Page 62 of Seven Days in June

“I, for one, am relieved,” said Shane, with a wolfish smile.

Eva giggled into her palm, despite herself. “Why is it still so easy to talk to you?”

Shane gazed at her until the glint in his eye faded a bit. “Always was. It’s just who we are.”

“Do you remember everything?” she whispered. “About us?”

It took him a while to answer. “It’s funny. The past decade is a blur, but I remember every detail of that week.”

“I was hoping I’d romanticized it over the years. That we weren’t real.” Her words sounded delicate, breakable.

There was the quietly hypnotic, faint sound of a piano, and the incense swirled softly. And then Eva felt a familiar pull. Just like when they were seventeen, there was no space between them. There was an overwhelming need to get closer, always.

Unthinking, Eva slipped her hand into his. Shane squeezed it and then brought her hand to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss into her palm. She gasped, electricity tearing through her. It was the slightest touch, but she felt it everywhere.

Eva had been imprisoned in pain for so long, she’d forgotten howgoodfeeling good was. Her entire body roused. Suddenly, she was aware of everything—her skin, her cells, the bones under her skin. Heart fluttering, core throbbing.

Touch-starved.

Shane watched her reaction with lidded eyes. Then he lightly ran his lips along the inside of her wrist. She let out the tiniest whimper, her back arching. It was electric.

Breathless and embarrassed by her reaction, she sat up, burying her face in her hands.No.They were in a public space. Behind an unlocked door. She was a mother! And Shane was a Bold-Faced Name. Were they really fated to get caught dry-humping at an art-world pop-up? The welcome sign saidNO TOUCHING!If they got caught, Book Twitter would implode. Audre would fling herself into the East River.

But then she opened her eyes. There was Shane, gazing up at her, looking for all the world like the reckless, irresistible boy he’d once been—but now with experience and grown-man gravitas and a rugged North African surfing scar and the most fuckable crinkles around his eyes—and nothing mattered.

There was no hell she wouldn’t risk for this man. And he knew it.

“Come here,” he said.

Eva straddled him, her hair falling in his face. Shane ran his hands up the backs of her thighs and over her ass, and then, not gently, he gripped her hips and pulled her down against him. Their lips were inches away from each other.

“Twenty questions,” he whispered.

“Go.”

“Why’d you really come to see me?”

“To ask for the favor.”

“Liar.” Shane tossed her over onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. Instinctively, her legs drew up, wrapping around his waist. “Why’d you come?”

“For you.” Her hips stuttered against his, desperate for friction. “Wanted you.”

“You got me,” he rasped, leaving hot, sucking kisses down her throat. “Your turn.”

Eva trembled beneath him, his mouth scrambling her brain. She couldn’t ask Shane the obvious questions (Where’d you go? Why’d you leave? How could you?). Over the years, she’d trained herself not to care about these answers. Besides, this moment wasn’t about him; it was about her. So she went for something easier.

“Do you ever think of me?”

Lightly, he ran his tongue along her neck, up to her ear, nibbling on her lobe. “I never learned how to stop.”

“Oh,” she said. And then shakily added, “Your turn.”

“So did you? Romanticize us?” asked Shane, eyes catching hers. “Or were we real?”

“We were real,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

“Then?” He ground himself against her and she moaned.

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