he way his lips brush mine feels like heaven. His kisses are gentle, but they have the power to send a shiver from my neck down to my toes.

His arms wrap around me, solid and warm. Just the touch of his skin, the feel of his lips, has the power to ignite a deep burning in my chest. I have to keep reminding myself between kisses that this is going to end badly, that I'm going to get hurt. As soon as he sells the cafe, he'll be heading back to Chicago; where will that leave me?

And yet I can't stop kissing him. He can't stop kissing me. His hand roams my thigh at the same time my nails trail his skin. His back is so soft, and the way his shoulder blades arch as he holds me does something strange to my insides.

I don't ever want this kiss to end. Everything feels too good, as though the world was upside down before I knew how Jordan tasted, and only now is it the right way round again.

His fingers trail my the length of my thigh, brushing my hips. He undoes the belt on my robe and the thing falls open until I'm laid bare in front of him.

He pulls back a little to study my body like I'm a work of art. Then his mouth is on mine again, tasting and teasing while his hands explore my body with a quiet sense of urgency.

This thing is out of control. It's not like I'm a virgin–Ryan and I had sex on plenty of occasions–but having sex with Jordan when I know he's going to leave soon is just setting myself up for heartache.

So why can't I stop?

We're both breathing heavily, overcome with desire. I can see it in the way he pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and hooded as they fall to my lips. His nose is pink and his cheeks slightly flushed; he's looking at me like he wants to devour me.

"We should stop."

I instantly freeze. I know that he's right–we're on the verge of taking this a step too far–but I hate that he says it. He pushes himself off me and sits up properly, running a hand down his jaw. The lust I'd seen in his eyes has been replaced with what looks like guilt.

I sit up behind him, suddenly feeling vulnerable, and cold, and confused. I want to keep kissing him, but that warmth I'd felt from him all of two seconds ago has disappeared for good.

It's so dark in here that I can barely see his face, just the outline of his body. Shadows dust his forehead and cheekbones. I try to make out the rest of his features while I muster up the courage to speak.

"What's wrong?" I ask. I'm replaying the last few minutes in my head, trying to understand what happened.

He's silent for a beat too long. "This is a mistake," he says, his voice low. He refuses to look at me, and I've never felt more rejected.

My stomach sinks. Any minute now and the universe will do me a favor and swallow me up. "A mistake?"

He looks at me now, his eyes dark. Serious. "Look, I don't want to hurt you."

I'm already hurt, but I don't tell him that. Instead, I let a second or two pass as I study my hands. "Okay?"

The muscles in his jaw contract. He goes to speak, then stops before trying again. "I'm selling the cafe, and doing this–" he indicates between us, "–is just going to complicate things."

Finally, I look at him, too mad to take the high road. "Do you know what might uncomplicate it? Not selling the cafe."

He shakes his head and gets to his feet in order to put some distance between us. "We've been through this."

I get to my own feet, because he's not getting away with this that easily. He's the one who kissed me during that first thunderstorm in the cafe; he doesn't get to suddenly decide that it'll make things too complicated.

"Why did you kiss me that night in the cafe if you didn't want it to get complicated?" I snap. I'm standing so close to him, practically pressed to his chest. I'm suddenly furious. I don't know whether it's because of the rejection or if it's the mention of the cafe, but that fire in my chest is replaced with a different kind.

"Because," he says, and then he stops.

I'm two seconds away from pulling out my hair. "Because what?"

"Because I wasn't thinking," he says. "Because I didn't think I'd end up liking you."

I'm about to argue when I realize what he's said. "You like me?"

He gives me a look. "Don't ask me why."

Rude, but I ignore it. All I can think about is that Jordan likes me, and maybe this night can be salvaged. I grab him by the waist and pull him toward me. "I haven't even shown you the good stuff about the island yet," I insist. "Once you see everything, you'll–"

His eyes darken. He takes a step back. "I'm not changing my mind."

I can't keep the hurt off my face. "Then why did you go along with it?" I ask. "Why did you let me think that there was a chance you wouldn't sell?"

He looks away. "I shouldn't have done that. You were just so excited that I couldn't say no."

I shake my head; it's like the second something good starts to happen, it's taken away. "Why are you so desperate to sell?" I ask. "Help me to understand, Jordan. What do you need the money for?"

I can tell he's about to ignore this question, but then he thinks better of it. "My mom grew up on this island, too." He looks at me now, and I lower myself onto the bed. "She went to college in Chicago where she met my dad, and he convinced her to stay. You could tell my grandpa was pretty upset about it, but he understood that she needed to live her own life, and they tried to keep in contact." He stops for a second, as though he's not sure he wants to continue.

"What happened?" I ask.

"Last year, everything fell apart. My dad left us and my mom got diagnosed with MS. She couldn't work anymore. We can barely make ends meet. Mom didn't want Grandpa to know she was suffering, so she never told him. Then, out of nowhere, we got a phone call to say that he'd died. It turned out, he'd been suffering, too."

My chest tightens. I suddenly feel awful for thinking badly of the owner of the Big Fish cafe. He hadn't neglected it because he didn't care, he'd neglected it because he was dying.

"He didn't have much," Jordan says. "He'd had to sell his house when the medical bills started piling up. The only thing he had left was this cafe, and he left it to me."

I stand up again and pull him toward me. "Would he want you to sell it?"

"What am I supposed to do?" Jordan asks. "My mom and I are about to become homeless. We've got medical bills we need to pay off. No bank with any sense will give me a loan. Selling this cafe was supposed to be our saving grace, and then you came along."

My eyes soften. I wanted to be mad at him, but I can't anymore, not after that. "You could both move here. You could run the cafe."

Jordan gives me a look as though I'm being naive. "I've looked at the books, Evvy. The cafe is already hemorrhaging money, and where would we live? We can't afford to rent anywhere around here."

"The books are bad because the tourists hardly visit us," I say, "but if we did up the cafe, they'd soon flock back."

"Do up the cafe with what money?" he asks, "and that doesn't solve the problem of where we'd live. I've gone through every other option in my head, and this is the only one I have." He takes my hands and unwraps them from his waist. "The storm's passed," he says, looking to the window. "You should get going."

My heart sinks. I want to stand here and argue all night, because that's what I'm good at, but I can see the resolve on his face. Jordan isn't changing his mind, which means the only thing I can do right now is give up, so I do.