Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara went quiet this time, her gaze fixed on the table. She sat there for what felt like ages before finally asking, "How's Aiden?"

She already knew the answer-she'd just called the hospital herself. She was only asking to change the subject.

Dylan was turning his fork and knife in his hands before he finally set them down, his whole posture heavy, as if he was carrying something he couldn't say out loud.

Then it hit her: he'd just asked her something, hadn't he? And she hadn't answered.

With Dylan, not answering was as good as saying no. He never seemed to expect good things, especially when it came to feelings.

Clara took a breath. "Dylan."

He didn't say anything, just kept his eyes lowered, looking lost.

She tried again, "Are you full?"

"Yeah."

At least he answered that.

Clara reached out, running her hand over his shirt-half the buttons were already undone. "If you're done eating, let's keep going. Just skip work today."

He hesitated for a few seconds before finally taking her

it wouldn't be

a lot like Z in one way: if things were good in bed, everything else seemed

it up until evening, and by then Clara was completely spent. She slumped against the sofa, practically asleep, while Dylan-shirt barely buttoned, just his dress pants on-was carefully tending

bounced back fast. She tried to lift her arm to stop him, but she didn't even have the strength. She just let herself lean into his touch,

her up to the bathroom for

he carried her to bed, she finally caved. "I really can't do this anymore. Rain

against her lips. "I'm not a

hadn't planned to

him move around the room. Someone knocked at the door, but she couldn't even be

minute and came back with an armful of his own

as he calmly started hanging his clothes in her

wasn't going to Palm Bay. Looked like

chest tightened, a strange ache she couldn't

his stuff—and even straightened up

wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, her words barely more than

are just like him,