Warren asks me to help him make dinner an hour after we get back from a local market. Although it's my birthday, I agree to help because all I want to do is spend time with him. Besides, I'm no match for the power of his adorable dimples and Atlantic-blue eyes.

While he's gathering up everything we need for prep, I get changed and fix my hair. After a long day of kayaking and swimming, my hair is a mess of unruly curls. It takes the longest to fix, but when I'm satisfied, I change into the black dress and apply a thin layer of makeup.

I'm just stepping into the kitchen when I hear Warren curse. Something clatters to the floor, and I have to smother my own laughter as I watch him collect a spatula and pan off of the hardwood. Thanks to many stories told by Hazel, I know Warren lacks culinary skills. But at least he's trying.

As I retrieve the food from the fridge, I can feel Warren's eyes on me. I try not to think too much about the day I bought the dress.

I've just grabbed the green beans, salmon, and lemons when I feel his arms wrap around my waist.

"Hi," he whispers. "I love the dress."

"I know," I reply. "A little bird told me you liked the black one better."

He laughs. "You know what I was thinking when I first saw you in it?"

I shake my head.

His voice drops to a low, sultry whisper. "I was thinking about how good you'd look without it on. How easy the dress would be to take off of your sexy body."

My breath catches in my throat and I grip the food close to my chest. Was he actually thinking that? Or is he just teasing me?

Warren lets go of me and turns back to the countertop. I watch as he sprays a casserole dish with Pam. When that's complete, he turns back to me. "What does the birthday girl want done with the salmon?"

I stand there for a moment, looking at him with a small smile on my lips. He knows I hate celebrating birthdays, yet he's still milking it. I'm sort of annoyed, but I'm also extremely happy. Nobody has ever pushed my limits like he has. I don't understand why he'd do so much for me, but I can't say I don't appreciate it.

"Um," I say, setting the food down next the dish. "Maybe just dill, lemon, garlic, and butter? That's how my mom makes it. It's one of those never-fail recipes."

"Sounds good," he says, picking out the needed items.

While he preps the salmon, I start working on the green beans. I wash them, cut the ends off, and then use a spice mixture, along with some infused cooking oils.

When the salmon is in the oven and the beans are simmering in a pan, we get to work on the salad. He chops the lettuce into bite-sized pieces. I handle the accessories: tomatoes, cucumbers, pecans, golden raisins, green apples, and carrots.

After all the prep is done and we're waiting on the salmon to cook, Warren opens a bottle of red wine. I grab two glasses from the cupboard, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that the people who rent this cabin out supply the dishes.

Warren pours two glasses and I pick mine up, taking a small sip. It's delicious, and out of curiosity, I look at Warren. He's looking at his glass of wine as if he's never seen one. And, when he takes a sip, I almost drop my glass.

He spits a mouthful of wine into the sink, a look of disgust on his face. "How the hell do you drink this shit?" he asks, using his hands to bring water to his mouth. "It's disgusting."

I frown at him. "It's an acquired taste. Just like coffee."

"Yeah," he says, turning off the tap. "Well, this is nothing like coffee or the alcohol I prefer. I'll stick to whisky from now on."

"You've seriously never had wine before?" I laugh.

"Do I look like the type of person who drinks wine?" he retorts.

"I suppose not," I reply, squinting at him.

I don't know when he got so close to me, but I feel his arms wind around my waist, and then he proceeds to pull me close. We stare at each other for a moment, goofy smiles on our faces.

"I've been looking forward to this," he says.

I smile. We're alone together for the first time as a couple, and I can't stop myself from admiring how much we've overcome since the beginning. With Warren beside me, nothing else matters. It feels good to care about someone again.

Setting my wine glass down, I lace my fingers with his. "You know," I say, "you never told me when your birthday was."

Warren's face falls. "You...You don't know when my birthday is?"

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, dreading the possibility that I've missed it. That is, until I see his cheek twitch.

"Warren! You asshole!" I say, punching his arm. "That's not funny!"

"But you make it so easy," he laughs. "Teasing aside, I was born on December twenty-fourth. A big, healthy, handsome baby boy."

"Your birthday is on Christmas Eve?" I ask.

"Yeah," he shrugs. "I wish it was in the summer, but we can't have everything we want. Besides, December isn't too bad. See, my dad's parents live in Kelowna, and when I was younger, we used to stay at their lodge up at Big White and go skiing, play some hockey on the frozen pond, sled. It was a lot of fun. I wish we could go back there."

"That does sound like it would be a lot of fun," I agree, nodding my head.

Warren kisses my forehead. "We'll have to go sometime. Kelowna's not too far away from Vancouver. And, the best thing about that place is that no matter what time of year you go, there is always something to do. The hiking is phenomenal."

"I'd like that," I smile.

"Then we'll do it."

"One condition, though."

"Shoot."

"You are not paying for all of it like you are with this trip," I say.

Warren thinks for a moment and then pouts in a playful way. "What if I like spoiling my girl?"

I roll my eyes. "While I'm completely flattered, I don't want it to seem as though I'm using you."

He frowns and tips my chin up. "You're not using me."

"I know," I sigh. "But sometimes it feels like I am. I'm staying with you for free. I feel like I owe you."

"Nova," he says. "You don't owe me anything. This whole thing was my idea."

I contemplate his words. "Okay, point taken. But I'm serious. If we go on a trip, we split it, deal?"

He smiles and plants a quick kiss on my cheek. "Whatever. Okay. As long as we're together, right?"

With my heart beating violently, I begin to shift to my tiptoes, ready to kiss him again. But then the timer goes off and he pulls away.

Grabbing a cloth, Warren says, "Go sit down, birthday girl. I'll dish you up."

When I don't move, he nudges me toward the four-person dining room table. "Come on, Novs. I got this."

There's something about the way he's looking at me that causes shivers to run down my spine. And I like it.

* * *

"So," I say after we've finished tidying up the kitchen. "Got any room for dessert?"

I think about the cherry pie and ice cream we bought. While I normally avoid sweets, the combination is a sure weakness of mine; I can never decline it when it's offered to me.

"God," Warren says, hoisting himself up onto the countertop. "I don't know. I ate too much."

"It's my birthday," I say, heading for the fridge. "And there's always room for dessert."

"Oh," he taunts. "Now you're playing the birthday card? When my stomach feels like it's going to explode?"

"I suppose I am," I reply.

"Well," Warren says. In the background, I hear him slide off the countertop. "It turns out I am in the mood for dessert."

I freeze, my hand gripping the handle. Something tells me Warren isn't talking about the cherry pie and ice cream. The ideas that are suddenly running through my head scare me to death.

"Ice cream and pie?" I ask, playing stupid.

"Actually," he challenges. "I think you know what I want."

Swallowing hard, I look over my shoulder. He's looking me over, memorizing every aspect of my body that's currently visible.

"Still can't believe you bought that dress," he says, eyes sweeping from my face down to the dress. He takes his time where the collar dips low. "So sexy."

I run a hand over my dress, smoothing it out.

"Come here, Novs."

Dropping my hands, I walk to him. My nerves fray with each step I take, so it's no surprise when I stop a few feet away from him.

Cocking his head to the side, he looks me over again. Grins.

The heated tension in the air is thick, and there's something irresistible about him when he acts like this; when he's playful, teasing, and dangerous.

It's as if he's in charge and won't take no for an answer.

Like no matter what, he's going to get what he wants.

The very idea paralyzes me. If I take one more step, things are going to change forever. I'm ready for it – God help me, I'm ready for it. But I'm also frightened by the fact that he's the man who showed me it's okay to love again, to move on, to be happy.

"Nova."

I look up from the tile. The look on his face causes my breath to catch. I've seen that look before.

So, under the heat of his gaze, I take that one step. And then another. v

Warren meets me halfway, wrapping his arms around me as I say, "I don't want this summer to end. It's going by too fast, and I want time to slow down."

His body tenses against mine. The simple change in body language is all I need to understand that he's not keen on summer ending either. Because, when it ends, it means we have to go back to campus, where we'll no longer be roommates. And although there's probably someone in the world that can be as annoying as Warren, I know there is no way I could love them as much.

"Speaking of next semester," he starts. "Are...Are you still planning on moving out?" His fingers trace a gentle pattern against my arm as he speaks.

"Yes," I whisper. "That's still the plan."

The words hurt like ice being pressed against my skin.

But what hurts even more is the sadness in Warren's eyes.

Then, unexpectedly, Warren slides his hands down to my butt, cupping it as he lifts me onto the counter. We're face-to-face when he leans forward and presses his forehead against mine.

Without saying a word, he grips my thighs and pushes them apart. He steps between my legs, pressing his body against mine, and I have to stifle a gasp. My palms flatten against the cool surface of the countertop.

Warren presses his lips to the sensitive spot below my ear, licking and sucking and sending violent shivers down my spine. Goose bumps begin to dance across my skin as his lips travel from my neck up to the corner of my mouth.

"Stay," he whispers. "I want you to stay with me."

"Okay," I whisper back. "I'll talk to Julia. See what she can do for us."

"Us," he murmurs. "I like that. Us."

Reaching up, I rest my hands on his shoulders. "What were you saying about dessert?"

He grins. "I'm starving for you, baby."

I swallow my anxiety and arch my hips against him.

"There are so many things I want to do to you," he continues, hooking my legs around his waist. He moves his hips, allowing me to feel just how much he wants me.

A small moan escapes my lips. "Then do it," I say, feeling bold.

Warren doesn't hesitate – he touches his lips to mine, nibbling on my bottom lip. "Can you even comprehend what I want to do to you?" he murmurs.

Pictures of what's to come flitter across my mind. Slowly, I nod, fighting this unexplainable urge to be closer to him, to have nothing between us. I want to feel him, skin-on-skin.

"I've wanted you since the moment I met you. Back then, it was just for the sex. Now? I want all of you – body, heart, and soul. So, Nova Elliot, will you let me?" His lips graze my ear.

My heartbeat quickens. "Yes," I reply hoarsely.

His calloused hands find their way to my inner thighs, and the touch is like an electric shock. As he massages my inner thighs, I reach for the hem of his shirt and tug at it. As quick as he can, Warren steps back and removes his shirt, tossing it to the floor. When he's standing in front of me again, I reach out to touch him.

I can't stop myself from marvelling at him. He's stunning – beautiful. His skin is tanned and smooth. When I let my hands slide lower, I trace the faint line of hair below his navel. He sucks in a deep breath. I freeze, unsure, and look up.

His eyes are closed and the muscles in his shoulders look taut, as if he's restraining himself. He takes a deep breath. "Keep going."

Warren's nervousness enthrals me. He's never been nervous around anyone, let alone a girl. My selfish side loves it.

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter as I trace the defined planes of his torso, a deep groan escaping his lips. I press my palm flat against his abdomen. His skin is hot, muscles hard.

"Novs," he murmurs, pressing a delicate kiss to my lips. "Please. I want you so badly."

"Okay, Warren," I murmur against his lips. "Okay."

His tongue touches the seam of my lips, coaxing me to part them. I don't do it instantly, but just as I'm about to, Warren pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently.

The gasp of surprise that leaves my mouth allows Warren to slide his tongue against mine with a growl of approval. In that moment, something changes. He tangles his hands in my hair, gripping it tightly as he angles my head to deepen the kiss. We're hot, hungry, and fervent, and I feel like I'm burning.

"I have never wanted someone so desperately," he rasps. "Fuck, I don't know what you've done to me, but I don't want it to stop." He pulls away to take my face in his hands.

Thoughts flitter across my mind, but I can't seem to convert them to words, so I nod my head, silently urging him on.

He keeps his blue eyes locked with mine as his hands slide down to the zipper of my dress, which he unzips at a slow rate. So slow it's almost painful. And when his fingertips graze my skin, I moan. I need more of him.

All of him.

"Please," I whisper, closing my eyes.

That's all it takes to spur him on. In an instant, he's pulled my dress down to my waist, exposing my bare upper body, save for my bra. I watch as he takes me in, his eyes travelling from the curve of my neck to the new tattoo.

With his skilled hands, he lifts me up, and then pulls my dress off, discarding it to the floor. When he looks at me, he stops and lets his eyes drink in every detail of me. The look of hunger and appreciation makes my heart beat frantically.

"Do you understand how beautiful you are?" he asks, his voice rough. He traces a line down my throat; touching my skin just enough that it tickles a little. He continues down my body until he's tracing the outline of my bra. My breath catches again. I want this. Oh God, I'm so ready.

"Warren," I whisper, straining toward him. "Please."

He closes his eyes, giving himself a moment to try and catch his breath, before opening them and saying, "You're going to be the death of me, baby girl."

With that, he loops his arms around my waist, making sure I'm pressed hard against his body, and lifts me up. He slams his lips against mine, never tearing them away as he carries me to the bed.

Our lips only part when he lays me down on the bed and takes a step back. With the hazy sunset outside, there's only a faint amount of light coming through the windows, but I'm still able to watch as Warren unbuckles the belt of his jean shorts with skilled movements. Our gaze never breaks throughout the whole process. I gulp when I hear the sound of his belt and shorts hitting the floor.

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Warren inches carefully up the mattress until his body covers mine.

The air is charged and heavy – a combustion waiting to happen.

I take one deep breath before Warren's mouth claims mine.

A shudder runs through my body immediately, and Warren's hum of approval vibrates against my lips. His kiss is different, now alternating between soft and demanding, giving and teasing. Hands slide behind my back, and I feel his fingers expertly unclasp my bra. The noise it makes when it hits the floor is lost to me because Warren's lips are travelling lower and lower, his stubble scratching my skin in the best way possible.

When he comes to the tattoo, I can't help but moan. Feeling his lips touch my newly inked skin is astounding.

Wanting to touch him, to repay him for making me feel this sense of euphoria, I slide my hand down his torso until I come to the waistband of his black boxer briefs. I pause.

"Keep going," he pants. "Fuck, Novs, keep going. Please."

So I do, slipping my hand underneath the tight elastic that hugs his waist. Wrapping my hand around him, I stroke him once – slowly and experimentally. When I repeat the action, applying more pressure and trailing my thumb along the tip, he groans with pleasure.

I do it a couple more times before he grabs my wrist. He looks me directly in the eye. "You keep doing that," he growls, "and this isn't going to last very long."

I lean up to kiss him, finding it funny that he can't make up his mind when he's hot and bothered. "Did you bring a condom?" I whisper.

He nods, and then removes my hand from beneath his boxer briefs. He gets off the bed and walks over to where he dropped his shorts. I watch as he pulls his wallet from the back pocket, opens it, and then pulls out a square foil packet.

"Came prepared, did you?" I tease.

"Call it wishful thinking," he smirks.

I chuckle along with him. We both knew this was going to happen sooner than later.

Before he comes back to the bed, he removes his boxer briefs. I can't stop myself from staring. Everything about him is perfect. And, to show him how much I want him, I remove my underwear.

Warren's eyes widen the slightest bit, like he can't believe this is happening.

In a flurry of movements, he tears open the package, slides the condom on, and then gets back onto the bed, moving until he's hovering over me again.

A hand reaches up to cup my face. His eyes search mine. "Are you ready?" he whispers. "Really ready?"

I nod, my body aching for his. "Yes," I whisper. "Please."

Taking my hands in his, he raises my arms so he can pin them to the mattress on either side of my head. My eyes widen in surprise. Not because I'm surprised by his actions – I was expecting him to take total control – but because this is actually going to happen. Without alcohol. It's happening between two people that love each other.

Emotion flashes across his face as he pushes forward, gently and carefully.

"Fuck," he bites out as he pushes harder. "Novs, fuck...so good."