Flashback by Jill Shalvis

I?” His voice was thick with the same hunger and need that was driving her.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood. May I also pretty-please make you scream my name?”
    In answer, she arched up, her breasts pressing into his hard, warm chest, her legs wrapping around his waist.
    He groaned, a low, rough sound that scraped at all her good spots but he didn’t move. “Can I?”
    â€œI don’t usually do much screaming.”
    He just smiled, and then took her mouth as he took her body, indeed driving her out of her mind with all too disturbing ease, and when she exploded again, she cried out his name.
    Loudly.
    She might have even screamed it.
    As the blood finally slowed in her veins, as the roar of it lowered to a trickle in her head, she became aware of the fact that she was gripping him tight, holding him close with her arms and her legs, not letting him escape.
    He didn’t say a word, just nuzzled lazily at her neck as his breathing slowed.
    Hers wasn’t slowing. Embarrassed at how tightly she was holding him, she forced herself to let him go, certain he’d roll away.
    But in perhaps the loveliest thing he’d done all night, he didn’t. Instead, he remained right where he was, turning just his head to press his lips to her jaw, murmuring her name on a sigh.
    It was one of those defining moments, where she suddenly knew the truth—she’d not exacted a single ounce of revenge. In fact, she’d made things worse.
    She’d risked her own heart.
    But for that one moment at least, she didn’t care, because maybe he’d changed. Maybe things could be different this time, and—
    â€œYou screamed my name.” He lifted his head, revealing a strong smile. “You begged.” He out-and-out grinned then, not broken, not even a little bit. “We still work hard.”
    â€œThere’s no we .” She pushed him off her, suddenly and irrationally irritated. “No we at all.”
    Completely oblivious to the picture he made sprawled out on the bed, buck naked, he put his hands behind his head and continued to smile like an idiot. “Are you telling me you have no desire to do that again?”
    â€œNone.”
    â€œAh, Kenzie. You’re such a pretty liar.”
    Yeah. Yeah, she was. A pretty liar, and a good liar. But she had no idea how else to hide the fact that she still had feelings for him in spite of their past—or maybe because of it. God. She needed to get out for a while, needed to clear her head. Get some answers. Alone.
    â€œStay,” he murmured.
    â€œOkay.” She looked at him. “I’ll stay if you tell me this. Why did you really dump me?”
    At that, his amusement faded. “I told you I was an idiot back then.”
    â€œGranted. Why else?”
    He looked at her and she nearly backed down; she certainly held her breath, but he touched her face. “Because I didn’t know what I had.”
    Â 
    A IDAN SLEPT like the dead. Or like a man who’d been far too close to serious exhaustion. When he opened his eyes, he felt the various aches and pains from the fire, and from the mattress gymnastics he and Kenzie had executed, and was grateful to know he had two days off, because more sleep was on his To Do list. Much more.
    So was more mattress gymnastics.
    Considering that Kenzie was wrapped around him like a pretzel, that shouldn’t be too difficult to manage. As he looked into her face, taking in each of the cuts and the bruises there in the light of day, he felt a tug in his belly.
    He wished like hell he could say he was just hungry, but he knew the truth.
    He was a goner.
    She was as cut up and bruised as he was, more so, and if he hurt like hell, he could only imagine how she felt. He was used to such injuries. She wasn’t.
    â€œI realize I’ve spent my days on a television set, where my worst injury was a paper cut from that day’s script,” she whispered, eyes still