The space beside her was still warm when she awoke, but Preston had disappeared. She lay there for a minute, listening, smiling into a contented yawn as she stretched, memories of last night filtering through her brain—the way he’d held her close, his body heat and the firmness of his muscles a delicious comfort against her skin, his heartbeat slightly too rapid, fluttering to match her own. He’d been like a safety blanket wrapped around her all night, and she couldn’t deny how perfect it had felt.

The urge to call Preston before anyone else last night had been an instinctive one. With her twisted ankle, she wouldn’t have been able to protect herself as well as she could’ve if she’d been in full working order, but neither did she want to call the police. She didn’t know for certain if the noise she heard was the wind or an intruder—as much as it had felt real, there was no getting away from the fact that she’d heard it in the restless moments between dreamworld and reality, when her head had been full of dark thoughts and twisted memories. There was every chance her mind had been playing tricks on her, and she couldn’t risk wasting police time.

Preston, her knight in tailored Armani, had shown up at the snap of her fingers, ready to protect her from whatever threat awaited him. He had no idea what he could’ve been walking into, and yet he did it blindly, without hesitation. He put himself in potential danger for her. All for her.

Except, come morning light, he’d apparently decided to flit back out as quickly as he’d arrived.

She sighed and rolled over, spreading her arm out across the warmth he’d left behind. The indent of his head remained in the pillow and she traced the outline of it with her finger, mind drifting, vague doubts settling in…

And then she heard it—the unmistakable sound of her ancient dishwasher churning to life.

Oh god.

He was still here, and what was more—he was doing her goddamn dishes.

Embarrassment flooded her and made her stomach churn sickeningly as she leapt out of bed, yanked a robe off the back of the door, tied it hastily around her waist, and limped out to the kitchen, realizing too late that she probably should’ve checked the state of her hair before appearing. No man should have to face her shocking bed head so early in the morning.

She found him at the sink, filling a small pan with water, the disaster of her life littering around him like a snapshot of her public humiliation.

He’d cleared away her dishes, but that still left about a month’s worth of other trash. God, she was never going to live this down.

She crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat, smiling awkwardly when he turned at the noise, his face alight with something that looked suspiciously like happiness.

“I’m so sorry,” she said around a grimace, waving a hand at the general destruction.

He chuckled and put the pan on the stove. “Don’t apologize,” he said. And then, a beat later: “Nice hair,” he added with a smirk.

“For god’s sakes.” She reached up to smooth her hair, burning with intense mortification, but he only laughed again and approached her, pulling her hands away from her head and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I like you like this,” he said. He smelled deliciously like sleep and home comforts, and she wanted to bury her face into his loosely buttoned shirt, breathe him in. “I’m just as attracted to this natural, messy version of you as I am to the woman who wore a ball gown on our first date.”

“It was an investors’ ball. What was I supposed to wear?”

“You always look amazing to me,” he said, eyes glittering.

She couldn’t help but smile, brightened by his words. “I probably have pillow creases on my cheek right now.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, and she winced, rubbing at her face.

“Shit.”

“It’s cute. You’re cute.” He sighed, looking around with light in his eyes, and she wondered what he was seeing—because all she could see was trash and clutter, and that didn’t exactly scream romance to her. “Everything about you, this house, your life—it’s like…I feel better here than I do in my own place.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Your apartment is amazing.”

“It’s cold,” he said with a shrug. “Lifeless. And it doesn’t have you in it.”

She smiled at that—couldn’t help it. Even now, when both she and her house looked the absolute worst, he still spoke such beautiful words to her, his tone full of nothing but sincerity. But she still mumbled: “That was a little corny.”

“Hmm.” He gave her a fond look, before dipping his face in towards her. “Come here.”

She recoiled with horror, hand coming up to slap over her mouth. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!”

“I don’t care,” he said, trying again.

She attempted to squirm away from him, powerless in his strong grip. “I do.”

Considering her for a moment, playful frown etched into his brow, he let his gaze wander and then dipped lower, pressing lips beneath her jaw. “What about here?” he asked against her skin, moving down her throat, lips and tongue setting her skin alight and weakening her resolve. “Can I kiss you here?” His hand was on the move now, loosening the tie of her robe and slipping inside, finding the skin beneath her pajama top and making her shiver. “Here?” he said, kissing lower still, over her breast bone, mouth meeting the neck of her top as she tipped her head back and sighed, pleasure sweeping slowly through her body. Then he said, “How about…here?” as he pulled up her pajama top, and within an instant he had his lips closed over a bare, peaked nipple, tongue flicking out to taste, making her whimper at the delicious shock of it.

Then, just as she was considering lying back on the table and letting him have his wicked way with her—unbrushed teeth and all—he pulled back, thumb swiping over her nipple before letting her top fall back into place. “Go and get those teeth brushed,” he said, then pressed a kiss to the space beside her ear, “so I can wish you a real good morning.” He nudged his hips against her at that, giving her a hint of what she had in store.

She fluttered out a light moan. “Tease.”

He shook his head and swept a hand down over her ass, all the way to the hot space between her legs. “I never leave a deal hanging,” he said, giving her earlobe a quick, sinful lick. “You’ll get yours.”

The sound of a phone ringing loud and alarming in the room shattered the moment like a battering ram. He sighed and let her go, plucking the phone from the kitchen counter and glancing at the screen. “I have to take this,” he said, but she could hardly pay attention when all she could see was the tent in his pants, the dark gleam still evident in his eyes.

He looked up at her, caught her staring, smirked filthily and brought the phone to his ear while murmuring to her, “Twenty minutes until breakfast. Go.” Then into the phone: “Harry—hi. Eleanor emailed me the report last night—”

Pouting at this undesirable turn of events, Ashley went off to clean up, the inside of her thighs tingling with promise.