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I groaned. But I continued to grind shamelessly against his fingers. His thumb pressed against my clit, and I bit down on his shoulder to stifle a whimper. Jackson moaned and started to work his fingers faster.
    “I want to hear you come.” Jackson moved back so that we were nose to nose. “Tell me you want this, Claire.”
    Wedged against the wall, riding his fingers, I couldn’t look away, and I couldn’t lie. “Please . . . please,” I panted.
    Jackson squeezed his eyes closed, and his face contorted as if my consent caused him pain. His groaned; incoherent words against my neck pushed me over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure contracted against his fingers, squeezing tighter and tighter until Jackson’s mouth crashed into mine, muffling my cries.
    “Sweetest fucking sound I’ve ever heard,” he murmured against my lips.
    The mind-numbing orgasm started to fade, and I drifted back to reality. Still trapped against the wall, his arousal left no doubt about the restraint he exercised by stopping when he did. Lord knows I wouldn’t have been able to resist. What the hell had I done?
    “I’m sorry, Claire. I promised myself I would take it slow, but I just don’t know if that’s possible with you. Please don’t be mad, baby.”
    Was he serious? Don’t be mad even though I had just let him finger-fuck me in public where anyone, including my colleagues, could have enjoyed the show?
    “I’m not mad—at you,” I sighed. “Nothing happened that I didn’t let happen. Just let me go,” I begged, pushing at his arms.
    “I can’t. I know you’d be better off without me, but I’m yours and you were meant to be mine.” He slid his right hand down until it rested above my breast. “Your body knows it. I won’t stop until your heart does, too.”
    I bit back a moan, as agony ripped through me. He owned me, completely. He always had. Everything I ever wanted was within the circle of my arms, but he would still never be mine. Even if I could make things right with Alice, and that was a big if, there was something else I couldn’t make right. Something that made me doubt whether Jackson Montgomery could ever be my sure thing.
    “This can’t happen again. We can’t happen. I’m sorry. I—please let me go.”
    Jackson’s hands dropped to his side, and his shoulders slumped forward. He took a step back and focused on the steps below us. “Claire, don’t run away from me, from us. Not this time,” he whispered. Then, he looked up, piercing me with desolate turquoise eyes. “Give me a chance, please.”
    The hint of desperation in his voice, the utter stillness of his body, the way he looked at me; it all caused my already broken heart to ache. It was torture; unadulterated misery.
    “I’m sorry. I have to . . . I’ve gotta . . . work,” I stammered as I ran out the door, swiping at the tears sliding down my cheeks.
    I wavered on the other side, desperate to run back and throw myself into his arms. I needed to tell him how much I loved him and always would. But the reality of the situation held me back. I was grasping for a fairytale my reality would rip to shreds piece by painful piece. No, Jackson, I’m not a Cinderella type of girl, I agreed before I rushed to the elevator.

T HERE WAS NO way to mistake Jackson’s sincerity, but how could I have been so wrong about everything? Was I too wrapped up in what Alice wanted to see the truth? More likely, I was afraid to look deeper because of how much I wanted him. I was so fucking stupid, and now it was too late.
    There were years and years of memories, both good and bad. They all seemed different when looking through the filter of what Jackson had said. He cared about me. Maybe he even more than cared, but I had been too busy denying my feelings to notice. Every time I started to feel too much, I pushed it down, and whenever he got close, I would run away. I couldn’t do it much longer. I had to face him with the truth, and then I’d have to let