Bang, bang, bang.

I shake my head in an attempt to clear out the fuzziness. When I stand, I fall back onto the bed momentarily with a massive head rush.

If this is maid service, I’m going to be really pissed.

Bang, bang, bang, again on the door. Not loud, exactly, but not soft, either.

As I open the door, Dylan’s dark eyes look back at me. His expression is serious but gentle as he hands me a beautiful framed photograph of the desert.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I forgot my key.”

I finger the red clay and brilliant blue sky in the picture he brought me. “This is gorgeous, Dylan. Thank you.”

He steps inside the room, and we stand and look at each other in silence. Finally, Dylan breaks it in a rush of words filled with emotion.

“I haven’t brought a woman into my life since Annabella. Not in any meaningful way. I swore I never would, that I’d wait until I retired to get serious about someone. But you…you make me break all my vows. Only in the best ways.”

I catch my lower lip in my teeth, and Dylan’s eyes go straight to my mouth.

“My family—let’s just say I don’t do conflict real well. I prefer to get out my aggressions on the football field. You know?”

I want to ask him more about his family. But I’m too scared of getting into a reciprocal confessional.

Instead, I show him the second sculpture I made while he was gone.

He studies it before he speaks. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

I’m so happy I can’t help from smiling. “How’d you know?”

“I saw you in there. And I knew.”

This is the first self-sculpture I’ve ever done. I’ve always wanted to try, but I never had the courage.

“What do you see?” I ask Dylan.

The head of the sculpture is covered in a mess of hair. The woman’s eyes are alive, and so is her smile. But one of her hands covers most of her mouth, and she has an arm crossed over her heart.

“I see a woman afraid to admit that she has what it takes to live in this world,” he says as he looks at it with me. “Someone who’s far braver than she realizes, someone I wish I was as strong as.”

“Dylan.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “That’s…you’re the bravest person I know.”

I want to ask him to never walk away from me, and as long as he promises me that, I’ll never walk away, either. But something stops me. Almost like the hand that covers the mouth on my self-sculpture. I’ve always censored my feelings in order to protect myself, and I haven’t figured out yet how to do it any other way. So instead, I focus on him.

“It’s no different from what you do on the football field.”

“I guess so,” he says uncertainly.

“What you do is artistic, too. You know—the way you threw the ball in the final game—you spotted Colton running the perfect route. He was open for just a split second, and you timed it perfectly and delivered the ball to him so he didn’t even have to break stride as he caught it, broke a tackle, and ran it in for a touchdown.”

I sit, almost in a reverie as I remember the one time I watched Dylan play.

“So you saw the game.” Dylan’s eyes brighten. “I had no idea.”

“I’d never seen an entire game before. Lilla and I were getting everything ready for the party, and the television was on. You caught my attention as you always do.”

He lies down on his back on the bed. “Jasalie, I have to be honest with you about something. What do you want to happen between us when this week is over?”

I lie down next to him. “I’m not sure.”

“Me neither,” he says. “But here’s the thing—I’ve been falling for you since we met. I wouldn’t have necessarily called what I felt the first moment I saw you love—I would have called it something more like ‘I have to see this woman and be with her as soon and as much as possible.’ And I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of finding out more about you. I want to believe you felt it, too. That even on that first day you wanted me.”

I remember when I first laid eyes on Dylan and when he first spoke to me. I don’t think I’d have known love if it had slapped me in the face. But I can’t disagree with him.

“I definitely wanted you,” I confess with his face now inches from mine. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we promised this would end in Tucson.”

“No, it doesn’t.” His voice is low but filled with raw emotion. “But it can change the end result. If we want it to that is.”

I pull back from him. “This is getting heavy for the first day of our week off.”

“It is.” He shakes his head as if at himself. “I didn’t mean to say all of that right now, especially after the way I handled things earlier.”

When I don’t say anything, he says, “What’s going on in your head?”

Everything. Craziness. I stare up at the ceiling, half-wishing it would swallow me up. When I finally turn back to face him, I’m choked up. “I don’t know if I can take things past what we’ve agreed to.”

“Even if that decision is binding you to unhappiness?”

“It’s binding me to safety,” I argue. “Our affair is supposed to be for a finite amount of time in a certain geographical location. It was never meant to signify more than that, like some sort of permanent commitment.”

A promise of permanency is not only risky; it sounds downright dangerous.

“But…” he starts to argue, but I cut him off.

“Dylan,” I say without taking the time to rehearse anything first. “This was supposed to be a fake romance for the press. And even though it’s turned into so much more…”

I pull away from him and carefully cover up my sculpture, keeping my back to him. “The truth is I want to let you in, Dylan. But I need to fill you in on why I’m the way I am. Can we go for a walk, somewhere outside of the hotel but still private, and talk?”

Dylan says he knows the perfect place, but on our way to the lobby, we really do get stuck in the elevator. It jerks to a stop somewhere between the tenth and eleventh floor. Dylan buzzes the alarm on the panel and calls for assistance. The woman who answers tells us not to worry and promises help is on the way.

Dylan takes a seat on the floor. “Might as well relax right?”

I sit down next to him.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” He puts his hand on my leg. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know you don’t. But Dante isn’t our problem. He’s like the big, bad wolf. He’ll keep coming until you stop giving him a reason.”

“I agree,” he says.

“Look,” I say. “I love your identity, Dylan. I know you’re worried it’s dangerous to bring someone from the outside into your unusual—and amazing—life, but football is your passion. It’s such a part of who you are. And I’m no different from you; I want to protect you the same way. I want everyone to treat you the way you deserve. Whether that’s a teammate, a reporter, or your agent, you deserve to be treated like the kind, amazing person that you are. But,” I pause and then say out loud the idea that’s been running through my mind since the grocery store, “I agree with your concerns as well, and continuing this affair for another week has already complicated things.”

His jaw tightens. “Tell me what worries you about us.”

I feel tears prick my eyes as I speak with my heart stripped bare for one of the only times in my life. “I’m scared of when it ends.”

Dylan’s lips part in surprise.

I get it. He’s not used to me being emotionally accessible—I’ve used sarcasm and quips far too much.

“But that’s why I wanted to talk about this. Because I fucking love you, Jasalie,” he says.

My heart soars.

“But like you intimated earlier, we’re from two different realities,” I say to him. “So while the danger aspect doesn’t scare me off, you’re rich and famous and together and I’m…not.”

“Rich and famous aren’t a self-definition,” he argues. “More like a way of life. Inside, we couldn’t be better matched.”

“I love you for saying that. The way you fight for us. I love that. I love you. I’m just not sure I believe you.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I clap my hand over my face.

Shit. I didn’t mean to say those three words. It was like they just slipped out.

“What did you say?” Dylan asks me.

“I said,” I mumble through my hand. “‘I’m not sure I believe you.’”

“No, the other part. What did you say?”

I drop my hands into my lap and stare into his dark searching eyes.

Dylan scoots closer to me. “Say it again.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

Not right now.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t say those words to anybody. At least, I never have before.”

“Never?” he asks. “What about to your family? Or just a friend?”

“Nope. Never.” At least not that I can remember. “So please understand that when I do say them, it’s a very big deal.”

“Wow. Okay.” He reaches out to stroke my hair. “Are you all right?”

The elevator is suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. “Do you think there’s enough air in here?” I say.

“What? Of course there is. We’re fine, baby. Someone will get the car moving any minute now.”

I take a deep breath. And I realize that he’s right. There is enough air. I’m okay.

I look into Dylan’s dark eyes, and the gold sparkles so brightly I feel like I see all of him. Who he is underneath the fame and the football and everything the world sees. I get to witness this man’s gentleness and tenderness, and I get to feel his love. All that other stuff just fades away.

Before I can stop myself, I take his face in my hands and kiss him. “I hate thinking about the ending,” I say into his mouth.

“Me too. So let’s not think.” His fingers unhook my bra in a second. “I want to be with all of you. Right now. There are no cameras in these elevators—Tim checks all of that crap before I go anywhere. He’s freaking paranoid about everything.”

“I don’t know.” I look up at the elevator panel. “What if they call to us again?”

Dylan’s hot breath on my neck sends chills down my spine.

“Then I guess we’ll answer them. But maybe we’ll be breathless.”

He runs his warm hands over my ribs, pulling up my satin shirt at the same time. When he lifts it over my head, my nipples immediately pucker from the cool breeze of the air-conditioned elevator. Dylan’s gaze is fiery as he notices, and suddenly I’m flat on my back.

“I want you to come so hard you forget you were ever upset with me.” He kisses each of my breasts, and uses his free hand to pull down my jeans at lightning speed.

“I wasn’t up—”

Before I’ve finished speaking, he flips me around to my hands and knees.

Uh-oh.

I’ve never had sex in this position before. I never trusted the guy I was with enough not to see his face.

“Dylan.” My voice is halting.

His hand is between my legs. “I’ll make sure you’re ready, Jasalie. Don’t worry.”

“No, I…” I bite my lip and then spill the truth. “I’ve never done this with someone before.”

He flips me back around so he can meet my gaze. “Which part? The elevator or the position?”

“Well, both. But the part I was talking about was…you know. The doggy-style thing.”

He bites back on a smile. “That’s a horrible description of it.”

“That’s what I’ve always heard it called.”

I glance away. But Dylan tips my chin up with his hand so I have nowhere to look but into his eyes.

“We’ll do something else then. Okay?”

I nod, trying to squash the disappointment I feel.

Because…

Dylan’s gaze flies to mine. “Wait. Do you want to try it? Hell, whatever position you want will make me happy. But you look curious.”

My cheeks are flaming. “No, I don’t.”

His dimples get bigger. “You do. You look very curious. And I’m more than happy to help.”

I felt so exposed when I had my ass up like that a few moments ago. I couldn’t believe how much it turned me on. To have Dylan see me that way. To feel his hand reach for me from behind.

“Will you be able to get inside me from that angle?” I ask him.

He reaches down and pulls my pants and underwear the rest of the way off. “You can spread your legs more this way. And we’ll go really slowly.”

“Do you have a condom with you?”

He produces one from his pocket.

I’m almost disappointed.

I haven’t told Dylan I’m on the pill. Any girl who was abandoned by her teenage mother thinks—a lot—about the concept of an unplanned pregnancy, and I was no exception. I went on the pill right around the age my mother was when she had me. No way was I taking a risk of making the same mistakes as her.

But I don’t feel ready to ask Dylan if he’s been tested and get into some long conversation with him about ditching the condom.

So I grab the foil packet out of his hand, unzip his pants, and help him roll the condom on.

Then I start to turn around. But before I can, he grabs me and kisses me hard on the lips before looking right into my eyes. “It will still be me back here. Even if you can’t see me.”

How did you know? I’m about to say. But the words die on my lips because Dylan shifts me around, and before I know what’s happening, his hardness is brushing my wetness from behind.

“Dylan, God.” I throw my head back, hitting his shoulder.

His arm goes around my torso and his fingers graze my nipple, lightly at first and then harder. I’m trembling already even though he’s not inside me yet. Just the anticipation has my body in spasms.

He keeps one hand on my hip, and his stomach presses up against my ass as he slowly thrusts inside.

Just like the first time, he slides all the way in so effortlessly that we’re both surprised.

“Christ.” His mouth is near my ear now. “Jasalie, I want to fuck the lights out of you right now.”

“Yes.” I push back into him, desperate for the contact. “I want that, too.”

“But we’re making love,” he says more softly as he pulls out and then shifts into me again. “We’re always making love.”

I know what he means. Even when it’s wanton and dirty and a little desperate, maybe because we just fought over something so meaningless, having sex with Dylan is always filled with love.

He fills me so perfectly I nearly scream as he goes as far inside as he’s capable. Farther than anyone ever has. Parts of me that were never touched by anyone before are now being made love to by Dylan.

But I want something more. I can’t even verbalize it because I’ve never had the thought or inclination before to want what I’m suddenly craving. But when he pulls away from me, I arch back, seeking him again.

Dylan’s breath catches when he puts his hand on my stomach and I let out a loud moan.

“Babe.” He nibbles my shoulder as his movements get choppier. “I want to touch you.”

“So touch me,” I dare him as I glance over my shoulder and meet his eyes.

I keep the eye contact as he moves his hand down my stomach and between my legs. I claw at the carpeted floor of the elevator and drop my head.

“Dylan, I can’t take it. I’m going to come. I have to come. Please, God…”

Dylan’s groans are matching mine now, and as his movements get more urgent, he takes both his hands and holds onto my hips like he needs them to anchor him.

“Jasalie, I’m going to co…”

I don’t hear the rest of what he says because my orgasm tears through me. It begins from deep inside and I just…erupt.

Euphoric pleasure fills every part of my body, and I’m still shaking when Dylan’s arms go around me and I’m pulled back onto his lap.

“Unbelievable.” His voice is soft in my ear. “Every time with you is better than the last. Every damn time, Jasalie.”

Whoever said love in an elevator is extra sexy wasn’t kidding.

With no notice, the car starts moving again.

“Crap.” I jump up. “Clothes, Dylan! Clothes!”

He throws me my bra, and then my underwear, before pulling his pants up.

I’ve just finished dressing when we reach the lobby where a staff member is standing. “Everything all right, Mr. Wild?”

“Yes, sir,” Dylan says. “We stopped in between floors for a few minutes. It wasn’t too long.”

The man turns to me. “Are you okay, ma’am? You’re awfully red.”

I pretend to fan my face. “I thought I was going to pass out.”

I hope I don’t smell like sex.

“Well, we’re going to have our maintenance crew check into it further,” he says. “Some people were waiting for this elevator and said they heard strange noises coming from it.”

Must have been the moaning.

I can’t look at Dylan, who says, “Thank you. Have a good day, sir.” He takes my arm and leads me away.