I try to shove away from him, but he wraps his arms around me, laughing even harder.

"You scared me!" I growl. "Jesus, Naz, you can't do that to me!"

"I'd apologize," he whispers, "but I'm not sorry. I like it when you fight back."

"I just... my God!" I pry out of his arms and grasp my chest, willing my heart to calm down. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"I just walked right in. Your security around here isn't very secure, Karissa. The girl in the lobby looked right at me and didn't say a word. And not to mention the fact that you left your door unlocked. The place practically has a sign on it that says 'come inside' so I thought I'd come inside, and maybe..." He reaches out, brushing his hand along my cheek before swiping his thumb along my bottom lip. "...come inside."

Rolling my eyes, I smack his hand away. He laughs yet again, whispering, "feisty".

I want to be mad. I want to be furious. He just broke into my room and scared the daylights out of me. But I can't make myself be angry when all I feel is elation at the sound of his laughter, the sound of his happiness.

"You're an ass," I mutter. "I can't believe you just did that to me."

He shrugs, stepping by me to stroll through the room as he pulls off his gloves. I watch incredulously when he sits down on my bed. "What can I say? You've been busy, and I've missed you."

I have been. I haven't seen him much the past two weeks, and damn if I haven't missed him, too.

I step toward him, pausing in front of him. A sliver of moonlight streams through the nearby window, illuminating where I stand. I'm suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I'm not wearing any pants. Why does he always catch me when I'm wearing the unsexiest panties? I tug on the hem of my shirt, trying to cover them.

His expression shifts, the amusement fading when he grabs my hand. "Come on, don't be like that. Don't hide from me."

He scoots back onto the bed and tugs me to him as he kicks off his shoes. I hear the clunk as they hit the floor. He pulls me onto his lap, and I straddle him, my arms around his neck as he slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt.

My heart is racing again, thumping in my chest, but this time it's not fear that does me in. I watch in the dim lighting as he sheds himself of his shirt before meeting my gaze.

I can see the want in his eyes; the same yearn brewing in my gut. I kiss his mouth, his cheek, his chin, before working my way further down. He leans back as I reach his chest. I can feel the ridges of his scars as I kiss the old wounds, caressing the skin with my lips. "What happened to you, Naz?"

I place a last kiss on the biggest scar, not far from his heart, before meeting his eyes again.

"I lost my life," he says quietly. "And then I almost died."

I want to ask him what the difference is, if his heart is still beating how was his life taken from him, but the look he gives stalls me, silencing my words before I can say too much. I've never seen him so vulnerable. Those eyes are dark, so fucking dark, it's like a hurricane brewing inside of him.

I wonder how he survives such turmoil.

I don't ask. I don't think he has an answer. I just wrap my arms around him as he kisses me. Naz pulls me down onto the bed, shifting around so I'm lying beside him. It's sweet, his hands gentle as they remove my clothes, exploring my bare flesh with his fingertips. A subtle sadness seems to coat every movement. The sudden urge to make him feel good overwhelms me.

I want that laughter back.

I want to make him happy.

I want him to be happy with me.

"Tell me how you like it," I whisper, trying to keep my nerves from showing in my voice. "You can be rough. I'll fight back."

He cracks a smile at that as he rids himself of the rest of his clothes, shifting our bodies again so he's on top of me.

"Next time," he says. "Tonight isn't for playing.

"What's it for?"

"Loving."

He pushes inside of me slowly, his lips meeting mine again as his body weight presses upon me. It's slow and sweet. It's all pleasure and not a stitch of pain.

He's making love to me.

My legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts, filling me deeply before pulling back out, over and over. He holds me to him, sweaty skin gliding together as he gives me all of him, gritting his teeth and groaning against my neck as he comes inside of me.

We lay there afterward, me in his arms, my head on his chest. He holds me against him like I'm delicate, one hand splayed out on my back, the other resting on my head as he strokes my hair. I haven't said a word. I'm not sure there are any words to say. I'm afraid talking about it will cheapen it, rationalize something that should just be felt instead.

Less thinking, more feeling.

I'm starting to get it now.

He's just as quiet. If not for the way he's touching me, I'd think he was asleep. I lay there, starting to doze off, when his soft voice carries through the silence. "It was a 12-gage shotgun. They spent hours pulling all the buckshot from my chest, but it didn't matter, because my heart was shattered."

"Literally?" I ask quietly. I can't fathom it. A shotgun blast to the chest. Who would do such a thing to him?

He sighs, holding me tighter, his voice barely a whisper. "Might as well have been."

Melody's home.

I see her—or rather, hear her—as soon as I open my eyes. Snores rattle her chest, drawn out and obnoxious, so loud I'm startled awake for the second time.