torture, wanting what he couldn't have.

"Let's go." He broke through the group clustered around the counter and led them out of the kitchen.

Nights like this, Nicole could understand why people got wasted. Just to shut down all the noise in their heads.

She flopped onto her back. Stop thinking about it. Dylan had never shown any romantic interest in her-drunken gropes didn't count. So whatever he did with other girls shouldn't affect her.

A rap at her bedroom door had her sitting up. "Yes?"

"It's Dylan."

Dylan? She had bedroom furniture now, so she didn't need to sleep with him anymore. "Come in."

Yellow light spilled across her comforter, as he came in. "Hey." He stood at the end of her bed.

What was he doing back so soon? An hour ago he couldn't wait to get away from her. Not that she blamed him. She'd made a fool out of herself, freaking out over liver. Throwing up in class? God. The prickly heat of mortification flushed through her.

Seriously, everything he'd said had been right. If she couldn't work with meat, she had no business being chosen for the minor. But she wanted to overcome her issues-had to.

She wished she hadn't told him about it. "You're back early."

"Yeah."

He looked like he was struggling-like he didn't know whether he wanted to be in her room or not. Well, it wasn't like she'd invited him in. "What's up?"

He sat on the edge of her bed, but she didn't make room for him. And not just because she was embarrassed, but because she was pissed at him. For choosing to spend time with Brittany over her.

She shouldn't care what he did with other girls. Except...she did. She felt...owned by him. Did that even make sense? Of course it didn't. It was all in her head.

He pushed a lock of hair off her face, his fingers brushing over her cheek, leaving a tiny trail of sparks. "Come with me?" His phone buzzed, but he ignored it.

Like a total idiot, she threw off her blanket. "Where?" Really? Just like that, she'd forgotten how quickly he'd run away from her in the kitchen? To hang out with Brittany?

"Downstairs." He got up.

Jamming her feet into her shearling slippers, she glanced at the clock. Twelve-oh-two in the morning. She had class at nine, but honestly? She'd follow him anywhere.

At the top of the stairs she could see a single lamp illuminating the massive entryway and living room. At the bottom, he turned, grabbed her hips and held her in front of him.

Confusion had her wanting to spin around to face him.

"Trust me." He held her until she relaxed, and then he covered her eyes with fabric. She breathed in the scent of laundry detergent, felt the softness of the cotton, and knew he'd blindfolded her with a kitchen towel. "Okay?"

She just stood there. What was he doing?

Hands still on her hips, he guided her forward. His phone continued to buzz, and he continued to ignore it.

"Do you have to get that?"

"No." He steered her slowly, and with every step they took, their bodies collided.

She wanted to push back against that rock hard chest, feel those big arms belt around her. She wanted to get swallowed up in him. God, she could just sink into his warm, powerful body, and stay there forever.

"Right here," he said, his mouth at her ear. No one was around, so she didn't know why he whispered, but she liked it. Especially because she was shrouded in darkness, only the faintest sliver of light peeking under the edges of the towel.

He took her hand. "Trust me." When he just held it, not moving, she understood he wanted her acquiescence, so she said, "Okay."

And then he dipped her hand into something wet, cold, and slimy.

"Oh." She jerked back, but he held her firmly.

"You said you trusted me."

"Is this cow guts?" She couldn't believe he'd prank her like this. "Are you making fun of me?" Yeah, she had issues, but he didn't know what they were. She wasn't just prissy. She had reasons.

"Of course not." His calm dismissal made her relax a little. He didn't sound like he was playing with her. He caught up her hand again and put it in something else-round, slimy. Like eyeballs.

"Oh, my God, Dylan." She probably sounded as scared as she felt. He shifted behind her, his arms bracketing her waist in a show of protection. He was letting her know he wouldn't hurt her.

"Just feel it. Okay? Just let yourself feel it." His hands moved around the slippery balls with hers, his chin came down onto her shoulder. "It's not so bad, is it?"

Well, not when his chest pressed into her back, not when she could smell his fresh scent-soap, wide open spaces, and that hint of cinnamon.

"Come on," he whispered, threading his fingers through her. "Feel it."

Oh, God, she was feeling it. Not what he wanted her to feel, but she was definitely awash in sensation. She wanted to sway her hips in rhythm with the pulse of her blood, feel his arousal-the sure sign he wanted her as badly, as desperately, as she wanted him. She wanted to turn in his arms, so she could finally taste that beautiful, sexy mouth.

But she knew he wouldn't let her. Let himself.

"Let's try the cow guts again." He lifted their joined hands, plunged them into the other bowl. This time he purposely moved her hands around the soft, slimy substance. "You ready to see what it is?"

She let out a shaky breath. "I'm ready."

He pulled off the blindfold. On the counter, he'd placed two silver mixing bowls. One held peeled grapes. The other had cooked fettuccini noodles, broken into pieces. Both slathered with oil. She smiled at him over her shoulder. He stood so close she could see the five o'clock shadow on his chin. "Halloween's not for five weeks."

"This isn't about Halloween. It's about getting over your fears." He gestured to the bowls. "Go on. Stick both hands in there."

She hesitantly touched the grapes.

His smile, inches from her own, set off little electrical impulses along her nerves. "Next time you have to touch raw meat, imagine it's this. Slimy grapes and slimy noodles. Okay?"

"Okay," she breathed, her every cell open and calling out to him. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her waist. She wanted to be free to touch him. "You didn't go to the party."

"No, I went to the store."

"For me?" Their mouths were so close.

Please kiss me. Please.

"Yeah, Nicole. For you." When the air thickened, when her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it, he smirked. "Can't have a roommate with no glow."

"You going to make sure I find mine?"

His phone vibrated again.

"You can take that."

Briefly, he closed his eyes.

"Is it Brittany? Do you have to go?"

He bristled with irritation. "No."

"How come you hang out with those guys but not with us?"

His head lowered, and he looked almost defeated.

"I just don't get why you can be with her and not me."

Grabbing a kitchen towel, he wiped off his hands. Then, he cupped her waist and hoisted her onto the counter, stepping between her legs. For several moments he just looked at her. Her heart beat so hard it actually hurt. Was he going to kiss her now? Oh, please, just do it. Do it.

"I'm not interested in dating anyone, okay?" He smoothed the hair away from her eyes.

"Just hooking up?"

"Do you really want to talk about my hookups?"

"No." When she pushed him aside so she could jump down, he stilled her with his hands.

"Nicole. What Brittany wants...that's all I'm interested in. I'm not here for relationships. I'm here to get my degree, and that's it. I don't have time for-nor do I want-a girlfriend."

"Whatever."

"What does that mean?"

"It's just a stupid thing to say."

"What? That I don't want a girlfriend? I don't. It's true."

"It doesn't work like that. Relationships happen no matter if we want them or not. You meet that special person you spark with and that's it. You're in. It's not like you can help it."

The way he looked at her-like he was trying to read her-figure out if she was telling the truth-made her uncomfortable. Because of what she hadn't said. She may not want a boyfriend. She certainly didn't want boy drama. But she did want him.

"Things don't just happen. We let them happen. We can control what happens to us. I choose to not get involved. That's who I am." He stepped away, brought the bowls to the sink. "So, are we good?"

"Super." Whatever. Why did she even bother with him? He was so closed off to anything real, he wouldn't let it happen. She screwed the cap back on the oil and wiped it with a towel.

He pulled the towel out of her hand. "Go. You have an appointment with Professor Davison before freshman seminar." Putting the bottle back in the cabinet underneath the stove, he turned and dumped the contents of a bowl into the garbage bin. He hit the faucet, turned it as hot it could go. Steam rose out of the sink.

He knew her schedule so well he could automatically tell her she had an appointment in the morning? Uh, mixed signals much? "I don't-"

His phone buzzed, and he tipped his head back. "Jesus fucking Christ." He slammed the faucet. The phone had been going off all night. Why was he blowing up now? "Nicole. Go. I have to take this call."

Blustery and agitated, he stood there waiting for her to leave before he answered his phone. Instead of washing her hands, she grabbed the towel and wiped them on her way out.

Halfway up the stairs, when she was no longer in his line of vision, she heard him say, "What's going on, Mom?" And he said it in the kindest, most patient voice.

She wanted to hate him, but he just wouldn't let her.

Just as she was drifting off to sleep, when she'd exhausted the endless spool of Dylan-thoughts, her door opened again. Dylan came in, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and climbed into her bed. He didn't say a word as he drew the comforter up to their chins, belted his arm around her, and tucked it in around them.

God.

"Jesus, why does the whole house smell like you?" Dylan burst into the kitchen with his new entourage.

Nicole ignored him, focusing on the syrup, which was just the right consistency. She pulled it off the stove. His friends started grabbing up the cupcakes she'd baked earlier.

"She's making a honeysuckle pound cake," Sydney said. "It smells so yummy."

Dylan swiped a finger through the batter, brought it to his mouth and sucked. His eyelids drifted shut and his expression turned orgasmic. "Holy shit."

"What is it?" Brittany leaned in so close her boob pressed into his arm.

The familiarity grabbed Nicole's heart and squeezed. She wanted the freedom to touch him like that. It wasn't just attraction she felt. It was...she craved him.

Dylan turned sideways, forcing Brittany to step back. "What's in this?"

"Honeysuckle." She shouldn't sound so snippy. He wanted who he wanted. Not his fault.

"Yeah, but how do you get it in the batter?"

"I use a little honeysuckle extract and coconut milk, add some sugar and make it into a syrup. You like it?"