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I take a step closer before I can stop myself, heat pulsing through me. “I was trying to keep you safe!” I don’t know if I’m talking about her traipsing around in the storm or collapsing in on herself on her porch—or maybe both. Because all I wanted in both instances was tohelpher. Just like I do now.

Her voice cracks just a little. “I don’t need you to keep me safe, Cruz. What I need is for you to stop treating me like I’m some kind of burden you got stuck with.”

My jaw tightens. “I don’t feel that way.”

She bites out a humorless laugh. “Yes, you do. You hate me.”

“Don’t say that,” I start, but she cuts me off.

“It’s fine, Cruz.” She says it not like she means the words but simply because she wants me to stop talking.

God, I feel sick to my stomach. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel worse. How did this conversation go awry so quickly?

“Sorry that my outfit fails your approval,” she mutters, stalking across the kitchen to a nearby chair where a piece of fabric is draped. “For your information, I wore a robe down here. Just wasn’t expecting company in the kitchen.”

She grabs the robe, wrapping it tight around her body. It doesn’t do much to lessen the appeal of her, though.

“Your outfit’s nice,” I say, wishing I could take back all my stupid comments. In an effort to simply talk aboutanythingwith her, I stuck my foot in my mouth. Big time. “And you don’t have to leave,” I add, seeing her grabbing her cabin keys off the counter.

She stares at me for a long moment, some of the fire dying in her eyes. Her shoulders soften. She hugs her robe tighter around her torso, and then her gaze rises to meet mine. In her eyes is an inscrutable mixture ofemotions, but there is one thing I recognize. Or at least I think I do.HopeI do.

Desire.

Her gaze dips to my lips, then back up to my eyes.

If we weren’t across the room from each other, I’d already be kissing her. Already have her pressed up against the countertop, her legs wrapped around my waist, my hands in her hair. And I’m just about to take a step toward her too, but she breaks the moment.

Staring down at her feet, she mutters, “I hope you like the muffins,” before hurrying past me and out the door.

I stand there like an idiot, watching her go, until it’s just me and my half-eaten chocolate-chip muffin in my hand.

I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.

I toss the muffin on the countertop, taking a deep breath and then running my hands over my face. “Fuckingfuck,” I mutter to myself.

What is wrong with me? Fighting with this poor girl like she’s the bane of my existence. No wonder she thinks I hate her.

And more upsetting …why do I care?

Am I actually falling for Addison Thatcher? For one, she’s Tate’s cousin, which should make her firmly off limits. Inappropriate. And for another, she’s everything I never thought I wanted in a woman. Rich, preppy, wrapped up in city life and all the problems that come with it. Compared to my calm, predictable life, she could be a grenade that blows it up.

And yet, I don’t care.

Staring at the wall opposite me, I realize the decision is practically being made without me. Or, at least, without the rational part of me.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, turning on my heel and storming out of the mess hall.

Hands in my pockets as I march down the road, I run over all the reasons why I shouldn’t do what I’m doing. But as my cabin comes into view and I pass it,those reasons become dumber and dumber. Or at least further away.

Addison’s cabin appears, and I force myself up the steps, my mind screaming a million contradictions at me.

I knock—hard. My heart is pounding in my ears.

There’s a pause, and then the door opens, Addison’s startled gaze colliding with mine. She opens her mouth, but I beat her to it.

“I don’t hate you.” It comes out of me ragged and breathless as I stand at her doorway like a man possessed.

Addison blinks, and seconds tick by. One, two, three. My chest constricts. Then a whisper of a breath leaves her lips. “I don’t hate you either.”