She hadn’t meant to sound so childish, but she’d thought her running days were behind her. When Thea and Lex mentioned hiring private security for the clinic, Hope had jumped at the idea. She’d be safe at work, at least. And when she finally came completely clean about her past, she’d inwardly screamed in delight when Thea offered to hire a bodyguard just for her. Of course, she’d worried about the cost to do such a thing, but Hope couldn’t help the surge of relief that rose inside of her at the idea of feeling safe at night when she was alone. Then Abel came along and mentioned moving for her safety, and the thought of running again killed her.

Abel stood, arms over his expansive chest, an unreadable expression on his face. “I thought you said you weren’t defiant?” he asked with a glimmer of a smile playing across his lips.

This wasn’t funny to her; this was her life—always on edge, unable to sit down and take a true breather. “I’m not.”

“Then you’ll have no problem packing up your stuff and moving into Lex and Thea’s place for the next two weeks.”

Hope sensed this wasn’t a question, but a thinly veiled command. While she didn’t mind doing exactly that, she did worry about her friends.

“And don’t worry about Lex and Thea. They won’t be there. It’ll just be me and you.” His eyes met hers in question.

There was something about Abel that calmed her. Maybe it was his take-charge attitude, or the fact the gun tucked into his pants would be used to protect her if necessary. She glanced down at the bulge in his jeans. Yeah, it was definitely the last part.

“But what about when they return from their trip?” Hope worried. While she understood she couldn’t run forever, she was currently concerned with the danger her presence put her friends in.

Abel pushed away from the wall and made his way to her couch. Sitting down, his long legs bunched uncomfortably between the coffee table and the couch. Hope rushed over and pulled the table away, giving his legs some room. The movement knocked over her glass, and her tea spilled all over the table. Getting to her knees, Hope wiped up the spill.

“We don’t have much choice in the matter. You are hard up for cash, so we’ll need to take advantage of the offerings we have.” He leaned forward to help clean up the mess, but Hope shoed his hands away.

Hope blushed, never having been so embarrassed in her life. Having lived in among the upper echelons of New York, she got used to a certain type of lifestyle. With the money her parents left her, Hope would have been set for years to come … until Mark got his hands on it, that is.

Reaching out, Abel placed a hand atop hers, and that was when she noticed she was trembling. “Don’t worry. I have cash I can get to, and it’s more than enough to help us out for the time being. It’s a rainy-day fund, and though I hoped I would never have to use it,” he looked out the window to the lightning illuminating the sky, “it looks like that rainy day is here.”

Once Thea and Lex dropped off the groceries, Abel started cooking. Hope’s mouth watered as scents wafted through the kitchen and met her nose. If the aroma from whatever was brewing on the stove was any indication, that man could cook.

Hope always watched her figure while married to Mark. All it took was one extra pound, and he would make sure her life was even more of a living hell than it already was. Every night, he forced her onto the scale, and every night, he would find something about her body that needed to change. Your thighs shouldn’t meet in the middle. It’s disgusting. Hope’s stomach twisted in fear at the thought of placing food in her mouth. If you cared about the way you looked, this wouldn’t be necessary.

Mark’s voice was engrained in her head, and the memories of his degradation were the only reason she hadn’t gorged herself the second she was free. Because in the back of her mind, she would never truly be free of Mark. Perhaps, one day, her physical wounds would heal, but her soul would be forever scarred.

“No excuses,” Abel muttered as he opened a steaming pot and stirred.

His comment pulled her from her memories. She glanced up. “Excuse me?”

Lifting a container of spices, Abel shook a liberal amount into the pot. “You’re going to eat, and then you’re going to sleep a full eight hours tonight.” Stirring the sauce, he added, “No excuses.”

Hope prickled at the demand in his tone. “I’m not a five year old.”

“No excuses.” He hadn’t even looked up, just stood there stirring, while she silently fumed.

She’d had enough of men telling her what to do. Taking in a deep breath with the intention of telling him just that, she paused. Abel had leaned down and opened the oven door. The scent of marinara sauce, baked cheeses, seasoned meat, and Italian seasoning assaulted her senses, and she could do nothing but stare in wonderment at the man in her kitchen.

“You’re underweight and have bags under your eyes.”

Though his words stung, Hope didn’t even flinch at his observation. The aroma coming from the oven brought her to her feet, and she moved to stand inches from him. It wasn’t as if she’d never smelled decent food before; it had just been a long time since she’d contemplated eating a delicious meal without the fear of gaining an ounce.

“It’s hard to eat healthy when you are on the run.” The excuse flew out of her mouth, as a force of habit.

Abel slightly lifted a brow, letting her know he didn’t believe her. “That changes tonight.” He turned his body to the side, making room for her to sidle up next to him. “For tonight, we’ll be dining on lasagna, Caesar salad, and garlic bread.” Gently, he took hold of her hand, his warmth invading her cold palm the second he touched her. Guiding her hand to the wooden spoon, he said, “Stir.” Then he moved away from the oven and began to prepare the bread.

Hope stirred the sauce, light-headed from Abel’s magnetic touch. Of course, she was already riding on cloud nine at the thought of a full belly and a full night’s rest. But while she was hesitant to believe she would be able to sleep through the night, Hope prayed Abel’s presence would trick her mind into believing she was safe—at least for now.

“Why are you making this sauce, if the lasagna is already in the oven?”

Abel didn’t glance up from smearing butter on the rolls as he spoke. “That is spaghetti sauce. We’ll make a lot of it, divide it up into containers, then freeze it.” He sprinkled some garlic powder onto the buttered rolls. “Can you turn the heat down under the sauce? We’ll need to let it simmer for another twenty minutes. Then pull the lasagna out of the oven, please. Bread comes out in ten minutes.”

Hope did as she was told. Leaning her face over the cheesy meal, she inhaled. “Jesus, this smells like five pounds.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but she couldn’t take them back. She turned to Abel to apologize for her crudeness, but instead of meeting angry eyes, she found his soft gaze.

“Listen to me.” He moved to her, his gait sure and steady. “You’re beautiful as is.” His words knocked her a bit off kilter. She opened her mouth to disagree, but Abel softly placed a finger over her lips to hush her. “When I make comments about your weight, it’s not because you aren’t attractive. It’s because I understand the stress your body is under. I want you strong and alert—always. After all this is said and done, you can go ahead and drop the pounds again, if that’s what you want.

“But never confuse me with Mark. I am not him. Whatever comments he made, or whatever way he made you feel about your body, starts and stops with him. I am not that man, and I never will be. We just need to get you healthy again.”

Hope was unsure of what to say. No one had called her beautiful in years. Mark had only ever complimented her when they were dating, and if another man so much as glanced at her, Mark would remind her that her thighs touched and men didn’t like that. Hope knew she wasn’t ugly, but she didn’t feel beautiful; she hadn’t for some time now. To hear Abel say it with such sincerity, while looking nowhere but in her eyes, made her feel good.

“I’m going to take a shower. Can you keep an eye on the bread while I’m in there?” He pulled away, as if his words hadn’t just rocked her world.

Hope nodded, feeling once again like a bobblehead.

It felt like hours—though it was less than twenty minutes—until Abel finished his shower. He opened the door, and a puffy cloud of steam followed him out of the bathroom. Hope almost fell off the couch when she saw he was shirtless. His tanned skin and toned muscles caused her mouth to go dry. That’s when Hope thought back to Thea’s words about finding a man, and wished that Abel was there for any reason other than as her bodyguard.

Abel lifted the shirt in his hand and pulled it down over his head, covering the glorious view of his chest. He headed to the tiny fridge to pull out the salad. Abel glanced over to Hope, who sat on the couch with her legs pulled up under her butt, book in hand, and glasses hovering on the edge of her nose.

“How many times have you read that book?” he asked, throwing her a devastatingly sexy smile.

Taking off her glasses she used them as a bookmark. Taking in the worn edges and faded cover, she also smiled. “In the last few months? Probably five times.” It was an excellent book. And when she’d pulled it from the bookshelf, she’d only meant to find something to keep her mind off Mark, never fully expecting to enjoy the book.

Abel paused his task of pulling plates from the cabinets. “Seriously? What’s it about.”

The book had been her rock for the past few weeks, and the storyline—while out-of-this-world nonrealistic—was something she yearned to experience.

Eager to not sound like a hopeless romantic, she said, “It’s about finding love where you least expect it.” She looked down at the book, just as Abel glanced up at her. “There’s this man in Virginia, who gets a call from a detective telling him his wife has been arrested for murder in Washington, over two thousand miles away from home. The only problem is, his wife is standing right in front of him.” As she continued to explain the story, Abel dished up their plates. “So, the man reveals to the cop that he has the wrong number; he has no clue who this woman called Claire Deveraux could be. Then he hangs up.”

“Hangs up?” Abel’s brow lifted. “He just hangs up?”

“Yep.” Hope stood and made her way to the kitchen to help Abel carry the plates and cups into the living room. When he handed her the plate with the most food on it, she nearly pushed it back into his hands, but the stern expression on his face told her he wouldn’t have it. She made her way back to the couch and settled into her seat.

“So, I am a bit confused,” he said, sitting in her side chair. Plate in hand, he put a fork full of food into his mouth and chewed until it was gone. “A guy calls him from Washington, tells him his wife has been arrested for murder, and all the husband does is hang up? He wasn’t curious as to why he got the call or who gave the detective his number?” Hope peered up at him from her plate. “Eat,” he demanded.

Lifting her fork, she jabbed it into a tomato mixed in with her salad. “I haven’t gotten to the good part yet.” She popped it in her mouth.

“Tell me later. I’d prefer if you ate now, with no distractions,” he suggested.

Upon the first bite of his lasagna, Hope decided she would tell him later. The food was so delicious, she groaned in pleasure. It was so damned cheesy that if she’d been standing, her knees would have buckled. Closing her eyes, Hope savored every bite. How did this man learn to cook so amazingly?