Nicole started to slide across the bench seat to follow Terri out of the car, but Dylan grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She looked at him wide-eyed, What?

"You gotta stop talking out your ass," he said. "It's really pissing me off."

"What're you talking about?"

"Do you actually think I'd give up an opportunity like Pearson Greene if I had a choice? Do you think I don't know how important an MBA is? Stop minimizing my situation."

"Oh, come on. You're eighteen. Of course you have choices." She glanced out the open door to watch the group heading into the plaza. He could practically feel the anger radiating off her. "If you never talk to anybody, you'll keep thinking there's only one way to deal with whatever's going on. But, God, Dylan, do you really think your situation is so unique? Talk to someone-talk to me-and get some perspective. You don't have to live like this."

Why did he even bother? She'd never understand.

She reached over and slammed the door shut, sealing them in the dark space created by the tinted windows. Then, she slid right up to him with an imploring expression. "Look, you haven't told me anything, but it's pretty obvious your mom has a problem. I don't know the whole story, but you seem to think you're responsible for her. The thing is, you're not. And I know that because I thought I was responsible for my mom, too. I didn't take it as far, obviously, because I made the choice to leave her and move back in with my dad."

"It's not the same thing. You had a dad, brothers. My mom has no one."

"My mom has no one either-and that was her choice. My dad had to make one, too. And it tore him apart. It tore the family apart. But he made the one he thought was best for him and for us. And having my dad and brothers had absolutely zero impact on making my decision because they weren't involved with my mom at that point. It was just me. And when I left her, I left her completely alone."

Pain in his chest had his hand covering his heart. He hated what she'd lived through, preferred to think of her living in some mansion in Greenwich, Connecticut with a kind old dad, a cute lab, and two rowdy brothers chucking her on the chin. But he tore himself away from those thoughts and forced himself back to the conversation. "I can't do that."

"I'm not telling you what decision to make. I'm trying to make you see that you have options. You're not stuck. Life just doesn't work like that. But nothing will ever change if you don't allow the possibility of change."

She started to go, but he grabbed her arm. Confusion flashed in her eyes. "Let me go."

He couldn't. He didn't want her to leave. If she left, she took hope with her. And how could he think when she was sitting almost on top of him, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths? When all he wanted was to feel her body pressed to his? "I'm sorry for what you went through with your mom."

She exhaled so roughly she nearly collapsed. Her features melted into the sweetest expression, and she pushed even closer to him. "My dad gave her the choice of rehab or divorce. She chose vodka. She chose alcohol over her family. I lived with her five years-every day, she had a choice. Me or the bottle. She chose the bottle. She chose booze over me."

"Jesus, Nicole. She's sick. No one in her right mind would choose anything over you. You're amazing. You're fucking amazing."

"So are you." Finally, she touched him. Those warm hands cupping his cheeks. "That's why I keep talking to you about this. You won't open up to anyone, so you only hear one voice-that you're stuck and you don't have options. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to be another voice in your head, pointing out that you do. Because you deserve so much better than this tiny box you've put yourself in." Her pretty hands stroked down to his shoulders, and she tipped her forehead to his. "Just because you're doing something one way doesn't mean it's the only way. And if you opened up and talked to people, you'd find that out. You think you're trapped, but you're not."

"I don't see it that way. She's my mom. I'm responsible for her."

She shook her head. "No, she was responsible for you. And it's sad that you don't get that. But you're in college now. It's a whole new ballgame. Neither of you needs to be responsible for the other. You're both adults. You have a chance for a different life, Dylan." She reached up to him, but he grabbed her wrist before she could touch his face. "Take it."

He hated the hope she gave him.

She gazed up at him, like he was someone special. It didn't make sense. Meeting her didn't make sense. He'd expected rich college girls, easy sorority girls. But Nicole? Where had she come from? "What the hell do you see in me?"

"A really, really good man," she whispered, and then he just couldn't take it anymore.

He caught her behind her neck, pulling her forward, their mouths colliding in a rush of heat and frantic desire. Her hands clasped his shoulders, like she needed to hang on. Something inside him gave way-he hadn't realized how badly he needed her touch-and he couldn't help himself. He devoured her, lost himself entirely in her hot, welcoming mouth. Her light honeysuckle scent made him dizzy and achingly hard. Because it was her. Her. And he wanted her so badly he could barely keep his shit together.

Need kicked in with a force that shook him. She kissed him back, her mouth hungry for him, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

Hands cupping her ass, he dragged her onto his lap because he had to feel more of her, all of her. She straddled him, rolled her hips down hard, making his dick surge. She felt so fucking good, with her breasts pressing against him, her thighs squeezing him, her hot core riding him so urgently a tingling started in the base of his spine.

He squeezed her perfect ass through the thin cotton dress, pulling her so tightly against him she gasped.

He tore his mouth off hers to take a breath, clear his head. "Fuck, Nicole." But he couldn't clear anything because he was drowning in her. His body on fire, his cock was ready to explode with the hot friction she created as she rode him roughly. He should stop, shove her off his lap. But his hands kept kneading the plump mounds of her ass, dragging her over his hard, aching cock. He tried to stop his hips from bucking, but for fuck's sake, he couldn't. He couldn't stop. He was desperate, out of control. Had to have more of her. His mouth found hers again, and he sucked her tongue in, making hard, fast love to it.

The sounds she made-little cries that grew more desperate-and the way she ground on him with such desperation made him wild with need. Jesus, when her hands fisted in his hair, holding his head in place so she could kiss him wholly and completely, he lost it, just fucking lost it.

His hands left that glorious ass and tried to get under her dress, reach some skin, but it was caught under her legs. She got up, grabbing at the material, and then he found skin-the softest skin he'd ever felt in his life. He swept up her ribcage, cupping her breasts. Ah, those fucking breasts he'd wanted to touch for so long. God, they felt so good. But it wasn't enough. He needed skin. So he shoved the bra up and over her breasts, filled his palms with their delicious weight. His head fell back and he groaned because holy mother of God he'd never felt anything so perfect in his life. Those soft, plump mounds, those beaded nipples.

"Dylan," she cried, as though in pain, as her hands tipped his head down, and her mouth found his again.

He pushed her breasts together, loving the feel of them, rubbing his thumbs over the pebbled tips, as he fell back into the heat of her mouth. She moved frantically now, arching her back, ramming her pussy over his dick so hard it hurt.

God, he needed relief or he was going to lose his mind. He reached a hand under the elastic waistband of her sexy boy shorts, a finger sliding inside her slick heat. Her back arched, and she hissed in a tight breath.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God. Dylan." God, he loved hearing his name in that passion-drenched voice. She rode his fingers, her head tipping forward, her hair spilling onto his shoulders. He could smell her arousal, her sweet-scented shampoo, and he stroked her faster, making sure with each upstroke his finger swirled around her clit. Each time she about leapt off his lap.

She was crying out, writhing on his lap, when he checked out the window. He spotted James jumping off a ledge, the group heading toward them. Shit.

He rubbed her faster and then, to get her there, his mouth closed over her breast through the dress and he bit down on the nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, pulling hard.

She cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her body stiffened, and her knees squeezed his thighs. "Oh, God." He continued stroking her, as her movements slowed. And then she let out a satisfied sigh. Looking dazed and thoroughly satisfied, she collapsed against him.

"They're here," he said quietly into her ear, avoiding her eyes.

She slipped off him, quickly adjusting her panties and bra. The door opened. Light and noise infiltrated their private space, and he quickly tugged on her dress so it covered her legs.

Before they all piled in, he tucked her up to him, wrapped an arm around her.

"Nic?" James said. "Shit, what's the matter?" He climbed into the SUV and scrambled over to her. "What happened? I thought she was starving."

"Car sick," Dylan said.

James smoothed the hair off her forehead. "You're sweating. Are you sure it's just car sickness?"

Dylan kept his expression free of emotion. He shrugged.

"Nic? Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I just want to get home."

"Of course." James took control, getting everyone into their seats and the driver on the road. "I hope all this food doesn't make it worse." He leaned over the seat, stroked her hair. "Come sit back here with me. I'll take care of you."

Dylan's arm tightened around her. "No."

James's hand recoiled. Everyone stared at him, like he'd overreacted.

"She needs the window." And then, continuing the stupid ruse, he hit the button, letting in a current of cold air.

As they sped down the highway, conversation was more subdued. Dylan leaned his head against the window frame. He'd touched her. Made her come. Fuck him.

How did he go back after something like that?

Alone in the garage, Dylan hauled the last case of water from the trunk and set it on the stack by the door to the kitchen. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath, but startled at the image that appeared: Nicole's beautiful face softened with passion, breasts bouncing, fingers gripping his jeans.

Christ. What had he done? Why couldn't he stay away from her?

Because he fucking craved her.

So, if he couldn't stay away, could he at least have some of her? Stupid question. She'd never be happy with what he could give. Nobody was. His friends back home called him No-Show McCaffrey. They thought it was hilarious, but he'd always hated it.

Like he'd wanted to bail on camping trips? Walk out in the middle of dinners or parties because his mom needed him for some crisis? He knew his relationship with his mom wasn't healthy-obviously. But he did the best he could.

No, it wouldn't work, and yet...his blood burned for her. What could he do?

The moment he entered the house, Tatiana rushed up to him with a note in her hand, looking completely freaked out.

"What's wrong?"

"Campus security came by." She shoved the note at him. "Your mom called. She needs to talk to you."

Shit.

Tatiana's concern drew others around him. "Is everything all right?"

He pushed past the group. He didn't need an audience. "I'm sure it is. I'll call her." He looked for Nicole, found her in the kitchen watching him. That concerned expression, the wondering...he couldn't deal with it right then.

Heading outside, he hit his mom's speed dial. She answered right away.

"Dylan," she said in an accusing tone. "Where have you been?"

"You called campus security?" He came down the porch steps and strode around to the side of the house. A little stone path between a tall wooden fence and the house led to the backyard.

"You're not returning my calls, and I don't know any of your friend's numbers out there, so yes, I had to call the school."

"This isn't high school, Mom. I'm in college. You can't call the school." The lawn furniture hadn't been brought into the garage yet, but at least the weather had turned chilly enough that no one was out sunbathing. No one needed to hear him talk his mom down off the ledge.

"Then answer my damn calls."

Each of the dozen times a day? Not possible. Sometimes he had to turn his phone off just so he could concentrate on something other than the vibrating in his pocket. "I was busy today."

"It isn't just about today."

"Mom, listen to me, I'm in classes. I'm taking sixteen credits-way more than other freshmen-so I can graduate early." So I can get home to take care of you. "I work two jobs." So I can send you money to keep you from hooking up with yet another abusive asshole. "I can't talk to you all the time."

"I know that, Dylan. But I needed you last night, and you weren't around."

"Needed me how?" He stopped, swiveled around, and faced the backyard.

"I had some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Anxiety buzzed along his nerves.

"Dornen picked me up."

"You were in jail?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. I'm out." He could hear her sucking on a cigarette. Which meant she was spending money on them.

"Mom, who got you out?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm fine now."

"I couldn't have paid your bail anyway, Mom. I have no money. I have to pay my rent, my food, textbooks. I have no money."

"Yeah, I get that. But I need to hear from you. It's hard not having you here for me."

"I know that. But I'm not there. I'm here, doing the best I can. And I really need you to do the best you can, too. I need you to go to your meetings."

"I know that, Dyllie. I know. Hey, I got a job."

"You did?" Oh, thank Christ.

"Yeah. It sucks, but it's a job."

"Tell me about it."

"Nothing to tell. I stand behind a counter and ring shit up."

Reaching for the fence, he gripped the top of the wooden post. When she was evasive, it made him wary. "What kind of store?"

"Who cares what kind of store? You want me to have a job, I got one."

"Yeah, but doing what?"

She blew out a breath. "Working at the Medicine Man."

"You're selling pot?" He had to cool it. Yelling at her wouldn't do any good. But working around drugs? Terrible idea. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"It's a job. And if you've got a problem with it, talk to your uncle. I wouldn't be in this situation if he'd just give me my damn inheritance."

"There's nothing we can do about that, Mom. We have no control over the situation."

"He doesn't get to keep my money from me. The money my father left me. And there is something you can do about it. You can tell him you need it. He'll do anything for you."

He hated this rant more than any of her others. "I'm not asking Uncle Zach for money."

"It's mine. They stole it from me. Look, you're all the way across the country. You're hardly sending me anything. They need to give me my money. They're my family. All you have to do is ask."

"I don't take money from anyone. That's why I'm here on a scholarship I earned and working two jobs."

"You wouldn't have to do any of that if you came back home. Just go to school in Boulder. Stop punishing me."