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“You need to start thinking about your possibilities,” he says quietly.

Like who? Gary in accounting, who seems like a carbon copy of Tim? The new neighbor down the street who’s at least fifteen years older than me? So badly, I want to confront Noah and ask him who the hell he means and if he’s offering himself up.

But I don’t have the courage.

For the second night in a row, I’m angry with myself and so ashamed.

Noah

Déjà vu. That’s what trekking through Lauren’s house, guided only by the flickering light of the nearly silent TV feels like to me.

Only this time I have so much more to lose.

Last night by my pool, something on Lauren’s face had changed. Her resolve to stay removed from me has slipped. Besides her flushed cheeks, I’d seen tears swimming in her big brown eyes. And the way she’d looked at me in those moments, as if she could barely keep herself from touching me and blurting out whatever is in her heart.

But she stayed silent, damn it, forcing me to plot my next move—only I’m not quite sure now what move to make. As someone who’s never without a plan, I’m suddenly forced to wing it.

I hold in a curse as I creep down the hall, toward her bedroom, aware that working on the fly isn’t my strong suit and everything could blow up in my face.

But something has to give. Hours with Lauren at the office are now the most painful torture. I know I’m close to everything I want, close to persuading her there could be an us. But after ten years of waiting, I’m beyond impatient.

Still, I have cause for hope. Her daughters respond to me, which is important to her. Lauren has acknowledged—even if to herself—that she isn’t going to be happy alone. We’re good together, personally, professionally.

Sexually.

God, yes. Memories of her are enough to make me hard as steel. Sinking into her and drowning sounds like heaven. I care about her. Hell, I love her, more now than ever.

The question is, how to tell her that without scaring her away?

Wearing my black ski mask, I enter her darkened bedroom. Lauren lays on her side wearing a pale, thin tank top and little white cotton panties. I smile. She said she’s more than a white cotton woman when I sent her the red thong. I suspect she has a drawer full of white cotton—and I don’t care. She could wear a potato sack as long as she’s mine.

Easing my way to the bed, I remove the cuffs from the pocket of my jeans, intending to bind Lauren to the headboard. I can’t just fuck her again the way I did Wednesday night. Yeah, it felt just fine while I was balls deep inside her. But the catch in her voice and the tears I heard her shed after she believed I’d gone…they tore me up. But Mr. Mysterious can’t tell her he loves her again. Noah has to be the one to say it this time.

Hell, I wish creating Mr. Mysterious had never been necessary, but I knew I couldn’t talk her into love. I had to show her what she was giving up, how good we could be, how unsatisfying “just sex” is.

Since Tim has thankfully taken the kids again for the weekend, I cooked up Mr. Mysterious one more time. And I hope this is the last time I come to Lauren in disguise.

When I reach the side of the bed, my heart pounds. Damn, I’m hard and hot and ready. But I need to keep my cool.

Taking a deep breath, I clasp Lauren’s wrist in my grip. She surprises me by jerking away from me and rolling to face me.

She’s wide awake.

“I had a feeling you’d be back tonight.”

Shock stupefies me. She’d expected me? What the hell am I supposed to say to that? No clue. But her hostile, challenging expression jolts me right out of my silence.

“Why?” I deepen my voice, changing it until it scratches even my own ears.

“You’re getting predictable. You were here Monday and Wednesday…and now it’s Friday. Your pattern is easy to figure out, and you always seem to know when my children are gone.”

“I pay attention. Apparently, so do you.”

“Why are you here? Got an itch?” she says snidely. “I’m done scratching yours.”

“You didn’t like being treated that way?”

“Like a meaningless one-night stand? Hell no!”