I slept and didn't dream. No nightmares, no dreams. Just blissful rest.

I woke slowly, but it wasn't that strange, sluggish feeling I usually had when I woke up after being asleep for only a few hours. I felt rested. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened. It wouldn't last, I knew, but I planned on enjoying the moment.

Then, the events of the previous night came flooding back to me and my eyes flew open. It hadn't been a dream. I was really in a guest room at Rylan's house. My face flooded with heat as I remembered asking him to stay with me. At least it looked like he'd lied and left after I'd fallen back asleep. That was good. I didn't want to wake up in his arms. It would've been too weird. Like we were in some sort of relationship where we were sleeping together... literally.

A noise from my left drew my attention and, as I turned my head, I saw Rylan hadn't left after all. He was there, just stretched out and fast asleep. At some point in the early morning hours, either I'd pulled away or he'd let me go. My cynical nature said he'd let me go, tired of me, but I knew it was more likely that I'd pushed him away in my sleep.

He looked younger asleep. I'd read somewhere that everyone did, but I wasn't sure I agreed with that. Whatever anyone else looked like when they slept, Rylan did look younger. I imagined this was what he must've looked like back in college, when he'd first started Archer Enterprises.

His dark hair fell across his forehead and I started to reach for him, my fingers itching to brush it away from his face. I hesitated before I touched him, then told my misgivings to shut up and pushed back his hair. It was just as soft as I remembered. Before I could stop myself, I ran my fingers down his cheek, giving myself permission to enjoy the moment before he woke up and things went back to the way they had been.

The tip of my index finger hovered over his bottom lip. It had been almost a month since we'd slept together and I still couldn't get the memory of those lips out of my head.

I didn't understand him. In my experience, there were two kinds of men in the world. The ones who took what they wanted from me and the ones who looked the other way. Rylan was neither. He'd never forced anything on me or from me, and he hadn't dumped me at a hospital and walked away. No one would've blamed him if he'd just called for an ambulance when I'd passed out. I certainly wouldn't have. I would've been grateful that he hadn't tried anything or left me in the elevator. This... this had been above and beyond. More than I'd ever expected anyone to do for me. He wasn't like any man I'd ever met before. Any person of either gender... except Lily.

As I often did when I thought of her, I put my hand on my hip. Beneath the comfortable flannel pants was a lily tattoo. No one had ever asked me about it, and I wouldn't have told them if they had. The pain was still too fresh.

Officer Lily Wright had been one of the people on the task force who'd come into my house that night. I'd been thirteen, underfed and terrified. I'd lashed out when one of the police men had tried to touch me and the only other woman present had given me such a look of disgust that I'd cussed her out. Lily had been the only one who'd cared enough to put her arms around me despite the filth I was covered in. She was the first person to show me true kindness and not expect anything in return. The only one who hadn't been paid to do it – until Rylan. My social worker and therapist had been good, but I'd always known I was their job. Lily had only been on site for crowd control. She hadn't needed to come to me, comfort me.

She'd stayed with me in the ambulance and at the hospital, holding my hand the entire time. She'd stayed for nearly twenty-four hours, and then she'd come back every day to visit until it was finally time for me to be released. That day, she'd brought me a lily and given me her card. She'd told me she'd always be there when I needed her. All I needed to do was call.

She'd kept her promise for two years. And then some bastards in a turf war had gunned her down. Hundreds of people had attended her funeral and the nineteen year-old who shot her got life in prison, but that hadn't been much comfort to me. It still wasn't. Those first two years in and out of the hospital, in group homes and talking to psychiatrists who kept wanting to put me on meds... I never would've gotten through any of that if it hadn't been for her.

“You look thoughtful.”

I jerked my hand back, hoping Rylan hadn't see or felt me touching him. He smiled up at me, but his expression revealed nothing. I pushed myself back and up, putting space between us as he sat up.

“I should get going.” I looked at the clock for the first time. “Shit! I really do need to go!”

He glanced over his shoulder and laughed, a genuine sound that managed to stop my frenzied movements. “I think your boss can excuse you.”

I started to shake my head as I walked around the bed and began picking up my clothes. “I don't want anyone thinking... I mean...”

“You'd rather both of us go in late, you wearing the same thing you did yesterday?” He raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused at my stammering.

I glared at him. “I'll go home and change first.”

“You wouldn't make it back to your place and then to work until after lunch,” he reasoned.

I threw down my clothes, annoyed. “Then what do you suggest?”

He folded his arms behind his head. “Well, considering I've already sent in an email saying that, due to us having to work late on a security glitch, I was giving you today off and I was going to take a day myself, I'd say the first thing I suggest is that you relax.”

“You sent an email,” I said.

He nodded and sat forward. “Last night while I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“Because you knew then that neither one of us would be getting much sleep?” I felt a tinge of heat in my cheeks and refused to let my mind go where that question wanted to take it.

“Because I knew then that you needed to sleep without worrying about going in to work.” He paused, the expression on his face sobering. “And because I wanted to talk to you and this seemed like the best way to make sure you didn't have any excuses to avoid me.”

“I haven't been avoiding you,” I argued.

“Good,” he said. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. At some point, he'd changed into pajamas similar to mine.

I wondered if he wore them all the time or if he slept in less...

“Aside from pajamas, I usually try to keep some clothes people can wear in a pinch. Generally, it's my sister or Zeke.” He stood and ran his hand through his hair as he yawned. He motioned toward the bathroom. “Towels are already laid out. Take your time, find something to wear and then come downstairs. Bottom of the stairs, turn left and keep going straight. You'll end up in the kitchen. We'll talk over breakfast.” He looked at the clock again. “Or brunch, more accurately.”

He didn't give me a chance to protest, to tell him that I was perfectly fine taking a cab back to my place and we could talk business at work tomorrow. My stomach twisted as the thought occurred to me that whatever it was he wanted to talk about probably wasn't work-related. He hadn't said so. In fact, he'd deliberately called us off work so we could talk here. If he hadn't been such a gentleman last night, I would've suspected he had something devious in mind.

What could he possibly want to talk about, I wondered as I went into the bathroom. It would've been a master bath in most houses. Marble countertops. Double sink. Large bathtub on one side and a glass-enclosed shower on the other. I wanted a nice long soak in water hot enough to make my skin pink, but I went for the shower instead. The more I put off the talk, the more anxious I would be.

I showered quickly, appreciating the assortment of available shampoos and soaps he had set out for his guests. Well, not him personally, because I assumed he had a housekeeper who did all of that, but the fact that he was willing to spend money on varieties of quality stuff for guests was nice. I chose lavender and let the scent soothe me as I cleaned up. When I was done, I headed into the bedroom and over to the dresser. I cringed as I looked through the selection there and in the closet. It wasn't that the clothes were tacky or cheap, they were generic. I shrugged. It didn't matter. They were clean and it wasn't like I was actually going anywhere.

I pulled out a pair of men's jeans – there was no way I would wear one of the dresses in the closet – and then cuffed the pants until I could walk. They hung dangerously low on my hips and if they fell even just a bit more, they'd show my lack of undergarments, but I wasn't planning on doing any sprinting or jumping jacks, so I figured I'd be fine. I was starting to get a bit chilly, so a hoodie came next. I didn't pick the biggest one because I would've been swimming in it, but I didn't choose the smallest either. I wasn't wearing a bra and didn't feel like making that public knowledge. Once I washed my face, dressed and ran a brush through my hair, I knew it was time to head downstairs.

I glanced in the mirror as I passed. I didn't wear make-up at home and there were plenty of times I lounged around in comfy clothes like these, sometimes even sans bra and underwear. I just never let anyone see me like this. Although, I supposed, after last night, this wasn't really a big deal.

I followed his directions and by the time I had gone a couple feet from the stairs, I could just follow my nose. Something smelled delicious. When I entered the kitchen, I was greeted by a sight I'd never thought I'd see.

Rylan was cooking. He was standing at the stove, wearing an apron and doing something with an omelet. There was a streak of flour on his cheek and his feet were still bare.

“You don't have a cook who does that for you?” I blurted the question out.

He jumped, apparently startled by my sudden appearance, but he didn't miss a beat with his cooking. The spatula moved from the pan with the eggs to another one where he flipped a pancake.

“I wasn't sure what you liked, so I made a little of everything.” He gestured toward each of the three pans on the stove. “Pancakes, bacon and a cheese omelet.” He glanced at me. “There's already toast, jam and fruit on the table.”

I stared at him.

“I know, more breakfast food than lunch, but on the rare occasion I get up late, I like to have breakfast anyway.” He turned off the burners and began putting the food onto a trio of dishes. “And to answer your question, no I don't have a cook. I have a cleaning crew who comes in once a week, but that's because the house is huge, and I have a grounds crew who keeps the outside nice because six acres is a lot to manage on my own.”

My jaw dropped as I watched him balance all three plates and carry them to a small table I hadn't noticed before.

“I only use the dining room when there's more than a couple people here, or it's something formal.” He set down the plates. “Please, sit. The drinks are all here too.”

I walked over to where he stood and took a seat. He waited until he'd poured me a small glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee before he joined me.

“You wanted to talk?” I asked

“Eat first.” He pointed at my plate. “Then we'll talk.”

I expected the silence between us to be awkward, especially considering all that had happened in the past few hours, but it wasn't really. In fact, it was quite nice to sit and relax. Eating nice and slow, no rush with somewhere to be, no pressure to have to maintain a conversation or pretend like things were normal or that I was tough. I could just be and he was okay with it.

When we finished, however, I began to get nervous. One of the reasons I dressed the way I did was because I used my appearance as a shield, a protection from people. I still had the tattoos, piercings and hair, but dressed this way, I didn't feel the same.

He drained the last of his coffee and turned his chair so that it was angled toward me. I hadn't thought anything of it when he'd sat next to me instead of across from me, but now I realized he was closer than I thought. His knee brushed mine and a warmth spread through me from the point of contact. If that happened through two layers of clothes, I suspected I might combust if he did anything else. There was a tension between us that hadn't been there before.

“These last few weeks,” he began. “Working with you. Talking to you. Watching you with the others at the office.” His lips twitched. “With Christophe in particular.”

I pressed my hands together, forcing myself not to think of all the different ways this conversation could go.

“It's forced me to admit something I'd been trying to deny.” He leaned toward me, but didn't try to touch me. “Then last night, seeing you so... seeing how hurt you were, knowing someone had caused you so much pain...” His hands curled into fists. “I hate it. I hate that anyone could hurt another human being, but you...” He shook his head. “It tears me up that I can't protect you from your past.”

My heart did a funny skipping thing and it was getting hard to breathe. Not like before. This was different. Part of me wanted to tell him to stop right there, that I didn't want to hear what was coming next, but another part wanted to beg him to continue. It didn't matter what my internal debates were, however. He kept going.

“I care about you, Jenna.” He covered my hands with his. “I want to be with you.”