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house, and Rachel wondered what it would be like to live in one of these immaculate Victorians.
    Would her life have been different if she’d grown up here?
    “Keep an eye out for number eighty-two,” Travis told her, slowing the vehicle.
    Rachel peered at each house number as the SUV crawled down the street. A few seconds later, she spotted the house. “There,” she said, pointing to the left.
    Travis steered into the asphalt driveway and stopped the car. Through the windshield, Rachel examined the cream and lilac, three-story house. So idyllic, with its gingerbread trim, curved second-floor balcony, and the long, wraparound porch. Colorful flowers lined the front walk, and Rachel saw a pink tricycle sitting near a large oak tree.
    Did Layla have kids?
    Her throat tightened and tightened until not even a sliver of oxygen could get in. She couldn’t do this.
    “Travis, I think we should go,” she said quietly.
    He switched off the ignition and looked at her. “Why?”
    Why? Why? Because she couldn’t face her dead sister’s best friend. Because the last time she’d seen Layla Kincaid, they’d both been dressed in black and standing next to Carrie’s casket.
    “I’m suddenly not feeling so well,” she said, turning her head.
    She heard Travis shift over and almost gasped when she felt his warm hand on her cheek. Each and every nerve ending in her body sizzled. God, how was this possible? The last time a man had touched her, she’d almost screamed with horror and disgust. So why did Travis’s touch feel so wonderful?
    “It’s all right to be scared,” he said roughly, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.
    She wanted to push his hand away, but her hands were frozen in place. “I’m not scared,” she lied. “I didn’t eat lunch today, so I’m feeling slightly nauseous. Maybe we should just do this another day.”
    “Rachel, we drove an hour to get here.”
    He held her chin with two fingers and pulled her head so that they were looking at each other.
    Anguish filled her eyes and she hoped he didn’t see it. “I know. I’m sorry, Travis, but I want to go.” His gaze remained firm as his hand moved from her chin to her mouth. She almost sighed aloud as he began tracing the seams of her lips with his fingers. “You’re stronger than this,” he said, his voice husky.
    “I’m not strong,” she whispered.
    She saw his eyes soften, saw the sadness and sympathy in them. But what followed, she didn’t see coming.
    Before she could blink, Travis dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.
    His kiss was firm but feather-light. His mouth glided over her lips, and a slow rush of warmth swept through her body and settled in her most intimate places. He demanded, but not like the others, not with the same selfish urgency to which she’d grown accustomed. It was a gentle devouring, and yet she could sense the uncontrolled desire hardening in his body. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, a wave of pleasure crashed over her. For a moment, she felt herself respond, flicked her tongue over his and tasted his spiciness. But the pleasure was soon replaced with fear.
    Rachel’s eyes flew open—when had she even closed them? With a jolt, she moved her head and broke the contact, ended the kiss. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she felt the urge to flee. To jump out of his car and run. Away from Travis and his tempting mouth.
    “Damn, I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, sliding back into his seat. “Don’t know what came over me.”
    When she gathered the courage to look at him, she saw his eyes gleaming with desire, with hunger. A sickening feeling swirled in the pit of her stomach. She knew exactly what came over him. Lust. It was all men ever wanted from women. And all a woman could ever expect from a man.
    Swallowing back a lump of nausea, Rachel clenched her fists. She wasn’t going to be cheapened by a man. She wasn’t going to fall for any more lies, any more professions of