I wake to bright rays of sunshine slamming me directly in the face. I groan and burrow my head into my pillow, catching the smell of fresh-brewed coffee as I move. That perks me up.

I slide my legs over the edge of the bed, taking a second to get my bearings. The sheets and pillows that were on the floor last night are gone, the open duffel bag sitting in their place.

“Good morning,” Hunter says, leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a mug in his hands. “How’d you sleep?”

“I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

“I know,” he says with a wry smile, bringing the mug to his lips. “You were sawing logs all night.”

“What?”

He lets out a totally exaggerated, obnoxious snore.

“I was not! I don’t snore!”

“If you say so,” Hunter replies, smiling.

I grab a pillow off the bed and toss it across the room at him, coming up way, way short.

“Coffee? Might help your aim.”

I need caffeination. I can’t even be mad. “Yes, I’d like all of the coffee please.”

Hunter laughs as he plucks a cup from one of the shelves next to the sink. He fills it, then holds it out to me. “Sugar’s over there, and if you want cream, all I have is that non-dairy powdered stuff.”

I take the cup from him gratefully, then spoon a little sugar in there. “Thank you.”

“I’m making breakfast. Are bacon and eggs okay? I wasn’t sure if you were a vegetarian or…”

“No,” I reply quickly. “I pretty much consider bacon a food group.” Hunter laughs. “But you don’t have to make me breakfast, I can do it myself.”

“Absolutely not,” he replies, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs and a thick slab of bacon. “You’re a guest.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You make it sound like I’m here voluntarily.”

“Is my company that bad?” he teases.

“If you feel responsible for this thing with Carson because you feel responsible for him, please don’t. I’d be in this mess regardless, and without you I wouldn’t have a way to get out of it. If anyone should be making breakfast, I should be making it for you. Besides, I did keep you up all night. And not in the fun way.”

Hunter chokes a little on his coffee, then shakes his head. “No. No way. I’m cooking.”

I’m not going to argue with him. “Okay, but I’ll do the cleanup.”

He ponders that for a moment. “You can help with the cleanup.”

“Deal,” I reply with a smile. “Is it okay if I ask what’s going to happen to him? You get him out of this mess, and then what? He gets involved with shady people to get money for a high again, they come after me to collect on his debt again?”

With a stony look in his eyes, Hunter says, “No one is ever going to come after you again, okay? Once this is over for you, it’s over for you, Hayley. You won’t have to live in fear when you leave your house every day.”

He’s so vehement about it that it makes my heart skip. “You can’t guarantee that, Hunter. And I’m not asking you to.”

“Hayley—”

“I’ve known Carson for years,” he explains, reaching out and taking my hand. “When he reached out to me this time, he looked…I’ve never seen him like this. He wants help, and I’m going to make sure he gets it. And I’m going to make sure that you don’t have to worry about this anymore.”

Seems like Hunter knows as well as I do that wanting help and accepting it are not the same thing, and that a relapse is more likely than not. But he desperately wants to believe in this, and I’m not going to be the one who takes that hope away from him. Selfishly, I want to believe, too.

“Don’t let him take you down with him, okay?” I say, squeezing his fingers. I know how easy it is to get sucked into someone else’s toxicity. “Don’t let his life choices affect yours.”

The corner of Hunter’s mouth quirks up into an almost-smile. “Carson and I rarely have direct contact,” he admits. “One of my guys is a former drug counselor, and he acts as an intermediary. After my brother’s overdose…” Hunter looks down, eyes locked on the floor. “It’s too hard.”

“With someone who’s done as much damage as Carson has, it’s commendable that you’re able to be involved at all. Even through a third party,” I tell him. And then inevitable tears prick at my eyes and make it difficult to swallow. “And thank you for making sure he doesn’t touch my life more than he already has.”

“In the interest of full disclosure,” he says, letting his fingers fall from mine. “I’ve been doing that for a while now.”

Puzzled, I ask, “What?”

“I know you have a restraining order against him,” Hunter admits. “I…kind of made sure he didn’t violate it, that he kept his distance from you. It wasn’t easy at first, but I got him a job and he managed to get somewhat straight for a while, and then all hell broke loose.”

“Wow,” I say, stunned. Guess Carson adhering to the terms wasn’t so miraculous after all.

“I didn’t just do it for you.” Hunter cringes as the words leave his mouth. He backs up a little, then leans against the countertop, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I mean, I didn’t know you, I just knew your name. And I didn’t want Carson harassing you, but mostly I didn’t want him winding up in jail. I thought that if he got into the system that all hope for him would be gone, but now?” He scrubs his face with his hands. “Maybe that would’ve been the best thing for him. Maybe it is.”

“You’re just not ready to give up yet.”

He nods, and I reach out and put my hand on his arm.

“I hope he doesn’t disappoint you.”

I gave up on Carson for my own good after six months. That Hunter is still here however many years and however many fuckups later speaks volumes about the kind of person he is. And even though the circumstances under which we met are awful, I can’t help but feel like meeting him was a stroke of luck for me.

“Me too,” Hunter replies.

“Now,” I say, wanting to lighten things up a bit, “if I remember correctly, you said something about breakfast. Bacon, specifically.”

With a grin, Hunter ignites a burner and puts a pan on top. “Coming right up.” He nods toward the table. “Have a seat.”

I take my coffee cup and settle down into a seat. “Have you heard from whoever is with Alexa? Is she okay?”

Hunter reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, tapping out a quick message to someone before he walks over and hands it to me. “When it rings it’ll be for you.”

Two seconds later, it does. I nearly drop the phone in my hurry to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god. Are you okay?” It’s never felt so good to hear Alexa’s voice.

“I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“If I ever see Carson again, I’m gonna kick him in the dick. Twice,” she says breathlessly.

“I won’t stop you.”

“Where are you?”

I stand and walk over by the bed, just to give myself a little privacy. “In the middle of nowhere.” I catch Hunter glancing over his shoulder. “Where are you?”

“In my apartment with a wall of muscle who’s fun to flirt with. He’s hot. Is your guy hot?”

I can’t help but laugh. That’s Alexa, always asking the important questions. I look over at Hunter, his back turned as he tends to our breakfast. “Yeah.”

“Well,” she sighs, “if there’s an upside to nearly getting killed at a club before you found someone to take home for the night, maybe this is it.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I tease.

“Seriously though,” Alexa says, her voice somber. “I’m glad you’re okay. That scared the shit out of me.”

“Me too.” I take a deep breath, trying really hard not to think about it any more than I have to.

“Hey, my guy wants to talk to your guy.”

“He’s making breakfast,” I tell her.

She makes a delighted little squee. “Maybe he’s a keeper after all.”

“Stop it. I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you,” she says.

“Love you.”

Hunter flips an egg that sizzles in the pan, then I tap him on the shoulder and hand him the phone.

My stomach growls as he’s talking. I’m so hungry, and the cabin smells amazing. Maybe Alexa was right; there are definitely worse things that could happen the morning after being shot at than having a hot bodyguard cook you breakfast. I get a little lost in the way Hunter’s back muscles move beneath his tight T-shirt as he reaches into a cabinet and pulls down a couple plates.

“Hey,” he says with a smirk as he catches me staring. “Alexa asked me to pass along a message.”

That gets my attention away from his body. “Oh yeah? What is it?”

“She said she hopes you found what you were looking for last night.”

Oh god.

* * *

After the breakfast dishes are washed and dried, I’m standing in the middle of the cabin in an outfit I fished out of the duffel bag, looking at the pictures that decorate the walls.

The first one I zoom in on is a photo of what looks like a young Hunter with a much older man. “Is this your grandfather?”

Hunter nods from where he sits at the kitchen table. “Yes. This was his cabin.”

“And now it’s yours.”

“He left it to me when he died. It was just a place he liked to go to get away from life and spend some time fishing,” he says with a fond smile. “I try to keep up the tradition.”

“You come down here a lot?”

“I do,” he says. “Whenever I get a chance, usually once a month. It’s tough to schedule time away with my job, because things come up last minute.”

“I bet they do.” I wonder what he was up to yesterday before he rushed off to the club to make sure I was safe, how many times his plans have been interrupted so he can do the same thing for some other person. “How did you even get into the business, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I started working personal security when I got out of college. Actors, musicians, you name it. I’ve always had what my mom refers to as an ‘innate need to protect people,’” he says, using air quotes.

“I definitely see that,” I tell him. From what I’ve learned about him in what little bit of time I’ve spent with him, he seems like the type who wants to look out for any and everyone he can. It’s an admirable and charming trait, but I can see how it would get in the way of having a normal kind of life.

“After a year or so, I really wanted to get into lower-profile stuff, so I started working with an ex-Special Forces guy who took a liking to me, and when he retired, I bought him out.”

“And now you’re working on thrilling jobs like making me amazing bacon and eggs.”

“Yes, it’s definitely one of my more exciting assignments,” he replies with a wink.

“I think you mean ‘egg-citing.’”

Hunter lets out a full-bodied laugh. His smile and dimple are so gorgeous, as is the amused sparkle in his eye when he looks at me. The thrill that I get at making him laugh at my dad joke is lame, but I can’t help it.

There are a few more pictures of Hunter and his grandfather, and some of who I’m guessing is his grandmother, too. Then I come across one that’s set apart from the rest, in a gold frame on the nightstand.

It’s a young boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He has hair like Hunter’s, but his chin is a little longer, his nose a little bigger. There’s a playful charm in the way he smiles proudly as he holds up a huge fish in front of a shimmering lake. I know who it is without asking, but I ask anyway.

“Is this your brother?”

Hunter pauses. “Bobby, yeah,” he answers, his voice rough.

“Was this his first big catch?”

“It was his first catch. Period.” I can actually see Hunter’s love for his brother written all over his face when he says, “He wasn’t big on the outdoors, but Grandpa and I tried.” There’s a sadness in his eyes that quickly takes over, one that I’ve seen in myself when I was in the depths of my turbulent relationship with Carson.

“Is this lake nearby?” I ask, grasping at anything I can to change the subject.

“It’s right outside.” Hunter points to the window next to me, obscured by curtains.

“Is it okay for me to open these?”

Hunter stands, walks over, and gently pulls back the curtain. Not that I want to be casual with my safety, but… “Is there a high likelihood of someone lurking outside?”

“I just wanted to check first.”

“Innate need to protect people?” I tease.

“Something like that,” he replies with a grin.

I rest my hands on the window ledge—it’s higher than normal, about chest level—and raise myself up to get a good look. I couldn’t see it last night in the dark, but this property is gorgeous. There’s a ring of trees surrounding the lake, and a small pier jutting out into the water, a boat tied to one of the posts. The morning sunshine shimmers against the surface of the water, and the whole scene looks a lot like a spread in a travel magazine. Idyllic.

“You own this?” I ask incredulously. “The lake and everything?”

“The lake and everything.”

“Everything the light touches is your kingdom.” I say in a comically low voice that’s actually a terrible impression of the original.

Hunter doesn’t even try to hide his confusion. “What?”

I shake my head, feeling a little silly. “Never mind. It’s from a movie. I’m jealous you own an actual lake. I bet that was fun to swim in when you were a kid.”

With a nostalgic glint in his eye, he says, “It was.”

“I’ve never done it, but I’ve always wanted to, ever since I was a kid.”

Hunter gives me this look, kind of like I’ve grown a second head.

“What? Not all dreams are big ones.”

He laughs.

“I watched a lot of Dirty Dancing when I was a kid.”

His brows knit together adorably. “I don’t follow.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“A long time ago, yeah,” he admits.

“So, when Johnny and Baby were practicing for their big dance at the Sheldrake, they had to do a lift. They get in a lake to practice so that the water will break Baby’s fall.” I’m almost embarrassingly excited about this explanation, but it’s too late to reel it in now. “Anyway, they’re in the water. Johnny’s shirtless, and Baby has on this see-through white tank top, and the two of them are laughing and having fun together for pretty much the first time in the whole movie, and there was all this sexual tension.” I let out a dreamy sigh. “That was peak romance for me when I was younger.”

Hunter just smiles at me like I’m the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. It’s a good look on him, but I kind of hate it. There are a lot of things I’d like Hunter to think about me, but that I’m adorable is certainly not high on that list.

“I don’t suppose swimming is on the itinerary this weekend?”

For a split second, this feels like a regular conversation under regular circumstances. Last night at the club, when people were shooting at me feels like days ago. Another lifetime ago.

“Sorry,” he says. It actually sounds like he means it. “Can’t take the risk.”

“I thought you were confident in your abilities? We’re out in the middle of nowhere!” I’m trying for a teasing kind of persuasion, but Hunter must’ve heard every excuse in the book for people wanting to do things they shouldn’t, because he isn’t swayed.

“I’m confident, not careless. We can do anything you want, as long as it’s within these four walls.”

“Anything I want?”

He nods slowly, looking a little caught.

I can definitely work with that. “Okay.”

* * *

Turns out I can’t work with that.

Normally I’d be ecstatic at the prospect of a blank check for fun, but I’m having difficulty imagining what we could possibly get up to in this confined little cabin in the middle of nowhere since my first choice—lots of what I’m sure would be amazing, commitment-free sex—is solidly off the table. Much as it pains me, Hunter isn’t interested.

There isn’t even a board game in the place. Hunter digs out a puzzle with a giant hole in the corner of the box from a dark corner in his closet. We manage to get most of the edge put together before we realize that there are pieces missing, because of course there are.

I find a deck of cards in the junk drawer in the kitchen, but a few cards are missing from that deck, too. Hunter tells me he thinks his grandfather pitched them, to make sure he and his brother didn’t stay inside all day when there was so much nature around them.

For someone who got dragged out of her apartment because she was spending too much time in it, I’m surprisingly going stir-crazy. Turns out having Netflix on hand makes time go by a lot faster when you’re bored, and it turns out that wanting what you can’t have makes you want it even more. I’m learning that lesson double time here, both with Hunter and the fact that I’d give pretty much anything to be able to go outside right now, even if I have to stay in this podunk town.

Hunter’s handling things better than I am. He’s sitting at the small table in the kitchen, leaning back in the chair that creaks every time he moves, completely involved in whatever he’s looking at on his phone. Occasionally his brow furrows, but he doesn’t give anything else away. From the looks of it, he’d be perfectly happy to hang out here for all eternity.

He’s probably used to taking these little excursions to protect other clients, and at least he’s engrossed in his work. There’s a relatively steady stream of calls coming in, and all I know from what few words I’m able to make out from Hunter’s hushed tone is that things are going well and they’re close to “closing the deal” with some guy named Damien.

My understanding is that Damien is the reason why I’m stuck in this godforsaken cabin with nothing to do, forced in the orbit of a gorgeous man I can’t touch. So, the sooner whatever the “deal” is gets closed, the better off I’ll be.

I’m getting restless, pacing the room for lack of anything better to do, wanting to lace up my sneakers and run for the first time in forever, if only because I know that I can’t do that. There’s a nervous energy bubbling up inside me, making me feel like I’m going to come out of my skin.

“Restless?” Hunter asks from his spot at the table, where he looks perfectly content. Jerk.

I let out a humorless huff of a laugh. “What gave it away? The pacing or the way I’m clenching and unclenching my fists?”

My sarcasm doesn’t even make him flinch. “If you need an outlet, I could teach you some self-defense,” he says, setting his phone face down on the table. I’d swear it almost looks like he regrets it the second the words come out of his mouth, but he doesn’t take them back.

This isn’t exactly the offer I was hoping for, but an outlet for all this pent-up energy would be nice.

“After last night, it wouldn’t hurt for you to be able to protect yourself.”

“There’s a self-defense technique that can make you bulletproof?” I tease, feeling lighter at the prospect of getting to do something soon.

He shakes his head, smiling as he tilts his head down. “No,” he sighs. “But short of being bulletproof, you should at the very least know the basics. I teach self-defense classes for women. Consider this one on the house.”

I hate to admit it, but he has a point. The likelihood of a drug dealer’s minions coming after me for money that my ex owes them by raining down a hail of gunfire in a club I’m at seems relatively small. Having Hunter in such close proximity, though, with sweating and touching and all that torture? Seems like a terrible idea, but I never again want to be completely powerless in a situation like I was in last night.

“Sound good?” Hunter asks.

It’s bad. It’s a really, really bad idea for so many reasons, but I’m going to do it anyway.

“Self-defense? Sounds great.”