I glance over at her another time. I can’t keep the concern from my face.

She let me wrap my jacket around her shoulders but she’s in a trance. It’s obvious she was in no way ready to leave that hospital bed, and I’m starting to kick myself for aiding in her escape. Her russet curls are tangled and tucked inside my jacket, and I feel an urge to pull them out, to let them cascade down her back.

I resist the urge, instead engaging her in conversation to make sure her mind is still working as it should be.

“You okay?” I ask.

Her gaze darts back to me before locking back onto the frosty window. Her eyebrows are furrowed, like she’s in the middle of a math test and she can’t remember the answer to a question. She turns back to me again after a moment, and her eyes are luminous and azure, even in the darkness of my truck.

“It’s December,” she says.

I stare at her before focusing back on the road, my hands loose on the steering wheel.

“Last I checked, yeah,” I reply.

There’s a pause, where I wait for her to explain why the fact that it is the day the calendar says it is might be a strange occurrence.

“I… I seem to have lost some memories from the accident.”

“And you didn’t feel that was necessary to tell the doctor?”

Her eyes narrow slightly, and I’m reminded of a cat. She’s on her haunches, ready to spring at any sign of aggression. Her legs were tied to that chair. Who is this woman? And what did she get herself into?

“I didn’t realize that I had lost memories until I saw the snow. The cops didn’t exactly quiz me on my holiday plans and –” I cut off, swallow. Okay, I’m panicking a little now. Panicking a lot, actually, and I need to stop. “I wouldn’t have told her anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of a good idea.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t care.”

We sit in silence again, the hum of my truck’s engine purring as we drive down city streets. The curve of her cheek creamier by the transient orange glow of street lamps. I can help thinking about what other creamy skin I’d like to run my tongue along. As it is, the woman is a victim of a crime, and I tuck away my more primal urges.

There’s still a yellowish stain from something hitting her chin. I focus on that mark, reminding myself that something bad happened to her, and me thinking with my dick is the last thing she needs.

Something pokes at me, tickling the back of my brain until I have no choice but to voice it.

“You remember me.”

When she glances over, her eyes are thoughtful, concerned. It’s like diving into an ocean, and I’m tempted to drown in those depths.

“I know,” she says, measuring the words carefully. “Odd, isn’t it?”

She stops then, her gaze dropping to the floor, and a bloom of color spreads along her perfect cheekbones. Is she admitting that she might have felt a little something more for me that day? She sinks back into the passenger seat, closing her eyes as her perfect lashes caress her cheek.

She looks pale as a damn ghost.

“I think we should go back to the hospital. You need more help, especially if you’ve lost memories. That’s not a good sign, Scarlett.”

The stubborn little thing shakes her head, opening her eyes and challenging me with her glare. “No.”

It’s a small word. Amazing how two letters can be so infuriating, frustrating beyond measure.

“I never knew you were so stubborn,” I say, driving on.

She’s a grown-ass woman. I’m not going to force her to take care of herself. That’s something she has to do on her own. I’ve already saved her life once.

“I’d wager there’s a lot you don’t know about me, given we’ve only ever had one or two conversations. Or have we had more?”

It’s a legitimate question. She’s not being facetious.

I shake my head, answering her honestly. “Nope. I tend to work a lot, so I don’t see many people unless I’m saving them.”

She nods but allows the comment to go without a response. My truck pulls up to the street near our three-unit apartment, and I deftly parallel park into a space by the front door. Before she can reach for the handle, I’m out of the truck on her side, opening her car door for her.

“You don’t have to do that,” she protests but I can tell she’s not sincere. She nearly falls out of the truck, and I have to cradle her against my side to help her down.

“I suppose one last attempt to get you back to the hospital is going to go the same way,” I say, and when she looks up at me, an electric jolt runs through my body.

I remind myself that the soft, supple body of a woman is just that. It’s a body. When the end of the day comes, there’s no pleasing a woman. It doesn’t matter how hard you try.

“You’re learning,” she breathes, not releasing my side. Her arm is wrapped around my waist for support, and I do my damned best not to focus on her fingertips pressing into my side. Her hands are so cold. Everything in me wants to warm them.

I support her until we reach the front door, and when we arrive, I fumble around with my keys until I find the right one, shoving it in the lock and pressing the door inward. A rush of warm air hits us, the scent of ancient, polished wood welcome as we step inside the foyer and walk the few paces past the mailboxes to her doorway.

She stares at the lock, at a loss.

“I don’t remember where I put my key,” she admits, rubbing her temples with a finger and thumb as though staving off a headache.

I’m about to offer her a place on my couch when her head lifts up and she snaps her fingers.

“Yes! Hopefully, this I do remember correctly,” she says, stepping to the side of her front door.

She presses against a wooden panel, and the wood gives, revealing a small hole in the wall. Scarlett pulls a key from the hole, holding it up for me to see with a look of triumph in her eyes.

“Ah ha! It appears I haven’t forgotten everything,” she says, turning toward the door.

She fumbles with the key, unable to get it into the lock. I can’t help myself. I lay my hand over hers, and when she looks up at me, I can hardly breathe.

How did I never notice how stunning this woman was?

Maybe when I promised myself never to look at another woman again.

“Maybe I should stay with you.”

Her eyelashes flutter like a pair of black butterflies, and I can almost feel the gentle breeze coming off them. Her eyes dart to my lips for a fraction of a second, and I don’t think she realizes that I notice. I don’t want her to get the wrong impression, even if my dick does stir at the sensation I get being around her.

“You can’t even open your door by yourself. It might be helpful to have someone around, just in case you need help.”

She leans away from me, her expression closing.

“Um, I don’t know…” she says.

I step back, giving her the space she clearly needs. It can’t hurt for me, either. There’s something electric that happens to me when she is near, and now is not the time.

Did you hear that, dick? Now is not the time.

“I’m recently divorced,” I blurt.

She lifts an eyebrow at me. Damn, why I can’t be more eloquent?

“Just… I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not looking for a good time here. I’m genuinely concerned for your welfare.”

Her eyes are searching mine, and even as I say them, the words fall a little flat to my own ears. I haven’t had any interest in a woman since my divorce, it’s true but I can’t deny that for the first time since that experience something within me is awakening. None of that matters, of course, if this woman goes to sleep and doesn’t wake up. Head injuries are scary things.

A memory darts across my mind, and I shut it out, as I’ve been trained to do.

“That’s sweet of you but really. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt of that,” I say, surprised by my disappointment.

She turns then, hyper focusing on her lock as she shoves the key inside and turns it, pressing the door inward. She stares into the darkness, and I peek over her shoulder.

What was probably a nice apartment is a pile of junk—everything is in shambles. Broken plates and glasses are strewn about the kitchen down the hall, plain even in the dark. Straight ahead and to the right there is a flat screen TV on the ground, haphazardly leaning against a nice wooden coffee table—perhaps the only piece of furniture still intact. We’re staring at the room together for a beat before she turns and looks up at me.

“On the other hand, maybe, if your offer is still good, I might be able to stay with you?”

A wave of protectiveness washes over me that’s so strong I can’t speak. She seems to take this as a rejection, because she rambles on.

“I mean, the couch would be fine, for a night. I can figure things out in the morning. I’m so tired.”

Her eyes confirm this. They are heavy with exhaustion, and I want to scoop her up into my arms like I did before and carry her upstairs, away from this frightening scene. Instead, I nod.

“Of course you can. Come on.”

I lead the way up to my apartment on the second floor, trying not to glance back every other second to make sure that she doesn’t collapse and fall down the stairs. We reach my door without preamble, and I shove my own key into the lock, pressing the door open.

I make it two steps inside, Scarlett close behind me, when my dog Buster dashes over to us from the kitchen, tail in full wag mode. He glances at me dismissively before darting right to Scarlett, rubbing against her legs as his tongue laps at her borrowed clothing.

“Whoa, hey, there,” Scarlett says, kneeling down.

Buster doesn’t miss his chance to run his tongue along the lines of her face, and Scarlett lights up, smiling for the first time since waking. It completely transforms her. Even in the face of fear and hardship, that smile makes her glow.

“Ah, so you’re the wild one running around all the time up here. I’ve often wondered,” she says, and Buster gets a little over amorous, toppling her to the ground as she releases that musical laugh.

“Hey, now, bud. Calm down. This lady’s been through a bit of a rough ride.”

I’ve trained Buster well. He knows my tone, and when I mean business. He backs away, though Scarlett still takes a moment to stroke his golden coat.

“I’ve always loved golden retrievers,” she sighs.

“Best breed, hands down,” I agree, happy to be talking about something that makes her smile.

Because I sure as hell haven’t forgotten the meaning of the mess downstairs. It hasn’t escaped me for a second that the only reason she might be alive right now is because whoever did this to her must think she’s dead – ashes in the rubble.

After another pet, Buster trots back into the kitchen, and we can hear him lapping loudly from his water bowl. I turn and face the sofa. Our apartments are designed exactly the same, with the living room to the right and the kitchen down a small hallway to the left. Just past the kitchen is my bedroom, and it’s beckoning.

It’s been a long couple of days. “We need to call the cops,” I say. “Your apartment’s been trashed and it’s evidence.”

Scarlett bites her lip, wrapping her arms around herself. I stare at her, ready to help in any way I can. When she looks up at me, she is pure vulnerability.

“I’ll call them for you,” I say. “Let them know what happened. You take a shower, and yeah, I’ll call you when they’re here. They’ll take care of all of this.” I gesture down the hall toward the bathroom before leading the way there, standing at the entrance as I leave an opening for her to walk through.

She turns and looks at me from beside the bath. “I don’t – It’s dumb to say I’m scared about this. Obviously, I am, but Isaac – I –”

“I’m here,” I say, and growl a little. “I will be here all night. No one’s going to touch you while you’re under my roof.”

“Thanks,” she says, and rubs her arms. “After that’s done, I’ve got to call my mom too. I can’t deal with her coming down here, right now. I love her, but things are too… you know. Complicated.”

“Sure, you can borrow my phone. Anything you want, Scarlett.”

I shut the bathroom door for her, traipse down the hall and call up the cops, explain the situation. They’ll be down to check it out soon, but I can’t help regretting that. She’s been through so much already. I don’t want anything to upset her any more than it already has.

A half an hour later, Scarlett emerges squeaky clean, and wearing the same sweats I loaned her. She sits on the sofa and I offer her a mug of hot chocolate. She slurps on it gratefully and wait for the cops to ‘drop in.’

They do, at last, and the questions are exhaustive. Tiring. The lead Detective, Mullins, is a bit of a hard ass and I slope an arm around Scarlett’s shoulder, afford her some strength.

“Rest assured, Miss Smith, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Call us if anything else happens,” he says. “For now, we’ll have a couple of our guys downstairs, checking out your apartment. We’ll call you tomorrow once you’re cleared to go back in.”

“Thanks,” Scarlett says, voice caked with fatigue.

They leave, and finally we’re alone. I lend her my phone and she calls her mom, makes it real quick too. After, she sits back and lets out a breath, puffs out her cheeks.

“Long day,” I say.

She nods “I’d better settle in for the night,” she says, and pats the sofa cushion beside her. “Thanks for doing this.”

“You’re welcome to have my bed. I’m comfortable on the couch.”

Her eyes dart to the floor, and I can tell she’s working up the courage to ask me something. When she looks up at me, her blue eyes are like shimmering cobalt pools. I could drown in those depths.

“Would it be all right if I slept with you, in the bed? I need to feel safe tonight.”

I can’t help but feel sorry for this woman, standing there, fighting her own pride as she asks for comfort and support. There is no way in hell I could ever resist such a request.

“Of course. Let’s get you some rest and maybe a little peace of mind.”

A sigh escapes her lips, and I want to wrap her in my arms, anything to remove the deep sadness emanating from her. Instead, I move into my bedroom, indicating that it’s safe for her to enter.

“That sounds heavenly,” she says, following me to my room.

It’s spacious, though not overly so. I have a king-sized bed simply because of my own massive size, and that takes up the majority of the room.

I want her to be comfortable. I want her to feel secure. I turn so she can shimmy out of her sweats, though she leaves on the borrowed sweater. Bummer.

I’m elated, though, when I turn back and she’s removed the sweater to reveal the tank beneath. Her nipples are stark against the top’s thin material.

I pull back my royal blue cotton comforter, and she slides in, rolling onto her side. I slide in beside her, some space between us. She scoots a little closer to me, seeking my warmth, and God do I want to give it to her but I don’t want to overstep. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way, like I might scare this doe out of my fucking meadow.

She cranes her neck back to look at me. “Would you mind… holding me for a little while?” Her voice is small, like she’s not used to asking for such a thing.

“Get over here, girl,” I say. I think she’s going to snuggle up against my chest but she blows my mind by turning away and nestling her perfect round ass up against my pounding shaft.

I clear my throat. There’s no way she doesn’t feel that pipe. I think about baseball and cold showers and throb helplessly, cradling her with my body.

Scarlett shivers, and I wrap my arms tighter around her, pressing over her soft tits. I know she can feel it. I don’t care. I’m here for her. Whatever she needs…

“Thank you, Isaac.” Her hoarse, sexy voice fills the darkness. “For everything.” Scarlett shifts, and her ass presses deeper to my shaft. I see red. I try to breathe through my hard-on but her hair smells so good.

I subtly grind between her plush ass cheeks. I can’t help it. She wants it. I wouldn’t be pounding like this if she wasn’t ripe and ready, too.

“I did what any man would do,” I say, my fingers tugging her hair off her neck. My lips whisper over the skin but I don’t kiss. I don’t even lick, not yet. I’m just… smelling her. She’s smoky and creamy at the same time, like clove and vanilla.

I throb and rake my open mouth over her skin, still not kissing.

Scarlett moans softly and arches her pussy directly, dragging it over me. Blood surges in an overwhelming rush to my cock. I’m dizzy. I have to fuck her, or I’m going to pass out.

Perhaps thinking the same thing, Scarlett twists to look up at me. The tip of my dick is against her belly button.

“I’m so stressed out,” she confesses, like I need an excuse to fucking fill her.

“I know, baby,” I mutter, crashing down on her mouth and raking my fingers into her boxers immediately. Her leg cocks and wraps around me like a snake.

She rubs her clothed slit against my hard dick, and even through the fabric, I can feel her heat and her wetness.

“Let me relax you,” I growl, pinning her swiftly, both wrists up around her head now, pressed into the pillows.

“Oh, god,” Scarlett whimpers, and her legs open harder for me. She needs this so bad. “Yes…”

I’m going to open her up slowly, peel back the layers bit by bit.

I toss the blanket off of us, the air cool on my hot skin. My fingertips slide up her shirt. The baggy top balloons away from my hand, providing easy access. My hands run over her silky tits. They’re round and curved, perfect. She bites down gently on my lip as I pinch her nipple, and she sucks in a breath as I roll it between my fingers. The little nub grows hard as a stone beneath my touch.

One hand drifts away, though.

I slide my fingers along the soaked indentation in her boxers, eliciting another delicious gasp from her as Scarlett’s curls fall back against the pillow.

I stroke her through the material of her boxers, and she trembles like a nuclear reactor on the fritz. I flick her hard little clit, and she releases a grateful, guttural moan.

“Oh, thank you, Isaac,” she gasps again. I press and circle her button intently, still on the wrong side of the fabric. I know what this bad little girl can do. Her thighs are already quaking.

“I’m going to make you feel better,” I promise her, ripping the boxers down around her knees.

I pry her thighs open, and Scarlett smells delicious.

I dive against her soaked gash, tongue scooping at her clit.

“Fuck yeah,” Scarlett calls blindly out into the room, her head whipping back and forth like she’s trying to say no but she can’t.

I’m not even here for her anymore, though. I love this fucking taste. I can’t stop sucking on her clit. Her body writhes and bucks while I try to fucking eat, so I have to pin her heaving hips down.

She humps at my face; she’s so hot for it. She cries out that she’s going to come but the sound seems distant. She’s getting off way too quickly, and I’m still drowning in this pussy. There’s no way this is over yet, and I plunge two fingers into her. Her walls twist around them. I want to feel her come as she arches harder toward my mouth, yodeling an orgasm.

Fuuuck yeah. My hand is soaked.

I don’t want to release her clit from my mouth but she’s panting and pushes my head away when I go in for more. I release her clit from my mouth, the perfect pearl shining like the treasure it is.

I move further south and lap up her juices, drinking her. My dick screams to mix with this. It wants to drive her home. She gasps something, and I lift my head.

“What?” I ask.

“I need it,” Scarlett breathes, and I grin, giving her pussy one more lick for good measure.

She wants it? I’ll give it to her real good.