The door. Someone was at my door.

My first thought, as I pushed myself up from the chair and headed inside, was that Dyson had tracked me down. But I knew better than to get my hopes up. It was probably just someone from the retreat center staff, reminding me checkout was at eleven tomorrow.

When I rose on tiptoe to look through the peephole, I froze at what I saw. No, definitely not a retreat center employee. Dyson stood there, holding two plastic cups.

I weighed my options. I could send him away. Or I could yank open this door and face my own demons. Whether he dumped me or not, working out my own shit was something nobody could take from me.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stepped back. “Can I help you?”

“I’m off work,” he said. “I come bearing drinks. We made you a real Hurricane.”

Did that mean the bartender had shown up? Or had the kitchen staff helped out?

What the hell did it matter? A Hurricane wouldn’t tempt me to open the door. A piece of that chocolate cake people had been talking about all week might, though. I was a huge chocoholic.

But there was a bigger temptation here than chocolate or alcohol, and his name was Dyson. I couldn’t tell him to go away any more than I could stop breathing. I had to see him again.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, I pushed aside the deadbolt and opened the door.

And then I was facing him again, and I wondered how I could have ever found the strength to push him away. But I also knew that opening this door might turn out to be a huge mistake if his goal was to break my heart.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Sure.” I took a step back, holding the door open with my butt. “I guess the bartender finally showed up.”

Those words were just meant as a way to make conversation as he breezed past me. He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face me, still holding the drinks.

“No, some real estate agent showed up. Apparently, she has a talent for making drinks. Does it as a side job. She’s watching the bar for the rest of the night.”

“That’s nice of her.”

This discussion was just weird. We were making small talk in my hotel room after the guy had given me my first-ever orgasm. Not only that—he’d masturbated in front of me.

“You just left,” he said.

I stopped a good distance away from him. Too far for him to hand me one of the drinks, even. I crossed my arms over my chest as though daring him to get past the wall I always put up.

“I’m tired,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at me. “That’s not what this is all about.” He stepped toward me and held up the drink in his right hand. “Tell me if this tastes better than the other one.”

I lifted the drink to my mouth and sipped. A combination of sweet tropical flavors hit my tastebuds, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and savor it.

“It’s perfect,” I said when I opened my eyes again. “I’ve never had a Hurricane, but it’s a delicious drink.”

“Mariah said we should call it a tornado. She modified it a little. No idea how, though. She just said to trust her.”

Mariah. That was the real estate agent he’d mentioned, I assumed. I felt a stab of jealousy, even though I had no right. Would he take up with her once I was gone? Maybe she was closer to his age. They might get married and have kids.

I was being a complete lunatic, and I knew it. But as I stood there, looking into his eyes, I was overwhelmed by an unfamiliar feeling—safety. I could trust this guy. He’d take care of me.

I didn’t know how I knew that. It came from somewhere deep inside.

“My parents abandoned me when I was a baby,” I blurted. “Both of them ran off together and left me with my dad’s mom. She did her best to raise me, but she wasn’t the most loving person in the world.”

That was the understatement of the year. My grandmother was harsh and critical. She had no idea what to do. She hadn’t even raised her own son well, so how could anybody expect her to do a good job with me?

As a result, I’d grown up with a fear of being rejected, like my parents had rejected me. I felt unlovable.