I exhaled, relieved that Grady and I had been able to have a good talk. Just the switch that I was now here by choice, not under coercion, alleviated my anxiety. I wanted to be here. Grady wanted me here. We were both going to explore if we had more than just a physical connection.

My room was as nice as any hotel room I’d ever stayed in when I was competing. It had a stone fireplace, a huge spa tub, and a king-sized wooden bed covered with a bear-patterned quilt.

I drew myself a hot bath and slipped into the soothing water. My breath quickened when I reminded myself that I was naked in the same house with Grady. Maybe there were cameras in this place and he was watching me. That thought excited me—my chest heaved as I imagined Grady finding me naked in the tub, his strong hands exploring every inch of my body. Being around Grady brought out all my fantasies.

Once the water turned cold, I quickly dressed in my pajamas and relaxed in the bed, excited for the next day. My nerves eventually calmed down . . . until I heard a scream in the middle of the night.

Well, at least I thought it had been a scream. I sat up in my bed, startled, breathless, but eventually realized it probably had been a nightmare and fell back asleep.

The scent of bacon wafted through my bedroom and roused me from what had actually been the best sleep I’d had recently, despite being awakened by the noise in the dark. For once, I didn’t wake a few times during the night to worry about paying my tuition, didn’t have to sleep with the windows open because my dorm didn’t have air conditioning, nor did I have to drown out the noise from the freeway that ran parallel to my place. Instead, the sound of birds chirping, the warmth of the fire, and the peace of knowing that there was a chance I’d still be able to graduate swept me into a blissful dreamland.

I headed into the bathroom, wondering if Grady was waiting for me. After washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I examined my outfit, which consisted of a tank top and fuzzy pajama bottoms. For a second I had an urge to flee, giving in to my anxiety, but I instead opened the door.

Ay dios mío!

The sight of Grady cooking breakfast made me drool. He wore gray sweatpants and a tight, long-sleeved thermal shirt that hugged his muscular body.

“Good morning, sexy,” he called out.

“Morning.” The sunlight beamed through a skylight and I took the time to study the cabin. A huge staircase led upstairs to a loft area, a gourmet kitchen beckoned me, and a beautiful stone fireplace warmed the room. I was mesmerized by the view of the lake. This place had to be worth at least a million dollars.

“Please sit down. Would you like water or orange juice?”

I sat at the breakfast table in front of an already awaiting coffee mug. “Water would be great, thank you.”

I watched him walk in the kitchen and noticed a slight limp that I hadn’t seen before. I tried not to stare, but my mind refused to quiet with all the questions I had.

He emerged from the kitchen carrying a glass of water and a dozen red roses.

Swoon.

He placed the glass of water down, leaned into me, and handed me the roses.

“These are for you.”

My belly quivered, pleasantly surprised by the sweet gesture. I inhaled the scent of the roses. “You’re so sweet. Thanks for the roses. They’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

My heart fluttered.

“Are you hungry?”

I nodded. He returned to the kitchen and plated an omelet, bacon, and fresh fruit. Coffee was awaiting me at the table. I’d been single since I’d left the show, and I couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of me.

It was hard for me to accept.

“You really didn’t have to do this. I can cook for you if you like. Maybe I can go grocery shopping later today? I make killer chicken enchiladas.”

“Let’s relax today. How did you sleep?”

“Great. It’s so peaceful here.”

I took a sip of my coffee and tasted the omelet. I detected a hint of goat cheese and some fresh herbs. It was delicious. “So, have you decided what you’re going to do when you get out?”

“No.”

“After the book comes out, I’m sure you’ll be asked to do interviews. I can give you some media tips.”

He squinted his eye. “Not interested. I’m going to tell my story once and then vanish until I decide what I want to do with my life. I don’t want to be that guy who spends the rest of his life capitalizing on this one event.”

“Right, I get that, but people just want to hear your story. It’s so inspiring.”

“Look, I see you staring at my hand and my eyeball. I’m clearly fucked up—but I’m sick to death of talking about it. Ever since it happened, that incident has been my entire life. Every person I meet fixates on my injuries and the circumstances surrounding them. Before I was maimed, I was just a normal man. I want to be him again. The minute anyone sees me, or finds out who I am, they treat me differently. Everyone does. You do.”

Wow. That was kind of deep.

“Okay. I understand. But I don’t treat you differently because of how you look—I treat you differently because of what you did. But I do get what you’re saying. When I was dancing, everyone expected me to look and act a certain way. Sometimes I just wanted to be a normal girl.”

“Exactly.” His gaze focused on my chest and I realized I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“So, I know we discussed this last night, but I want to be clear of your expectations. We’re just getting to know each other?”

I anxiously awaited his response, hoping I was reading this situation correctly. “I still have the ball to go to in November. You’ll pretend to be my girlfriend for the event. But I’ll be honest with you, Isa—you’re insanely hot, and you seem sweet, but I’m not looking for a serious relationship until I can figure out my life. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

A tingling swept across my face, and I couldn’t help faking a smile to mask my disappointment in his answer.

“Got it. Me too, I mean with the serious relationship thing. I want to focus on graduating from college. So what does pretending to be your girlfriend entail, besides the incredible sex?”

He laughed, reached over the table, and grabbed my hand, his deep red scars contrasting with my pale skin. “I’m a man, you’re hot, of course I want to fuck you every chance I get. But I need our arrangement to be drama-free.”

Damn. Well, glad we cleared that up. But I had to admit, the intensity in his voice, the strength in his hand, the delicious way he said fuck, made every part of me ache for him.

“Good to know. I assume I’ll meet some of your friends before the ball so we can pull this off?”

His lips curled, but since half of his face was covered in scars, I couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. “You assume correctly. Any more questions or can I finish my fucking breakfast?”

Definitely annoyed. I flinched. I’d clearly pushed too hard. “Of course. Sorry for the interrogation.”

We ate in silence. As I savored each bite, I wondered what the ball would be like. There had been a time in my life that I’d spent dressing up, going to ballroom competitions, enjoying meeting new people. But I hadn’t been that person in years.

He stood up from his chair, his hand trembling, his face now pale. “I don’t feel well. I’m going to go up to my room.”

“Are you okay? Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, what should I do?”

He leveled me with his eye. “Read a book.” His voice was gruff, unsettled, and tinged with anger.

I finished my breakfast quickly and retreated to my room. Well, Mr. Nice Guy bearing flowers hadn’t lasted long. I was probably already annoying him. But I felt better knowing his intentions. To be a respectable girlfriend for hire. We clearly had to get to know each other to pull the charade off.

That night Grady grilled burgers, still not allowing me to cook for him. He pounded beers all night, and we barely spoke a word. The tension hung thick in the air. Yes, we’d had sex, incredible sex, but we didn’t know each other at all. Basically, I was holed away in a cabin with a stranger. The full scenario was simultaneously nerve wracking and unbelievably hot.

I was also struggling to understand his reactions toward me. He probably couldn’t stand me and was regretting inviting me as much as I was second guessing coming here.

He retired to his room with a curt goodnight, didn’t even try to get intimate with me. I felt so undesirable, but I had to remind myself that I was the one who asked him to take it slowly.

I also felt useless. I’d never just sat around. I wanted to clean the house, organize something, be productive. Instead, I went down to the basement, sat on the sofa, and turned on the television.

A scream roused me from my sleep. This time I was absolutely certain it was a scream, not a nightmare. I must’ve crashed watching the movie. Dammit. I woke up shivering, forgetting for a second where I was.

I ran upstairs, worried that maybe there was an intruder, or Grady had been hurt. The main floor was eerily quiet. The hair on my arm stood up, and I made the decision to go against his orders and creep upstairs to the third floor. When I reached his room, the door was shut. I debated knocking, but before I could make a decision, I heard another groan.

What was going on in there? I knew that groan—it was the sound my mother had made when she was in agony, when her migraines were so intense that she was sobbing in pain.

My chest stuttered, so I listened by the door, praying not to get caught. After a few seconds of silence, another moan—deep, guttural, haunting. Definitely not of the sexual variety—it was as if he was being tortured.

Suddenly, I heard muffled footsteps that seemed to be coming closer on the other side of the door. Heart pounding, I quickly hurried back downstairs to my room.

Damn, how could I be so insensitive? Giving him a hard time about not trying therapy when he clearly had been injured. He was still coping with so much physical pain that maybe he couldn’t even begin to deal with his emotional pain.

I vowed to just try to live in the here and now, be more sensitive and less anxious, and not interrogate him. No more rules, from him or from me. I would for once allow myself to be in the moment.