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The solution to her problem was suddenly so obvious, Lance could’ve worn a sign on his forehead that read, “Your Way Out of Incoming Disaster”.
    Wishing to God this wouldn’t be a mistake she would regret for like, forever, Hannah leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “So, Lance, is there anything real to drink around here?”
    Ignoring the conversation around him, Billy watched Hannah as she laughed over something Lance said. He could hear her rich, throaty laugh all the way across the patio and he suspected she’d intended it that way. He sat on one of the foldout chairs across the lawn, his drink untouched over his knee, a hand curled around it.
    Every time Lance brushed her arm or bent to touch her waist, Hannah kept stealing glances his way—as if to check if he was watching.
    Hell yeah, Billy was watching.
    And for a moment he felt like sending his chair flying high into the air—in Lance’s direction.
    Hannah had asked him to act normal at the party, friendly, so Billy had stayed away.
    He’d figured he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her, so distance had seemed the wiser choice. And here he was, sitting like a trained little dog waiting for a sign to go fetch.
    The thought made him grunt.
    Her obsession about people not knowing about them bordered on the insane. And now, hell, now she was coming on to Lance. Right in front of Billy. Evoking a million spirals of emotions inside him, none of them welcome. Much less pleasant.
    Billy wasn’t stupid.
    He knew she’d been hurt.
    He knew she was trying to get over some heartless bastard and move on with her life.
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    Color My Heart
    He could see the anger that lingered inside her in each of her paintings, but he could also see, feel , her passion.
    What they had between them wasn’t normal. It was sizzling hot chemistry and more.
    Her reluctance to embrace it, to admit that what they had was the kind of thing a million people waited a lifetime for, was driving Billy crazy.
    He couldn’t quite make out the way she made him feel, but he’d never felt this way before. He ached to hold her, protect her, make love to her—not just fuck her. He’d had her so many times he’d lost count. And yet each time he did, he wanted more. All of her, all the time.
    At work, Billy usually found himself daydreaming about her, anxious for the clock to move the little hand to the six, the large hand to the twelve, so he could get off and finally get to see her.
    But Hannah was so guarded, spoke so little about herself. Maybe at one point in his life, more than one woman had annoyed the hell out of Billy by going on and on about what she needed, how everyone including her parents had failed to give it to her, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But where Hannah was concerned, Billy wanted—no, craved with every fiber in his being—to know more.
    He wanted to know whose pictures had occupied the empty photo frames in her living room. He wanted to know who’d inspired her to paint that blinding, violent masterpiece he’d seen yesterday. He wanted to know why she’d let Billy inside her body, but not her mind, her heart.
    He wanted to know her , damn it!
    This arrangement sucked.
    “ This is just sex, occasional, no-strings, and certainly no involvement beyond ,” she’d said that second time they’d “bumped into each other”.
    “ That’s fine by me ,” Billy had said. And it had been fine—for like five days. Now it wasn’t fine. Nope. It was not fine at all.
    And the message Hannah was getting across wasn’t very heartening. She was flirting with Lance, leaning close to him, whispering into his ear, right in Billy’s line of vision.
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    And as much as Billy hated watching her, his cock felt like a baseball bat. His balls were heavy, an aching pain inside his underwear.
    He narrowed his eyes, bile rising up his throat. She was trying to drive him away.
    Trying to show him they