“Please don’t think of me that way. Let me be the guy at the train station.”“You’re not the guy at the train station. You’re my Blake.”

“You're not the guy at the train station. You're my Blake.”

“Remember two eighty-six. Livia now counted on the same sort of feverish, rain-soaked determination that had driven Blake to the train station for smile number two hundred eighty-six. Please be there. He has to be there.”

“Blake turned to Livia. “We were never formally introduced. When your father sees me at the train station from his patrol car, he often stops by later in the day with a bagged meal that he refuses to let me turn down. You, Livia, inherit your generous nature from him.”

“You’re going to kill me. God, you smell so good.” Blake let his clever tongue find its way on her skin.”

“Livia leaped into the Escort and drove straight to Poughkeepsie Station, letting instinct and her internal Blake GPS be her guide.”

“Stop. Stop that. Tell me what happened to you.” She gently ran her fingers down the length of his chest.Blake shook his head. “My life outside of this train station won’t touch you.” His green eyes swam with pain and determination.”