“What’s your address, tiger?”

She snuggles into my shoulder and says something I can’t make out. All I hear is SoHo.

“Where to?” the cabby asks again as he peers at me in the mirror.

“Henley, where do you want me to take you?” I buckle her in.

“Home,” she says in the faintest voice as she slumps against me.

“Where’s home?” I try again, more insistent this time.

The cabby taps his meter.

“It’s fine, man. I’ve got this.” Then to her, I ask once more, “Where’s home?”

“So . . .”

“SoHo?” I try.

And I get nothing else. I let out a long stream of air and scrub my hand over my chin. There’s only one place I can take her now.

I give the cabby my address in Battery Park City, not far from here. He revs the engine, knocking Henley forward, and I’m sure this is when she’s going to wake up. She’ll snap to it, blink open her eyes, and say, “Are you a crazy man, trying to take me into your lair? Take me to my house, now.”

But the chick snoozes through it.

She stays deep in slumber as the cabbie brakes at a light, as he slaloms through lunch-hour traffic, and as he turns onto my block in a wild arc.

Even when he reaches the building and stops the car, she stays sound asleep. I glance down at her. Her long lashes flutter over her skin, and she looks as if she’s dreaming. I wonder what’s going on in the faraway land where she is.

I grab my wallet and flip it open, fishing out some bills.

“Keep the change,” I say to the driver, then I open the door, unbuckle my former apprentice, and lift her out of the car.

She’s still asleep.

My God, it’s like when your drunk friend conks out at a house party in college. Only then, you leave him there, and someone draws a penis on his face. But that’s his fault—the acknowledged consequence among dudes for the crime of crashing in public. Every guy knows the rules, and every guy should stay the fuck awake if he wants a cock-free face.

There will be no Sharpie dick on this woman’s cheek.

I scoop her into my arms, since that seems kinder than a fireman’s carry. Call me crazy, but I’ve got a feeling she’d rather be handled like a princess than a victim.

I shut the cab door with the bottom of my work boot and rope her arms around my neck. I cross the sidewalk and push the building door open with my elbow. I smile at the concierge at the desk, and Edgar shoots me a curious look.

“It’s time for her afternoon nap,” I say, deadpan.

He simply nods and scurries to the elevator to press the button for me to the penthouse.

Henley’s head flops against my shoulder, but she snuggles in closer as we ride up. When I reach my floor, I hoist her a little higher, doing my best not to wake her as I dig my keys out of my pocket. I manage to grab them without jostling her, then I head down the hall and open the door to my apartment. Afternoon sunlight streaks through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I wonder if that’ll rouse her from the land of nod.

Nope. Those Dramamine makers are some seriously honest fucking marketers.

I lower her to my big, cushy L-shaped couch. She sinks into it and shifts to her side. I yank a beige throw blanket from the arm. It’s made of chenille—Mia told me when she gave it to me—and I cover Henley with it. A few strands of hair flutter across her cheek as she breathes, slow and even. Gently, I brush the strands off her face. She moves, flopping to her back.

I brace, figuring this is when she wakes up and curses me out. Except Henley doesn’t curse. She just gives me shit.

She keeps snoozing, and even though I should get up and make myself busy, I stare at her for a little longer. I guess that makes me a freak, but if so, I’ll wave the flag. Because, damn, this girl is so pretty to look at that it’s hard to tear my gaze away. With her zonked out under a blanket, the sun casting afternoon rays over her skin, she seems so angelic. No one who saw her this second would be able to tell that there’s a tiger inside this woman.

It’s fierce and fiery, with claws as sharp as she needs them to be. But today, those claws have retracted, and I’ve seen another side to her. A side I almost wish I didn’t know existed, since I have no clue what to do about it.

I drag my fingers roughly through my hair, as if that will shake off these foreign feelings. Then I stop. I just fucking stop the weird staring at her.

Because . . . I’m not that creepy.

My stomach rumbles. I head to the kitchen, slap together a quick sandwich, and chow down. Then I hang out with my laptop, sketching plans for the car as the sun dips lower in the sky, then lower still, till the flaming peach rays of the sunset flare across the horizon.

Henley stirs and flips to her side, her arm dangling off the couch. But her eyes don’t open. I bury myself in work for another hour until I hear her voice.

“Did you kidnap me?”

I look up from the screen to find her sitting up and stretching on the couch. “‘Nap’ being the operative word. Wait—it’s more like a sleep coma you’ve been in.”

She rubs her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just past seven.”

She blinks. “Seriously?”

I nod. “You’ve been out of it for five hours. I would have brought you to your place, but you were dead to the world, and I didn’t know the address.”

She exhales deeply as she looks around my pad, taking in the huge windows and the vast space. “This is like a palace.”

I smile. “Thanks. I like it here. How are you feeling?”

She stretches her neck from side to side, inhales deeply, and nods. “Worlds better. Thank you.”

“Can I get you anything?”

She yawns again, covering her mouth. Then she says, “Any chance you have an extra toothbrush? I need to brush my teeth.”

“I do,” I say, then show her the bathroom. I grab a toothbrush from a drawer, popping it out of the pack.

“Is that so you have extra for women?”

“No. It’s so I have extra for me. I happen to be quite aggressive with toothbrushes. I go through one a week.”

Her eyebrows rise. “You’re a toothbrush abuser?”

I nod. “I am and I’m not afraid to admit it. The dentist says I need to tone it down, but I prefer to think of myself as a power user. I brush often and vigorously, and I’ve invested in toothbrush stock.”

She bounces as if this makes her outrageously happy. “I love to go wild on toothbrushes, too.” She checks out her reflection in the mirror, and her jaw drops. She spins around.

“Max,” she whispers in awe as she stares at a particular bathroom fixture.

“What is it?”

She points then walks as if in a trance to the tub. She falls to her knees and hugs the rim. “You have a claw-foot tub. Marry me now.”

I crack up. “How about tomorrow morning? City Hall is nearby, but it’s closed for the night.”

She frowns. “Do you have any idea how small my shower is?”

I shake my head. “No. Tell me how small it is.”

“It’s the size of a high school gym locker.” She strokes the edge of the white marble tub. “This feels incredible. A claw-foot tub is pretty much the greatest thing in the world. And you want to know the worst part?” She stands and marches over to me, narrowing her eyes. “It’s wasted on you.”

I furrow my brow. “Why would you say that?”

She flings her arm out at the tub. “It’s beautiful and perfect and pristine.”

I laugh again. “I like to keep my home clean.”

“You probably never even use it.”

That’s when I laugh the hardest. I raise an eyebrow. “Surprise. I use it plenty.”

She cocks her head to the separate shower stall. It’s much larger than a locker. It’s the size of most bathrooms. “You have a ginormous shower and a claw-foot tub, and you use the tub?” Her eyes bug out.

“Not all the time. But yeah, I do use it.”

She points at me, swiveling her finger. “You? You like to soak in the tub?”

I nod proudly. “Bubble bath. Bath bombs. The whole nine yards, tiger.” I’m not the least bit embarrassed to admit this to her, maybe because she’s slept on my chest, and my shoulder, and my couch.

She shakes her head like this doesn’t compute. “I’ve never known a man to like baths.”

I shrug. “Guess you don’t know this man.”

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Guess I don’t.”

I reach into the medicine cabinet and hand her some minty Crest, then leave her alone.

When she emerges a few minutes later, she makes a declaration.