She woke to the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle, a wonderful little thunk followed by glass touching glass, and then wine lapping into it. She rolled over in the king-sized memory-foam bed, her head twisting over the silk pillowcase, catching sight of a glistening, stemless wine glass, and then the bottle, and the large hand wrapped around it. And attached to that, the body. Jasper’s. Wearing nothing but a gleaming white bath sheet with its luxurious 900 thread count and its Ritz-Carlton logo half rolled and tucked against her man’s abs. A commercial if she’d ever seen one. A dream that she’d somehow woken up to.

“Hi, Miss Fiona,” he said, clunking the bottle down on her nightstand. “Have a nice nap?”

She did. A nice, dreamless, heavy, power nap. An escape. She yawned and peered out the window to a reddening sky. A sunset. Thank God.

“It’s time for your bath.”

She rose to a half-sitting position, her back leaning up against the handcrafted ornamental headboard. She looked over the room, over him, trying to convince herself that it was all real.

Jasper handed her the wine glass. “Take a sip of this and then let’s get you ready.”

“What time is it?”

“I told you. Time for your bed bath.”

Time didn’t exist in their impromptu love nest. He made sure of it, removing the clock, hiding smartphones and the TV remote. The only thing on his schedule was to satisfy whatever Fiona needed next, the next surprise, the next in her care regimen. As her nurse, he went above and beyond. She’d gone from feeling traumatized and shattered, to normal, and then now, to something else. Something . . . crazy. Was it love?

“Or would you like a shower?” He watched her tip the glass to her mouth.

She took a long sip. It was good, cool, and crisp, and she could feel herself, her whole body, waking up and warming with it. “Yeah,” she said, tasting her lips. “A shower sounds more fun.”

“Whatever you need.” He pulled back the sheets slowly like a long, drawn-out revelation, looking down at her bare legs. He looked thirsty.

“Where’s your glass?”

He reached down, grabbing hers from her hand. He tipped it back into his mouth, the glistening wine emptying into it. “There,” he said, smacking his lips as he put down the glass. “Now come with me.”

She grabbed hold of his hand and was swiftly lifted up and off the bed and into him, his smell, his embrace, his kiss. Then he led her across the room, their secret hideaway that Jasper had arranged immediately after leaving the hospital. He’d broken prior commitments, ignored requests for his presence near the recovering prince, his attendance at debriefing with government officials, a DARC Ops meeting. Everything was pushed aside for Fiona, the two of them sneaking out of the hospital’s parking garage and heading for the nearest hotel for some badly needed rest and relaxation.

What would come next, she wasn’t entirely sure. Though one thing she had to do was visit a spa, not just for the further R&R but for a new haircut. She would be appearing at a press conference, to accept a reward for her bravery in taking down the last terrorist, and for her emergency services given to Matthias, the man she’d seen face down in his own blood in the corridor. Another DARC Ops man—from what Jasper had told her—though he’d shared precious little apart from that.

Protecting her from more of the darkness of his world, she supposed.

After the last few days, she was okay with that, for now. She had her sister’s funeral to attend in the coming days, and that was enough death to think about. Fiona couldn’t even bring herself to think any more about Dr. Wahl. Jasper had quietly told her between a shower and nap that his death wasn’t related to what happened to her. The police believed his extra-curricular activates as an Angel of Mercy had caught up with him. No one at the hospital was too sympathetic, given that information.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what had become of the man lying so still just feet from her while she hid from the terrorist’s bullets.

In the hotel’s opulent bathroom, Jasper helped her forget all about the bullets. His hard body disrobed, his hand pulling down her underwear, their naked bodies pressed up against each other, the feeling of his smooth skin on hers. His mouth at her earlobe.

She wasn’t sure right now what their long-term future held, but their immediate future, their evening together in the shower stall and their potentially debauched night on the king-sized bed seemed very clear. There was no ambiguity regarding what lay in store for them, no uncertainty as to what they both wanted. It began with Jasper, like her personal nurse, helping her into the shower and under its warm water. Hands massaging against her scalp as he frothed the shampoo into a thick lather, some of it falling onto her shoulders and down over the peaks of her breasts, his hands moving there too, his cock hardening against her back. The water, the citrusy lather, and his body felt so good on her.

“I want to take care of you,” he said, his low voice bouncing against the stone walls of the walk-in shower. “You’ve done such a great job of taking care of others. Now it’s your turn.”

She said nothing, instead just turned to face him, her man, watching the way the water flattened his short hair, how it wandered down his perfectly chiseled face and off his hard chin in a single, collected stream. The stream arched off his face and landed on her body somewhere, imperceptibly blending in with the rest of the wonderful, warm water.

Fiona pushed up on her tippy toes, pushing up against him, her hands gripping, crawling up at his smooth pecs, her head trying to get as close as possible to his, her mouth to his. Jasper met her halfway up, their kiss so deep and long that her feet gave way and slumped back down flat on the wet tile. But he moved with her, lower, staying locked, one of his hands wrapping around her back while the other curved under her ass, squeezing, wanting. His mouth slipped away, tasting down around her chin and along her throat as her hand lowered to grab hold of him, to stroke him.

“Take care of me,” she whispered.

* * *

She couldn’t stop smiling, as they stopped the water, as they stepped out of the stall and toweled off. She dried herself but was still so wet. And he was still so . . .

“No,” she said, giggling, pushing him away with the balled-up towel. “Let me dry off.”

Impossible.

They made love again on the bed, this time slower and more gently, more thoroughly, climaxing together and then collapsing together and in each other’s arms, drifting off to a most wonderfully warm and sedated half sleep. It was like coming off anesthesia, only there was no heaviness. No pain. Just an afterglow from a procedure that, while being invasive and sometimes a little harsh, was exactly what she needed.

Lying there and recuperating, she felt light and floaty, in a cloud—his cloud—his love, all of it surrounding her and protecting her. She’d been thoroughly de-stressed, exercised, and wiped clean by his work. He’d shut her brain down, and thankfully so. It was what she needed, an emptiness, a reset, and her nurse knew exactly how to deliver the care.

And when she felt the thoughts creeping back in, the memories, the concerns, he seemed to have noticed immediately. Was it her breathing that had changed? Was it their mental connection? They’d certainly become connected on a—

“Shh,” he whispered, placing his finger to her lips. “Stop thinking so loud.”

She whispered through his finger, “Okay.”

“You’ll have time for that later.”

Fiona smiled, and then hushed him back with a louder “Shh.”

“What? Stop talking about later?”

She nodded. She didn’t want there to ever be a later. Just now. Always now. And always with him.

The phone rang.

“Fuck. How’d they get this number?” She imagined it to be one of the hundreds of reporters and government officials, a mob of distractions constantly hounding them since they’d emerged from the hospital like survivors of a train wreck.

“I’m letting it ring,” Jasper said.

Good. She snuggled into him, in peace. But just as the ringing stopped, a thought crossed her mind. “Maybe it’s word about Matthias?”

Jasper shook his head. “I already got word. I talked to him before coming here.”

“Oh, he’s talking? What did he say?”

“He says he’s in debt to you.” Jasper laughed as he reached for her hand. “And he told me I better make a move before he does.”

“Make a move? On me?”

He nodded and then ducked down to lay a sweet little kiss on the top of her hand.

“Did you tell him how many you’ve already made? I can’t even”—she laughed—“I can't even count that high.”

“No. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Maybe he meant another kind of move.”

“We’ve done those too.”

She pushed him against his firm chest. “Something bigger.”

“Oh.” He blocked her hand, grabbing it. “Something official.” His grip softened as his thumb caressed her, gliding over her wrist.

“Maybe,” she said.

“‘Maybe’ doesn’t sound too official.”

“Maybe I’m falling in love.”

He froze for a half second.

And then warmed, his face almost blushing with it. And when he climbed on top of her, she could feel his heat, the heat of their sex, and of the shower water. She squirmed happily underneath it all.

“Maybe I am, too,” he said. And then he kissed her. Hard.