It had been a long time since Preston had sat at his desk—with nightfall as his backdrop and mounds of paperwork spread out before him—and felt so content. Things were just so right today.

He’d already received the initial investors’ report from one of his assistants, and while no signatures had made it onto the dotted lines just yet, the fact was, he felt secure in his urge to toast to his own success. He had the Alcott Resort development in the bag, and after a year of planning and headaches about possibly never realizing his grandfather’s dream, the relief he felt now, here in his office, while the city slept behind him—it was immense, the lightness within him leaving him breathless.

But that wasn’t even the best thing to happen to him today. That honor went to Ashley, and the look in her eyes as they’d parted ways. She’d looked amused by him, sure, and even charmed—but there was something else there, a glint of it in her unguarded moment of goodbye, and it made his stomach swoop now to think about it.

He saw love. He knew he did. She might not be ready to say it—she might not even realize it herself—but neither could she hide it, not when it shone out of her so brilliantly clear.

Preston kind of felt like he could lift the whole world onto his shoulders now, so buoyed up with the confidence and strength that one look gave him. Ashley’s love for him felt like the start of everything, and now he just needed to wait until she felt secure enough to realize it herself. He was going to blow her mind with how much of a good man he would be for her.

His phone rang as he was pouring himself a second shot of whiskey, and he frowned at the clock, two AM and far too late for anyone to be bothering him. There was a reason he had assistants.

It rang out before he could make it to his jacket hanging on the back of the door, and when he retrieved his phone from the inside pocket and checked the screen, his heart plummeted down to his stomach.

Ashley. And he’d left her hanging.

Why would she be calling him so late? Unless…

His plummeting heart transformed into a well of heat, smirk quirking his mouth as realization dawned on him. There could only be one reason why she’d chosen to call him at this time, in the dead of night, when she was no doubt lying alone and barely dressed in bed—

The phone rang again before he had a chance to call her back, distracted by his own filthy thoughts, the image of her naked body spread out for him, ready and flushed.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you to call already—”

“I think there’s someone in my house.” Her words came out hissed and panicked, and Preston’s fantasy disappeared in an instant. He was grabbing his car keys before her meaning fully registered.

“What?”

“I heard—I don’t know.” The fear in her tone had him making a fist around his car keys as he stalked his way to the elevator, metal cutting into his palm, sharp spike of pain and—“Preston, please.”

Fuck the elevator. He took the stairs four at a time.

“I’m coming,” he said, words forced out through clenched teeth. If anyone dared hurt her… “Have you called the police?”

“No, I…no. How long will you be?”

“Just stay on the line.”

So many stairs from the penthouse to the parking garage, Jesus Christ, layers and layers of them, and he couldn’t descend them quick enough, heartbeat deafening in his ears, threatening to drown out the sound of her rapid, panicked breathing.

“I’m gonna check it out,” she said all of a sudden, and he almost missed the last step as horror flooded him. She was well able to take care of herself, he knew that, he really did—but not with this, an unknown danger, and not with that ankle.

“No. Jesus,” he said as he unlocked the car and slid in behind the wheel. “Where are you right now?”

“In bed.”

“Go to the door and close it.” Phone tucked between shoulder and ear, he peeled the car out of the garage and swerved into the middle lane, while other drivers honked at him. “Do you have a lock on that door?”

“No.”

“Just push against it then,” he said, making a concerted effort to use his blinker as he changed lanes—the last thing Ashley needed right now was for him to end up in an accident, powerless to help her. “I’ll be right there.”

“There’s a key under the red gnome beside the rose bush,” she whispered, and he had to close his eyes for an instant. The thought of someone else finding that key… “Please hurry.”

He put his foot to the floor.

The key was still there, half buried in the soil beneath the gnome, and the house was chillingly dark and silent. He’d lost the call as he passed through a tunnel, signal going dead and cutting Ashley off from him. He had to stamp down on thoughts of what he might find inside as he slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

Nothing. The air was a little cold, the silence almost oppressive, but he couldn’t sense the presence of another person. Just the stillness of night.

Yet that didn’t mean anything, and on lightened footsteps, his breath held, he made his way through the house until he found the one closed door, behind which he hoped—prayed, please god—Ashley still sat, back to the door, waiting for him.

He tapped gently and heard a shuffle of movement.

“It’s me,” he whispered.

“Oh god, Preston…” She was moving again, the distinct sounds of her climbing to her feet, but he didn’t want her coming out here yet, not until he knew there was nothing here to harm her.

“Stay there,” he said, and turned to observe the house before him, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, shadows becoming shapes of furniture. Her house was single level, mostly open-plan, with the kitchen and living room separated by an arched wall and the bedroom and bathroom doors leading off in the opposite direction. There weren’t many places to hide here, not unless the intruder wedged himself behind the couch or in the gap beside the refrigerator.

Preston looked anyway, with stealthy footsteps as he walked the house from corner to corner, using the light of his phone to check out every nook and cranny, the locks on all the doors and windows, even behind the curtains. There was no one here, and no signs that anyone had ever been here tonight.

He went back to the bedroom door, knocked on it. “Let me in,” he said, and the door swung open instantly, revealing an Ashley he hadn’t yet seen before—the one who wore oversized, fluffy pajamas, hair all messed up and loose and frizzy, fingers pressed to lips in agitation. Aside from the obvious fear in her, which he planned to banish immediately, she’d never looked so lovely. He smiled and said, “There’s no one here.”

She blinked wide, owlish eyes staring up at him. “Are you sure?”

He shook his head. “No signs of entry either,” he said, then held up her spare key. “You shouldn’t leave a key outside.”

On a sigh, she said, “I know. It’s an old habit from my mom.” She stared at the key for a moment, then swallowed audibly. “Why don’t you keep it for now?”

His heart lurched. “Ash—”

“Just in case something like this happens again,” she said in a rush. Then she dragged hands up over her face and through her hair, pulling it back tight with obvious distress. “God, not much scares me, but the thought of someone being here while I’m asleep—”

“Shh,” he said, and acted on impulse—pulling those anxious hands out of her hair and tugging her into his arms, pressing his lips down on the top of her head while she sighed against him.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” He said it without thinking, meaning nothing more than keeping her company, but she stiffened in his arms—almost imperceptibly, yet enough to put him on edge.

“God, no,” she said, pulling out of his hold, “I know how busy you must be.” But he could see it in her eyes, the truth behind her words as she looked at anything but him, hands wringing—she wasn’t saying no because she didn’t want him with her. She was trying not to be a burden.

“I want to.” He took her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze, then thought about all the work sitting on his desk and pulled her close again so he could kiss her forehead. “You’d be doing me a favor, because I’ll only go home and worry about you anyway.”

She breathed a laugh at that, tilting her face down into his chest, tucking her arms between them and holding onto his shirt. “As long as I’m not putting you out,” she muttered. He felt a surge of fondness and rested his cheek on the top of her head as he rubbed her back.

“I’m happy to be here,” he said honestly, then adding, “I wish it was under better circumstances, but…” just to hear her huff out another laugh.

She snuggled in closer, her frizzy hair tickling him under the chin. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

He didn’t push his luck with her—had no desire to. She wanted him here because she didn’t feel safe, and there was no way he wanted to twist that into something sexual. This wasn’t the time, not when she stayed so close to him as they sat on the bed and talked awhile, filling the silence until the echoes of fear in her filtered away into big, jaw-cracking yawns and fluttered eyelashes.

And not when she shyly invited him into her bed, watched him peel off shoes and shirt and pants, tuck them neatly in the corner and then climb into bed beside her. She came to him when he extended an arm, shuffling into his side and draping her arm over him, him in his boxers and her in the fluffy pajamas. And there was nothing erotic about the moment, nothing sensual and passionate, but it was exquisitely intimate and warm and comfortable, and he went to sleep with the sensation thick in his chest that he’d never felt so perfectly close to another person in his life.