There’s a piece of paper stuck to my door.

Matt insisted on dropping me off, but I asked him to do it a few blocks down the street, not sure I wanted to answer everyone’s questions if they saw him.

Not that they wouldn’t ask anyway. It’s really late, and I can’t keep the sappy smile from my face no matter how hard I try.

And then this paper. Stuck with a kitchen knife to the front door of the house where I grew up, where my mom and Gigi and Merc live.

It reads, in big bold letters, “Who are you fucking?”

I clap a hand over my mouth and brace the other on the door, fear and shock making my knees weak.

What in the world?

My next thought is, Mom can’t see this. Nobody can.

Shit.

My hand shaking, I grab the knife handle and pull with all my strength, dislodging it from the wood and freeing the piece of paper from the blade.

Who could have done this? And more importantly, why?

Who knows I’ve slept with Matt? And who would take offense?

My mind instantly goes to Adam, but… crap, no. He seems like a nice guy, with troubles of his own.

And not to forget… this message is exactly the sort Matt has been receiving—stuck with a knife to the door. Asking questions that this guy, whoever the hell he is, obviously already knows the answers to.

Could it be Ross, like Matt is so convinced it is?

My knees feel weak. Okay, scratch that, it feels more as if someone cut my legs off. I sink down on the porch steps, the knife and piece of paper in my lap, stunned, trying to think what next. What should I do? What does one do in such a case?

Matt called the cops, but then everyone would know I slept with him. I’m not a prude, but it is a small town, not to mention the fact that I’d die if my mom found out about my first time this way, and besides…

Besides I still don’t know what this between Matt and me is.

Nothing, probably. He did just tell me, tonight, before he fucked me, that he isn’t ready for anything more. And I accepted it. I told him I did.

I have to accept it. I have no choice. And now…

Matt. No matter what, that’s who I need to call. He’ll know what to do.

Of that at least I’m certain. It may be the only thing I’m certain of these days.

* * *

“What the fuck?” Matt mutters into the phone. “What the fuck—I can’t believe this shit is happening.”

“I know,” I say weakly.

“You should go to the cops. You’re an adult, Tay. Your family doesn’t need to know about this, if you don’t want them to. I’ll go with you.”

I nod, although he can’t see me, relief washing through me. “Tomorrow?”

His voice gentles. “Yeah, tomorrow morning. Are you inside the house now?”

“No, I’m on the porch.”

“Get inside,” he all but barks in the phone, all gentleness gone. “And lock the doors and windows.”

“Matt…” My heart starts pounding again.

“Just do it, girl. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re in your bed with doors and windows sealed. Go on, get inside and lock. I’ll stay on the line until I know you’re safely inside.”

“Okay.” My voice is small, but strength is returning to my limbs with his deep voice in my ear, knowing he’ll drop everything and come find me if anything happens. “I’m going in.”

Glancing over my shoulder with every step I take, I hurry inside the house and close the door, locking it. Then I head back to the kitchen, double check that the backdoor is locked, and then check all the windows, before breathing a sigh of relief.

“All done,” I tell Matt.

“You checked the doors and the windows, latched everything up? Deadbolts in place?”

I let out a soft snort. “Deadbolts? Yes, yes. I locked it all.”

“Good.” A sense of relief comes through the line. “Be careful, Tay.”

Don’t, I tell myself.

Don’t let yourself believe he really cares.

“You think this person’s unstable?” I whisper, standing at the staircase leading up to the bedrooms, not wanting to wake anyone up.

He takes a long moment to reply. “I don’t fucking know, Tay. He sure isn’t the sanest bulb in the box.”

Another snort escapes me. I feel like I’ll start laughing and never stop. Hysterical, probably. Not a good idea. “Jesus. Why would he come after me?” I swallow hard. “Or you?”

“Who the hell knows? Listen…” He sighs. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow, with the kids, go to the police. Then I’ll bring you all back and head out to work. Right before eight, okay? Be ready.”

“Okay,” I say again, still too wired with adrenaline, from the message, and from the sex before.

“Hey, girl…”

“Yeah?” I don’t know why I like it when he calls me that.

Or Tay.

Or just about anything.

Jeez, Octavia.

“Wear a dress tomorrow,” he says.

I blink, confused. “For the police?”

“No, goddammit. For me.”

And he disconnects, leaving me stunned for the second time in the space of ten minutes.

A dress. For him.

Jesus. I should never have let him dictate what I should wear, but the wave of heat washing through my body takes my breath away.

My insides clench, familiar need making my pussy throb, and I can still feel him inside me, feel his cock that filled me up so perfectly earlier tonight. I remember his mouth on my nipples, his fingers inside me, then how he lifted me up and pounded into me, and his face… His face as he came, eyes wide, a growl caught in his throat.

How can a simple command from him, one I shouldn’t have accepted in the first place, make me throb with want? How can one frown, one smile from him have me begging for more? And above all… What does it all mean to him? I wonder. Does it mean anything at all?

Because God help me, it’s starting to mean way too much for me…

* * *

In the morning, in the bright light of day, without Matt’s voice in my ear, I debate not wearing a dress.

Call me feminist, but I’ve never done anything just because a guy told me to do it, and it still smarts that he ordered me not to wear my dresses in his house until now.

Lots of the things he said to me are still smarting.

But the way he said it—the command in his voice, that low growl he produces when he’s excited… Like a huge wolf, ready to pounce.

I put on the frigging dress before I overthink it more.

It’s the dress I wore the first time we met, when he didn’t even let me into his house. Same shoes, same everything. Curious to see if he’ll notice, if he even remembers.

His truck stops at the front gate ten minutes late, and I see him from the porch where I’m standing. He’s twisted in his seat, turned toward the back, saying something to the kids.

Then he straightens and glances at me, his hands on the wheel.

My mouth goes dry like every time I see him. Something in the wide set of his shoulders and those bulging biceps, in the intensity of his every movement… It draws me in.

I catch myself wondering what he’d look like without the beard.

One thing’s for sure: he’s more dangerous than a wolf. A hazard to my sanity.

Stop staring at him.

As I walk down the steps and approach his pick-up truck, Mary sticks her face to the window, mashing her lips to the glass like a frog. Cole appears beside her, licking the glass.

I snicker.

Matt opens his door and jumps out, goes around and opens the door for me, like a real gentleman.

I gape at him.

“What?” he grumbles. “I wasn’t born in a barn.”

But maybe in a cave?

I don’t say if, of course. I just shake my head and climb inside, not sure what to make of this, this… change. Is he just faking it, or is the real Matt peeking through the layers of defenses he’s erected between himself and the world?

And how deep do these defenses go? Because despite opening the door for me, coming to pick me up and all that, he’s still a caveman in the way he talks, the way he acts… the way he makes love.

Not sure I want him to change the way he makes love. The way he fucks.

And why am I thinking of this now, as I sit beside him in the truck with the scent of pine, leather and Matt’s spicy sweat? My face burns, and when he turns to look at me, running his gaze over my cleavage, over my boobs and then back up to my face…

He licks his lips and my breath catches as if his gaze were a physical touch that I swear I feel right between my legs.

Jesus, this guy.

“Tati!” The kids grab at my shoulders and arms from behind, giggling like crazy. “We’re going for a ride!”

I pat their little hands and make agreeing noises.

Matt releases the parking brake and rolls away from the curb. His gaze keeps flicking toward me, heavy-lidded. “Damn, you look hot,” he says.

And I’m still blushing. “Then why did you tell me not to wear dresses?”

It rankled. It hurt. It made me feel ugly. Unwanted. I’m still getting over the fact I ditched my braces and I’m not the ugly duckling anymore—but on some days my confidence isn’t at its peak.

He rubs at his beard one-handed. I watch the way his other hand clenches on the wheel, so big and strong, the nails blunt and slightly stained with engine oil.

“Thing is, Tay…” he says, one side of his mouth quirking. “You look way too good in a dress. And…”

“And what?” Now my ears are burning, too.

“Nothing.”

But his half-smile has faded, his eyes gone distant. He glances in the rear-view mirror at the kids.

I’ll ask him about this later.

But God… If there are more complicated men in the world than Matt, I sure haven’t met any. And that’s the truth.

* * *

The cops are polite, taking the knife and paper from me, asking me questions. Matt is not far, seated in a chair and talking to his kids, glancing at me from time to time. Checking in on me. Offering his silent support.

And I appreciate it. I’ve never had anything to do with the police, and this message, so crude and insulting being passed around has opened a pit in my stomach.

Especially when the cop at the desk in front of me, a nice middle-aged lady, asks, “And who might that be?” Tapping a red fingernail on the paper. On the question asking who I’m fucking.

I press my lips together, pissed and mortified. “I can’t—”

“This will stay between us,” she tells me. “I swear I won’t tell anyone. We need a motive for these messages. It sounds like it’s someone you know, someone close to you.”

“There’s nobody close to me who would do anything as crass as this,” I mutter. “I don’t see how it helps—”

“It’s me,” Matt says, approaching us, towering over us.

My mouth falls open. “Jesus, Matt.”

The woman’s eyes widen, and I catch her giving him a once-over. Now she’s wearing a blush that matches mine, visible even under her make-up.

“Look, I have also been getting messages, same thing, stuck to my door with a knife,” he says. “Detective John Elba knows about my case. It’s possible she’s targeted because she works for me.”

Yes, I think, and now this woman knows I’m sleeping with my boss.

Frigging awesome.

She nods, picks up the phone and makes a call to this John Elba. Listens for a while, nodding and doodling on the paper where she’s been writing down the information about me.

Then she hangs up and folds her hands on the desk. “Are you sure there’s nobody who knows you both and has a thing against you? What about the messages you received, Mr. Hansen? Were you able to figure out who they were referring to? Detective Elba says you didn’t seem to know when you two talked.”

“I still don’t,” Matt says, glancing at his kids. “Except for the last one.”

“What was the last one?”

“It said, ‘What is most precious to you?’ And that’s my kids, zero fucking doubt about that.”

The woman opens her mouth, probably to tell him not to swear in a police station, with his precious kids within earshot, but in the end, she just nods.

“Fair enough. Please let us know if you manage to find the answer to the previous messages as well, Mr. Hansen. Ms. Watson.” She nods at me, too. “Try not to wander alone in deserted places, lock your doors and windows, and let us know if any new messages come up.”

Now I’m starting to see why Matt is so frustrated. The police can’t help, not with this. You strip yourself bare, give up secrets no stranger should have a right to know, and there’s nothing they can do.

Even though it’s not their fault, it stings.

We thank the woman, and Matt heads back to his kids who have been playing with his phone.

Both the cop and I turn to look at his tight ass, snug in his jeans.

“Well, I’ll be.” She sighs. “He seems like a handful.”

She figured that out, how?

Or is she talking about his ass? Good God.

And yet I can’t help but grin as I follow Matt out. He sure is sexy, and walking through the station with him and his kids, in my black dress and heels, after the hot sex we had together last night… For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a kid anymore, but like a real woman.