I’m just putting my brushes away when there’s a knock on the front door. The doorbell stopped working years ago, and I never had it fixed since I couldn’t stand the thing anyway. Every time I heard it, I had the urge to open the door and say, “You rang?” in my best Lurch impression. Mom loved The Addams Family.

I quickly glance in the hallway mirror on my way to the door. It could only be Alex knocking. He’s much earlier than I thought, though, and I’m still in my paint-splattered art clothes. I quickly pull the elastic out of my hair and shake my head. My hair falls down, stopping just below my shoulders. It’s not much better, but it’s all I have time for. “Coming,” I say, rushing for the door.

When I pull it open, it’s not Alex standing on the front porch. It’s a man in his thirties with dark hair. He’s only a few inches taller than I am.

“Can I help you?” I ask, assuming he has the wrong address or he’s trying to sell me something.

“Are you Whitney Stillwater?” he asks.

“Who’s asking?” My mother taught me never to reveal my name before learning the name of the person who wanted to know.

He extends his hand. “I’m Oliver Strauss, the editor-in-chief at Priority News.”

I stare him in the eye, not making any attempt to shake his hand.

Finally, he lowers his arm to his side and clears his throat. “I’ll make this quick and get right to the point, Ms. Stillwater.”

“I never confirmed that’s who I am,” I interrupt him.

He sighs, clearly annoyed, and raises his other hand, which I now see is holding a red file folder. He opens it and pulls out a piece of paper. He turns it to face me, and I see it’s a photocopy of my school ID picture. “I’d rather not play games, Ms. Stillwater. I know who you are, and I know what you’ve been up to for the past week.”

I start to shut the door, but he sticks his foot in the doorway to keep it from closing. “Get the hell off my property before I call the cops,” I say, wishing I had my phone on me. I left it in my art room, which his really a large closet. My eyes dart in that direction, but I know if I run for it, Oliver will push his way inside. I continue to push against the door instead.

“Answer a few questions, and I’ll be happy to leave,” he says.

Breaks squeal, and over Oliver’s shoulder I see Alex rushing out of his car. “Get the hell away from her!” he yells. He doesn’t wait for Oliver to oblige. He grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him away from my door.

“Get your hands off me,” Oliver says, shoving Alex, who falls backward down the front steps.

“Alex!” I push past Oliver and bend down next to Alex.

“I’m fine,” he says, getting to his feet.

“You must be Alex Wilkes,” Oliver says. “You know, for a split second, I thought you might make a good reporter. But then you let the best story you were assigned to slip right through your fingers.” He turns and looks me up and down. “Was she really worth your career? I’m sure Monohan had the balls to fire you after a stunt like that. I mean, who puts a cheap lay in front of their career?”

Alex rushes for Oliver, grabbing the front of Oliver’s shirt and pulling his arm back to punch him in the face.

I quickly grab Alex’s arm. “Don’t!” If Oliver is as bad as Emily and David made him out to be last night, I wouldn’t put it past him to hit Alex with assault charges.

Alex puts his arm down. “Get the hell out of here, Oliver. Go back to your mommy.”

“Did Nate or Aria teach you that one?” He steps toward Alex, getting right in his face. “Don’t pretend you know me or my mother.”

“You’re just bitter because you missed out on the story Alex saw a mile away,” I say, knowing I shouldn’t taunt Oliver but unable to stop myself.

Oliver’s gaze focuses on me. “I didn’t miss out. He did. The idiot was too wrapped up trying to get you in bed that he forgot to do his job.”

I don’t care if Oliver does think Alex and I are sleeping together. I want him gone. “Then go write your story. I have my own to tell. The one about the reporter who assaulted me and tried to force entry into my home.”

“I’ll be happy to write that one,” Alex says.

Without warning, Oliver swings at Alex’s jaw. His fist connects, and they both cry out. Oliver looks the worse of the two, cradling his hand. Alex rubs his jaw. “Good luck writing with a broken hand,” Alex says.

I pull him inside the house and lock the door. “Are you okay?” I immediately tug his hand away from his face so I can see his jaw for myself.

“I’m fine,” he says, looking into my eyes. “The question is, are you? Did he hurt you?”

“No. He tried to force his way in here. That man is...” There are no words to describe him.

“I know. I meant what I said, too. I’ll be happy to write a story about what he did here.”

“Sit down. I’m going to get you some ice.” I hurry to the kitchen. My apartment is laid out with the living room, bathroom, and then kitchen all in a row. Upstairs is my bedroom and another bathroom. I grab some ice from the bottom drawer freezer and wrap a few paper towels around it. Then I hurry back to Alex, who is seated on my couch. “Sorry, I know that thing isn’t very comfortable,” I say. “I’ve had it since...” I take a deep breath as I sit down beside him. “This was my mom’s place. Well, mine too.”

“You grew up here?”

I nod. “After my dad died, we had a hard time making ends meet. Hence the small place. My mom and I shared a room and everything.” I press the ice to his jaw, and he jumps. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s just cold.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, it is ice.” I hold the ice in place and rest my other hand on his cheek. “Thank you for showing up when you did and for taking a punch for me.”

“I wasn’t going to let him talk about you like that.”

“You really need to stop trying to rescue me,” I say. “People are going to talk.” I wink to let him know I’m only teasing.

“I brought you something.” He presses one hand to the ice, holding it in place, and reaches for the pocket on his running shorts. Then he laughs. “Sorry for my attire. I was about to go running when I was called in to the office.”

I gesture to my clothes. “I’m still dressed in my painting attire, so let’s call it even.”

He smiles. “Deal. And here.” He hands me an envelope. “My bosses loved your story. They’re going to run it. Eliza, the features editor, is going to make a few edits but nothing major. It will be online tonight.”

“And this is?” I flip the envelope over and pull up the flap. Inside is a check. A small check, but a check nonetheless.

“It’s the standard rate for freelance stories,” he says. “Emily said I should see if you’re interested in writing more feature stories. We could get you on staff until you find another job.”

I put the check on the glass coffee table. “Are you serious? I’m not a writer, Alex. If you’re looking for an art critic, I’m your girl, but—”

He removes the ice from his jaw, placing it on the table, and then takes both of my hands in his. “I was kind of hoping you were my girl regardless.”

I study his face. His jaw is red both from the ice and Oliver’s fist. I gently touch it before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against his cold skin. He turns his head slightly, capturing my lips with his. I kiss him back, my hands cupping his face. He cringes, and I pull away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever apologize for kissing me,” he says.

“We should get the ice back on that,” I say, reaching for the paper towels.

Alex grabs my hand. “Not now.” His gaze lowers to my mouth right before he kisses me again.

This time, I don’t touch his face. My hands grip his sides instead. He leans forward, pushing me down so I’m in a reclined position with him on top of me. We barely fit on the couch together, so I spread my legs, allowing him to settle between them. “Are you okay?” I ask, wondering if lying down is making the blood rush to his jaw.

“Better than okay.” His mouth descends on mine. Alex’s hand trails down my side, and I squirm, which makes him pause and pull away.

“Sorry. My sides are really ticklish,” I say.

“Just your sides?”

I nod.

“Duly noted.” He kisses me again, but his lips don’t linger. Instead, they trail down my jaw to my neck. His tongue traces circles across my flesh, and I moan as I tilt my head to give him better access. His hands are still on my sides, but they aren’t tickling me anymore. One is lifting the bottom of my shirt. Alex raises his head to look at me before continuing.

I smile, letting him know I’m okay with this. I’m more than okay. In the past week, Alex has proven he’ll protect me at any cost. He’s earned my trust, and more than that, he’s earning my heart. I’ve never fallen so quickly for anyone, and maybe it’s the situations we’ve been thrown into since meeting, but I feel so close to him. Like I’ve known him for years.

He lifts my shirt and kisses my stomach, which I never knew was ticklish until the scruff on Alex’s chin grazes it.

I laugh, and he lifts his head and smiles at me.

“Do you know you have the best laugh?” he asks, purposely rubbing his chin against my stomach to make me laugh again.

I squirm and then squeeze his body between my legs.

His eyes widen at the maneuver, and then he lowers his mouth to my stomach again. This time he makes his way upward to my black lace bra. He kisses one breast and then the other right where they peek out over the lace. “Whitney?”

“Yes?”

“Should we stop?” He’s being a gentleman. That’s clear, because the look in his eye is nothing short of pure desire.

I run my fingers through his hair. “I think we should.”

He inhales deeply and sits up.

As soon as I’m not trapped beneath him anymore, I stand up and take his hand. “We should move to my bedroom,” I say.

His expression goes from disappointment to elation faster than I can blink. He scoops me up, cradling me in his arms.

“What are you doing?” I laugh.

“Carrying you upstairs. Too much?” he asks.

“Just right,” I say, kissing him.

He manages to walk us upstairs while still kissing me. He gently lowers me to the bed and then stares at me as if waiting for permission. I open the top drawer of the nightstand, and as soon as he realizes why, he reaches inside for a condom. Then he’s next to me in bed, kissing me again.

I pull away and say, “I almost forgot. I have a no paint-splattered clothes in bed rule.”

A devilish smile creeps across his face. “We wouldn’t want to break any rules.” He pulls me to a sitting position, grabs the bottom of my shirt, and lifts it over my head. Then he kisses the top of each breast again before motioning for me to lie down. He pulls my yoga pants down past my hips, his eyes taking in my matching black lace panties before he finishes removing my pants. His hand runs down my body from my right breast to between my legs. He slips one finger under my panties and tugs them down. Every move he makes is so slow and sensual I’m not sure I’m going to make it much longer. By the time he unclasps my bra and takes a nipple in his mouth, I’m screaming his name.