“We’re here.” Nick pulled into the parking garage of his apartment building, sliding into his assigned space. Bayley was quiet and he glanced to the side, wondering what she thought.

“I guessed that,” she said, leaning forward to look around, just as a long meow sounded from the back seat. “Mr. Lickers, I’ll get you out in a few minutes.”

With a nod, Nick exited the SUV, grabbing her overnight bag from the back as she took the cat carrier and litter box. The elevator took them to the third floor and he continued to glance at her, as she was unusually quiet.

“You okay?” he asked, as they walked down the hall to his door. She was never this quiet and he found it unnerving. Her nod was the only reply he received.

Opening the door to his apartment, he stepped back, allowing her to enter first, watching as she moved cautiously into the space.

Halting, Bayley looked around at the large, pristine, living room, a black sofa against the wall facing a large, flat-screen TV. Two chairs sat at angles to the sofa, both covered in a grey material. The walls were eggshell-white with no adornments. She could see the dining room table to her right and as she moved forward, the kitchen came into view. Sparkling appliances. Empty countertops. A blank hall opened directly in front of her, leading to what she assumed were bedrooms.

Twisting back around, her brow knitted as she asked, “I thought we were going to your apartment? I had no idea you were bringing me to a safe house.”

Nick blinked in confusion, but before he could reply, she continued. “I mean, this is cool and all, but do you really think this is necessary?” Her eyes widened, “Oh, jeez, am I in that much danger? This is crazier than I thought.” She bent over and set the litter box on the floor before opening the cat carrier, letting Mr. Lickers run out. He began to sniff as he low-crawled around the furniture.

Nick spied the cat warily before he dropped his gaze to the covered-litter box now sitting in his foyer.

Bayley kicked off her shoes on the way to the kitchen, leaving them in her wake as she pulled off her jacket and dropped it over the back of a dining room chair. “I guess the FBI never knows who might need to be stashed in a place, but you’d think they’d have a few kitchen items for us to use.” Opening a cabinet, she discovered cups, plates, glasses…all perfectly stacked. Pulling on a drawer, she found the cutlery, neatly placed in holders as well. “Okay, it looks like they’ve got stuff here.”

Tossing her purse to the kitchen counter, a few items skidding out and along the surface, she turned to open the refrigerator. Water bottles, lined in straight rows, sat on the bottom shelf. Fruit and vegetables filled the bottom drawers and the shelves contained other food items and plastic containers neatly stacked. “I can use some of this for my research…you know, nothing specific, but just little details about what a safe-house might look like—”

“Bayley,” Nick interrupted, as he walked over and picked up her jacket. Hanging it in the closet, he bent to line her shoes up neatly next to the front door. “Bayley,” he repeated a little louder when she didn’t respond, approaching the kitchen counter and placing her fallen items back into her bag and moving it to the side.

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t a safe-house.”

She turned and stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but words did not come. Understanding dawned on her, eyes widening in surprise. “This is your house? You live here?”

Clearing his throat, he replied, “Yeah…uh…yes. This is my apartment.”

“Oh, wow…it’s nice…well, a nice space.” she admitted. “You must have just moved in, since it’s so blank. I just assumed no one lived here since it’s got nothing personal in it. Oh,” she added, slapping her forehead with her hand, “It was furnished, wasn’t it? Of course! Well, once you’ve added your own touches, it’ll really be nice.”

Nick watched as she beamed her smile up at him and he hesitated. He shifted his gaze around, trying to see it through her eyes. Neat. Clean lines. Just the way I like it…but not to her taste. Since when did I care what someone thought of me? Blushing slightly, he rubbed the back of his head. “Actually, it is my furniture.” Shrugging, he added, “I like things neat, I guess. Not much into clutter.”

“Or color!” she laughed, leaning over to pat his arm. “Hey, it’s fine. It’s your place. But,” she said, her gaze now wandering around, “maybe a few, little, homey touches wouldn’t be too bad. A couple of throw pillows with some color would brighten up the living room. Maybe a few pictures on the walls.” Walking over to the bank of windows in the living room, she smiled. “The view really is gorgeous. I’m envious of this. My little apartment is on the third floor too, but only overlooks the parking lot. You must stand here a lot and just look out at the vista. You can watch the sun set over the mountains…wow, it must be glorious!”

Her words jolted him. Walking over, he stopped next to her, looking out the window as well. He liked the view with the city not too far off and the Blue Ridge mountains rising in the distance, but he had never spent any time noticing the sunsets. He took note if it looked like inclement weather was coming, but not the beauty. Unsure what to say, he remained quiet, but had to admit, the sun settling over the mountains, shooting out rays of red and orange, did look impressive.

Twisting her head up toward his, she asked, “So, gonna show me the rest of the place? I need a place to put Licker’s litterbox since I’m pretty sure you don’t want it by the front door.”

He wondered what she would think of the other rooms, but plastered a smile on his face as he nodded his agreement about the litter box. “You can put it in the guest bathroom.” Pointing to the front, he said, “You’ve seen the dining room and kitchen. Uh…behind the door is a closet…for your coat.”

“Seems you’ve already hung it up,” she laughed, following him toward the hall.

Opening the first door on the right, he said, “Here’s the guest bathroom,” showing a small bathroom, its interior supporting a sink, toilet, and tub. The walls were white, matching the fixtures. A white towel hung on the rack, perfectly folded and centered. She scooted the litter box next to the toilet.

The next door on the right was opened, and he motioned with a wave of his hand, “Here’s the guest room. I apologize, it’s kind of junky…just a place for me to store a few things.”

Curious, she peeked inside expecting to find boxes and household oddities—the things people have but can never find a good place to keep. Instead, her gaze rested on a daybed sofa against one wall, the navy cover providing the only color. Underneath the window in the room sat a desk, a pen holder and a few books, neatly stacked, the only items on top. One piece of furniture sat in the corner, completely out of character for the lifeless room—a wooden rocking chair, complete with slightly worn, green cushion, its ties attaching it to the back. Before she had a chance to ask about it, Nick moved in and set her overnight bag on the bed.

“It’s not much—” he began, strangely uneasy with her evaluating his living space and wondering if she found it lacking.

“It’s absolutely perfect,” she rushed, placing her hand on his arm, staring warmly into his face. “I know this is weird for you. Certainly not something you were expecting. I’ll be perfectly fine here for a day or so until we know my place is safe.” Sucking in her lips, she added, “It will just be a day or two, right?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, in a motion that she was already recognizing meant he was uncertain, he admitted, “I have no way of knowing right now. But I want you here until we know you’re not in danger.”

Nodding, she smiled. “Hey, you had some good things in your refrigerator, why don’t I cook dinner?”

Shaking his head, “No, no. No way. You’re here as a guest, Bayley. I don’t expect you to do—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I don’t feel obligated, honestly. But I like to cook and my kitchen is small. I’d love to fix something for us.”

He peered closely, seeing nothing but honesty in her eyes. “Okay…sure…uh—”

Laughing, she patted his shoulder as she moved past him into the hall. “Go relax and I’ll whip up something easy. If it makes you feel better, you can do dinner tomorrow.”

Convinced she was telling the truth, he moved into his bedroom, slipping off his shoes before placing them onto his shoe-rack. Tie, jacket, pants—all hung up. Dumping his shirt into his laundry basket, he listened as the clatter of pans in the kitchen sounded foreign and, strangely comforting, all at the same time. Deciding to take a quick shower, he emerged from his bedroom twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a dark green, long-sleeved t-shirt, eagerly moving toward the tantalizing smells coming from the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, he jerked to a halt at the sight in front of him. The sink held two dirty pans, with two more on the stove. His chopping block was out, the remnants of cut vegetables scattered on top as well as on the counter. His gaze landed on three knives on the counter as well. Various food items, including a rotisserie chicken package, lay on the counter. As he examined the kitchen disaster, he noticed what appeared to be flour on the counter and floor, and as she turned around sporting a big grin, her face was smeared with the white powder as well.

“Hey!” she beamed. Her gaze slid down his body, landing on his bare feet sticking out from his jeans. Fascinated with how sexy his feet were, she finally moved her eyes back up to his face. “I decided to make chicken pot-pie since you had all the ingredients. I heated it all on the stove before putting it into the oven, so it’s about ready. Once the top crust is brown, we can eat.”

Dragging his eyes from his messy kitchen to her face, his lips curved into a smile, meeting hers. “Sounds great,” he admitted, as his stomach growled, deciding he could clean later. “I’ll get the plates.”

Fifteen minutes later, they sat at his table, diving into the pot-pie. The pastry topping and thick sauce seasoned perfectly with chunks of chicken, carrots, onions, and potatoes had him moaning in delight. He did not consider himself to be a slouch in the kitchen, but comfort food was not his forte and if a messy kitchen was the price to pay for the delicious meal, he would accommodate.

After a meal accompanied with small talk—Bayley’s small talk and Nick’s occasional nod—she began to clear the table. He watched as she opened the dishwasher to place items in without rinsing.

“I’ll do that,” he offered, hoping she would move into the living room.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” she said, continuing to load the dishwasher.

“Uh…we should rinse those first.”

“Nah, you’ve got a really good dishwasher. It’s one of those that’ll clean anything. Plus, I have to wash by hand at my house, so this is a treat.”

“But you really should—”

“Okay,” Bayley said, her voice unsure as she looked over at Nick. Stepping away, she watched as he took the dishes out and rinsed them first. Turning to hide her grin, she grabbed a dishcloth and began wiping down the counters.

“Oh, here, use this,” Nick said, handing her a different cloth.

Looking down at the replaced cloth in her hand, she cocked her head to the side. “Was something wrong with the one I was using?”

Nick saw the uncertainty in her face, so unlike her normal smile, and hated that he put it there. “Sorry…I guess I’m just used to living by myself. Um…why don’t you go put your feet up since you fixed dinner.”

Nodding in understanding, her smile slid back into place, as she said, “I’ll take a shower, if that’s okay?”

“Absolutely,” he enthused, and watched as she headed down the hall. His gaze dropped to her ass, stunning as always in the cute dress she was wearing. Once she disappeared into the guest bathroom with her hands full of personal items from her overnight bag, he shook his head. His mind drifted to his upbringing and he knew his habits were ingrained and unlikely to disappear.

Singing met his ears, startling him from his musings. Grinning as he moved to stand outside the bathroom door, the sound of water running mingled with loud, slightly off-key, singing was totally…adorable. Unable to remember the last time he thought anything was adorable, he chuckled.

Moving back to the living room, he sat on the sofa, heaving a sigh as he leaned back. A strange noise was coming from underneath the window so he turned his head to see what it was. Mr. Lickers was sitting on the floor, one back leg lifted high, as he licked his—what the fuck is he—as if the cat could hear his thoughts, he raised his head, tongue still hanging out as he stared at Nick.

The water, and the singing, had stopped and before he knew it, Bayley bounded into the room, smelling of lemons and sunshine. Her scrubbed, make-up free face was grinning. He tried not to stare at her delicious body clothed in baggy, flannel pants decorated with tigers all over them and a t-shirt with a large penguin on the front. An outfit that should not be sexy was sending the blood straight to his cock.

“That shower was phenomenal,” she gushed. “You’ve got great water pressure here. My place? Not so much. It takes forever just to get the shampoo out of my hair, but with your shower, it was easy. Of course, I think you’ve got great pipes as well. My building has old, copper pipes and the water is hard.” Stopping for a second, she looked at Nick’s face, contorted in a combination of a grimace and wide-eyed surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“What is that cat doing?”

Scrunching her face as she walked past the sofa, she burst into laughter at the sight. “Oh, Nick, you goof! He’s licking his little willie. How do you think he got the name Mr. Lickers?”

Closing his eyes for a second, Nick wished he could get the image of the cat out of his mind, but its posture was burned into his brain. That, and the fact that he earned the name Lickers, had Nick shaking his head. “You named your cat after his dick-licking activities?”

The sofa dipped as she sat down next to him, still laughing. “All cats do that and, usually when there’s company, they do it right in front of everyone. Haven’t you ever had a cat?”

“Good God, no!”

“A dog?”

“No.”

Bayley’s mirth left as she wondered about the uptight agent’s childhood. “So, no pets at all?”

Nick’s mind slid to the past, the memories of his parents not as strong as he would have liked, but he was grateful for the old photo album on the bookshelf. He felt the sofa cushion move as he lifted his gaze back to Bayley, who was shifting around to face him, tucking her legs up underneath her. Her face, usually full of excitement, was pensive as she stared at him. Offering a small smile, he replied, “No…no pets.”

She reached over, placing her hand on his arm, “I’m sorry, Nick. My babbling seems to have struck a sad note with you. And I’m sure having me and Lickers here is putting a real crimp in your lifestyle.”

“Not at all,” he assured, although secretly he had to admit Lickers was a bit much to take. “Don’t apologize—I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

With that, they fell into silence as Nick turned on the TV, flipping to the news. Bayley leaned back, her eyes on the TV but her thoughts on the man sitting next to her. She wondered about TDMB, especially the M part. Mysterious. Where did he come from? Where was his family? Were they so uptight also? The man needs a pet! Her tumultuous thoughts about her host had her shifting her gaze toward him, staring at his profile, now concentrating on the B. He is beautiful. His features were straight, almost angular, with deep-set, dark eyes and a straight nose. High cheekbones and firm jaw. The stubble of whiskers was showing, giving an almost dangerous look, but she knew they would be cleanly shaved off the next morning. His lips drew her attention and the desire to run her tongue over them almost had her leaning his way. Steel and satin, she decided. That’s what they’d feel like.

Nick felt her perusal and shot a glance her way. Hair drying, pulled back with a few angelic tendrils framing her face. Her eyes, so big and blue, enticed him and as he dropped his gaze to her lips, pink and plump, he fought the desire to lean over and kiss them. Soft and silky, he decided. That’s what they’d feel like.

They both moved, ever so slightly, toward each other as the magnetic pull proved difficult to resist. The sound of a cat scratching litter in the distance and then a bolt of fur-lightening flew across the room, followed by the odor of—

“What the hell?” Nick asked, his body jerking in surprise.

“Oh, God,” Bayley exclaimed, jumping up. “Lickers just pooped in the litter box and he likes to run like a demon when he finishes!” Rushing into the kitchen, she grabbed a plastic bag and hustled to the guest bathroom, where she scooped out the offensive item. Tying the bag, she dumped it into the trash and searched underneath the sink for room-freshener spray. Finding it, she gave the living room a heavy dose of rose scented spray before sniffing. “Better?” she asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Nick lied, trying not to choke on the cat-shit-floral odor now lingering. Standing, he turned off the TV, saying, “I guess it’s time to turn in. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A smile hiding her disappointment, she nodded. “Yeah…tomorrow’s just a regular day in the shop. I’ll open and one of the Saints will be there.”

Bayley climbed into bed, leaving the door cracked in case Lickers wanted to sleep with her. It did not take long for him to do just that, curling at her legs, purring loudly. She reached her hand out and rubbed his head, the fur soft underneath her fingertips, and her thoughts went to the man across the hall. Raised by a strong father and with an alpha brother—who worked with other alphas—she had tried to avoid them, figuring she did not need another in-control man in her life. Thinking she needed to be with the opposite type, she tried dating authors or artists, but found no one who rocked her world. Lying on her back, she stared at the ceiling. She knew the difference between a man who had to be in control and a man who took care of others, especially the ones he loved.

Smiling, she thought of Blaise with Grace, and now their son. Her memories of her father’s no-nonsense, loving firmness filled her mind. Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong direction…maybe I do need someone like him.

Later, lying in bed, Nick thought of the bewildering woman in his guest room. Funny. Smart. He had had more conversation that day than in the past few weeks put together. Sexy. Whether dressed up or in PJs with tigers on them, she was beautiful. As his thoughts brought his dick to attention, he forced his mind to safer traits of hers. She’s disorderly. Rolling over, he focused on the mess in the kitchen…which was easy to clean up and the meal was delicious. Then he thought of the cat…which she also took care of quickly. Rolling back over again, he came to one final thought—one that pushed her lips out of his mind…almost. She’s under my care and therefore untouchable.

“Johan’s made a mess of things!” Chessa shouted, waving her hands at her husband and sons. “I don’t want to have to call in my uncle.”

Used to her loud tirades, Milos, Lazlo, and Grigory winced before Milos argued, “You will not involve your uncle. You will tend to the girls we have and let us do the planning.”

Chessa huffed, turning back to the stove as she stirred lunch. “Agnes,” she barked, “set the table while the men work.”

“I told you to let me handle things,” Lazlo retorted. “I could have gotten close to the girl and would have had no problem getting my hands on her phone. Now, it’s going to be much harder to find out what she knows.”

“Get rid of her,” Grigory said, casually looking at his family, shrugging. “Problem solved.”

“Did I raise my eldest to be an idiot?” Chessa cried out. Grigory’s lips pinched together as she continued to rant.

“Let me go to the shop,” Agnes said, her voice interrupting the family’s tirade. The others quieted, turning to look at her. Before her brothers could protest, she said, “No one knows me. No one will suspect a young woman in a bookstore. I can easily get close to her and find out what she knows. Who she’s told. Probably even get my hands on her phone. And if need be, get my hands on her.”

Licking her lips, she looked up as her parents were still quiet. Her father’s eyes were piercing hers while her mother nodded slowly.

“It could work,” Milos said. “No one would suspect a woman.”

“I’ll go too,” Lazlo insisted. “There’s no way Agnes should be doing this and certainly not alone. We don’t want any fuckups. Anyway, I’ve met one of the women that works there. I can get close to them.”

As the others nodded in agreement, Agnes maintained a serene expression, inwardly smiling, knowing it was time to show her family what she was made of.