Melora stood before the closed door to her apartment, hand hovering above the knob. Chance was on his way up. Invariably looking too dangerously good for her peace of mind. He always looked good. And she’d generally been able to handle it. Right up until the night a week ago when she’d gotten her hair stuck in his shirt.           Ever since she’d been fighting a losing battle against temptation. It was unsettling. And what made matters worse, Chance had stopped berating talking about marriage. She knew something wasn’t right… This was the relentless, ruthless, single-minded in his unwavering determination to make the world bend to his will, Chance Benson.           Now that she’d been on the receiving end of all that intensive focus, Melora didn’t believe for one minute he’d actually given up the fight. Which meant he’d be

          Chance sat at the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, forearms propped over his knees, jaw painfully set. This wasn’t going to work. He looked over his shoulder at Melora’s sleeping form, quietly curled into herself, a tiny furrow pulled between her delicate eyebrows.          She didn’t want what he was offering… not really. They’d been in the same book, but on different pages from the start. He’d tried not to hurt her, but he’d been an idiot, and in the end that was all he’d managed to do. Even today, when suddenly all the pieces of his life seemed to be falling into place, one jagged edge didn’t fit and he’d felt it cut through Melora’s vulnerable heart.          ‘Just let me love you.’ He shouldn’t have said the words like that.