A loud and abrasive wail sounded from the back of the studio apartment, and Abel’s eyes popped open, his senses on high alert. His body stiffened and he lifted from his prone position, reaching for his gun on the coffee table. Had he overslept? He never fucking overslept.

Again, the sound of torture echoed down the hallway. Abel cocked his head toward the sound emanating from the bathroom. Was Hope hurt? And how the hell had the intruder made it past him sleeping on the couch? Abel stood quickly, and made his way to the back of the studio, coming up to a sliding stop at the bathroom door. Abel finally woke up completely, his sleep-addled brain pushing past the confusion caused by the fog filling his brain. At the sound of Hope’s voice, Abel lowered his weapon, not only because he’d realized there was no threat, but also because he needed to shield his ears from her horrible singing voice.

“Oh, oh, oh sweet child of mine . . .”

He covered his ears when Hope’s voice boomed throughout the small tiled room. Without thinking, Abel pushed open the door, a billow of steam pushing past him. The sound of her voice became louder as he increased pressure on the door, opening the crack a bit more. He ventured a quick peek inside, telling himself he was only checking in on her.

Abel watched in awe as Hope stood in the shower. Her hands were immersed in the citrus-scented bubbles in her hair. Of its own accord, his gaze lowered to her back as it arched, pushing her pink-tipped breasts under the warm spray. His cock hardened at the sight, and Abel’s conscience blared to life at the irony of the situation. He was supposed to be protecting her from a stalker, not becoming her stalker.

He hurried out of the room and shut the door. Yet as soon as he thought he was safe, a wail of disjointed music chords sounded from her guitar as he kicked it over, nearly breaking it. Steam escaped the bathroom door as it was thrown open, and the pink tinged face of Hope peeked out. Her almond-shaped eyes widened in surprise as she took him and the mess he’d made in.

Tightening the towel around her, Hope stepped from the steam-filled room. “Are you okay?”

Abel’s eyes moved up her slim, damp legs, taking in the pale, raised scars on her flesh—a signature left behind by the man who’d sought to own her. He abandoned his perusal of her body and met her eyes.

“Abel?”

He gathered his footing and used the wall to push himself into an upright position. “Yeah, I’m good.”

She nodded. Crossing her arms over her chest, in effort to keep the towel over her breasts, she leaned against the doorjamb. Her long, black hair laid over her slim shoulders in thick, damp layers.

“I, uh . . .” Inquisitive eyes roved over him as he spoke. He cleared his voice and tried again. “Who is in there with you?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she peered at the still running shower. “Um, no one but me.” She turned back. “Why would you think someone is in there?” Her nose wrinkled when her brow dipped and furrowed in bewilderment.

He smiled, hoping to add some levity to the situation. “Well, sounded like someone was in there howling at the moon.” His lip twitched as he held back his laughter.

Hope’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?” Her barely veiled amusement shone in her eyes, even as she feigned offense. “Let me guess. You think you could do better.” Her eyes flitted to the guitar. “And you are here to prove it?”

Abel mused at how convenient it was that the guitar was what he tripped over. “Um, hell no. I can’t sing, and I think I can play one song . . .” He trailed off at the light growing in Hope’s eyes.

“Hold on a second.” She rushed back into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Seconds later, she was out of the bathroom, damp hair piled high on her head, a pair of snug fitting yoga pants covering her legs, and a long-sleeved shirt fit perfectly against her body.

Like a weirdo, Abel sniffed the air as she flitted past him taking in her fresh clean scent. He then followed behind her when she picked up the instrument and headed into the living area. Sitting down cross-legged in front of the large window, she strummed the strings a couple times.

She glanced up at him. “Can you play?”

He watched her fingers move over the strings; the sounds coming from the guitar were that of a novice, but still sounded rather enjoyable. Joining her, he shook his head. “Can you? Seems like you can.”

She strummed a song he was familiar with, then smiled at him when she missed a few chords and had to try again. She couldn’t play very well, but the smile on her face said she enjoyed trying. Delicate fingers moved over the strings, the dulcet sound of “Blackbird”—minus a few chords—sounded from the guitar. Hope hummed along with her work, stopping to adjust, slowing down or speeding up as needed. He sat beside her, feeling as if he were once again intruding in on a personal moment, but she opened her eyes and gave him an indulgent smile.

Abel imagined the Beatles as they sang the song, his foot tapping to the beat. “Is that your favorite song by the Beatles? Or rather, what is your favorite song?” He leaned against the wall, awaiting her answer.

“That’s too hard. I’d have to give you like a top ten.” She worried a lip in thought. “Actually, top twenty.” She stopped strumming. “My top thirty.”

He raised a brow. “How about top three? Because, as much as I love sitting here with you, I can’t sit here for the next three years.” Lifting his lips in a grin, he winked at her.

Hope tapped her lip with her finger as she thought. “Okay, top three. Obvi, “Blackbird” by the Beatles, “Respect” by Aretha Franklin, and “Desperado” by the Eagles.” Absentmindedly, she strummed the strings as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Reaching out, Abel placed a hand over her moving fingers. “Tell me.”

His soft demand pulled her eyes up. A tear slid down her cheek, but instead of breaking down, Hope smiled—a large, sun-bright smile that confused and warmed him all at once. He thought for sure she’d been thinking of her dead parents. Where had the tears come from?

She swiped at her face, pushing the tears away. “My mom would sing on Saturdays, which were called Spring Clean Saturday.” Her eyes glistened once more, the sheen of tears pulling at his gut. After placing the instrument on the floor, she wrapped her arms around her legs and placed her chin atop her knees.

Abel waited, allowing her to move at her own pace. Long moments passed before she spoke again. The sound from the overhead clock ticked for what seemed like a minute, before Abel finally reached out to her. Her cool fingers intertwined with his and he pulled her from the spot where she sat and into the crook of his arm.

Abel said, “When my mother used to go on a cleaning binge, she’d force me up at the crack of dawn on Sunday. There wasn’t any music blaring, but the TV was on, and the only channel that came in clear was the news channel.” Hope snuggled closer into his arms, her bright eyes peering up at him, listening as he gave her a snippet of his past.

“The news? Seems boring as hell.” He chuckled.

“It was. So, I steered clear of the living room and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. Which had probably been her plan to begin with, since she hated cleaning those areas.”

Her memory had him thinking back to his own mother, and he pictured her with a cigarette bobbing in her mouth as she pushed the vacuum cleaner back and forth over the same spot, faking the clean-up job she’d later force him to do.

Hope spoke, “Our clean-up day was every other Saturday.” Hope stretched her legs out and wound them with his.

Abel leaned back. Taking her with him, he positioned them more comfortably on the floor. Hope’s head lay on his chest, just under his chin, giving him an endless supply of her sweet scent. He closed his eyes and opened his senses. He felt the warm, heavy weight of her hand as she placed it over his heart. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at the woman draped at his side. He’d almost forgotten what they’d been speaking about as her warmth invaded his skin, pulling him back into the dreamland he’d recently visited.

She began to hum again; the delicate sounds vibrated through him, soothing him the way the purring of a contented cat would. And soon, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.