Undone. CAITLIN CREWS

been an engraved invitation.

      Maya barely remembered what it was like to date, because she never really had. She had always been too busy, too driven, too focused, which was why meeting Ethan at work had seemed so perfect. And she knew this wasn’t dating. Still, she figured the same rules probably applied. Don’t act too eager. Don’t let him see you care. The person who acts the most disinterested has all the power—

      But she didn’t care about any of that. Not now, when she’d already proved exactly how overeager she was and had gotten all those orgasms as a reward.

      Maya smiled, big and bright to make sure he could see it from all the way down there. And if there was a part of her that knew she was doing a face dive into this crazy thing that was as far removed from her real life as it was possible to get—

      Well. Charlie the handyman was a lot sexier than a pint or five of ice cream and her own tears.

      He inclined his head again, then moved out of sight, and she knew he was coming for her.

      She knew it.

      She pushed back from the rail, surprised to find her whole body felt weak. Shaky.

      Ready, something in her whispered.

      Maya headed back into her suite, draping the throw over the nearest chair and smoothing her hands over the soft denim of the jeans she wore. She didn’t look in the mirror. She didn’t want to second-guess herself.

      It felt like free-falling. Like throwing herself over the side of her own balcony and letting the Italian wind pick her up and carry her wherever it wanted.

      Maya wasn’t this kind of person. She plotted and planned. She thought about her future and made sure every step she took in the present led straight where she wanted to go.

      She had never done anything like this in her life.

      Certainly not twice.

      A kind of heat washed over her then, and she knew what it was. Shame, thick and ugly. Lorraine and I fell in love, she could hear Ethan saying. All you’re doing is whoring around.

      You were always so judgmental, Lorraine added, there inside Maya’s head where she lived and breathed and commented no matter how Maya pretended otherwise. Now look at you.

      And when the knock came on her door, faster than should have been possible, Maya jumped.

      Then stared, as if she could make the man on the other side go away with the force of her will.

      But you don’t want him to go away, something in her whispered.

      Maya was the one who had gone away. She had withstood the humiliation of her wedding day. She had ignored the advice thrown at her from all sides and come here. She had ignored every single instinct she’d ever had about her own behavior and she’d had sex with a stranger in a shed, of all places.

      She’d already gone off the rails. Completely.

      What was the point of stopping now?

      She didn’t let herself think about it any further. She didn’t want the shame in her to win—because it didn’t matter what she did here. She would never do what Ethan or Lorraine had done. She would never ever have broken her promises or compromised her loyalty like that. Never.

      It didn’t matter that she didn’t know what she was doing. Hell, it was a good thing she didn’t. What had knowing what she was doing, every step along the way, gotten her so far?

      She crossed the floor, let out a breath that felt too hot and too shaky and maybe a little bit ugly, too, then swung open the door to let him in.

      Charlie had never missed a woman in his life.

      Especially not one he’d already had.

      He never found himself awake at weird hours, reliving the encounter. Wondering where she was, what she was doing. Wishing they could do it all over again.

      Charlie didn’t know what the hell it was about Maya that got to him.

      He’d seen her these past few days, wandering around the small, vertical village. Aimlessly, to his mind. He’d seen her in the piazza, charming the locals with that smile of hers that rivaled the summers here, a comparison he hated himself for making. He’d seen her race up one staircase, then the next, her attention focused on keeping her feet on the old, uneven steps.

      She’d never seen him.

      She’d also never looked for him.