When twenty-one-year-old Leah Carter’s latest one night stand burglarizes her apartment, her roommate forces her to attend therapy for sex addicts. Leah insists she isn’t a sex addict; she just doesn’t do relationships. After all, sooner or later, everyone lets you down.
At first, the group sessions are little more than an education on how to be promiscuous. Until she meets the newest addict—blue eyes, killer body, and a smile that tempts relapse.
Psychology student Will McLean is posing as a fellow addict while researching a case study on unusual addictions. But the more he learns about Leah, the more certain he is that his desire to break through her walls and unearth her secrets has nothing to do with his assignment.
As the uncertainties spike alongside the sexual tension, the only thing Leah knows for sure is that falling in love would be disastrous. Too bad love might be one addiction she can’t kick.
At random points in the past seven days, moments from last week’s session had surfaced in her mind, completely steering her thoughts away from whatever she’d been doing at the time. It had been extremely confusing when she’d been vegging out watching a late night documentary on the migration of wildebeest, and then suddenly, she was thinking about the way Blue Eyes had stood up for her. About the genuine indignation in his voice that had caught her so off guard.
Or the next day when she’d been decorating cake pops with Helena, and suddenly she was remembering the way Blue Eyes had looked at her when he handed over her jacket. Not with the lust of a one night stand or the disgust of some of her classmates or even with the disregard of the other addicts.
He had just looked … thoughtful. Like he wanted to ask her something, and he might actually care about how she’d answer.
Or maybe it was just her imagination twisting the moment into something else.
She sensed him settle into the chair next to her, which made her stomach tighten with excitement. She should just get that apology out of the way, but she wasn’t very good at saying she was sorry. She’d probably screw it all up. So instead, she focused on the counselor as he walked in, maintaining her glare, and determined not to acknowledge the guy beside her. Even though the side of her body nearest to Blue Eyes burned with awareness.
He was close enough that she could lift her hand if she wanted and bridge the distance between them, feel the warmth of his skin against her fingertips. Her resolve weakening, she stole a quick glance in his direction. He looked just as good as she remembered. Better even. This time, his sleeves were short, and the way he stretched his arms back to lace his fingers behind his head made the thin cotton stretch across his chest and his biceps bulge. Her throat went dry. Her pulse quickened.
His gaze shifted, met hers, stayed. There was a question in his eyes, the exact look she’d recalled during her wildebeest documentary, and she wanted to know what it meant.
She drew slow, deep breaths through her nose to steady her heart rate. Just faintly, she caught the scent of what must have been either his cologne or his soap. Fresh sea. Warm sun. Rich earth. It made her want to press her face into that tiny dip at the base of his neck and inhale deeply.
Geez, maybe she really did need help.
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