The heat was unbearable. When I opened my eyes, half of Cade's body was practically on top of mine, his arm around my chest, his head on my shoulder and his leg wrapped around my waist.

Like an artistic masterpiece, his tattoos were like a painting against a blank canvas, only this canvas was lean, rippled, and toned. When I ran my hand through his hair, feeling the softness, he exhaled softly.

My chin trembled as I cuddled closer, remembering the horror of last night. Thank heavens he’d been there. This morning would’ve been a different scenario if he hadn’t. A shudder ran through me at the thought.

"Thank you," I whispered. I shifted and pressed my lips against his.

He stirred and automatically both arms wrapped around my waist.

And I kissed him again because he was my savior in more ways than I could count. It was as though he’d been purposely put on this earth to save me—from the only life I knew, bringing me out of my comfort zone, protecting me from Walter.

His eyes slowly opened. "You okay?"

"Yes." I was. Because of him.

He kissed me back with such force and heat and sweetness that the touch set my body aflame. It was as though he wanted to know and feel that I was truly okay.

He repositioned us where I was laying on his chest, and I rested my chin on one of his pecs. "I want to know what happened last night."

I sensed he didn't want to tell me for my own protection, but it was better to know than to be in the dark. "I need to know, Cade."

He nodded and his whole body tensed beneath me. "Kyle, one of my bouncers, saw you go into the hall with that asshole. He could tell you were incoherent, not all there." The muscles in his jaw worked. "He recognized you and called me down."

He scrubbed one hand down his face and then his arms tightened around me. "I'm sorry ..." His voice rattled with heavy, sullen regret. "I'm so sorry I didn't answer your call, Angel. I'm so damn sorry."

I drew circles on his bare chest, snuggling closer, needing him to warm the cold chill running through me. "It's not your fault." My fingers trembled against his beating heart, tracing the lines of ink that spanned above it. "I'm just glad you got there when you did. What if ...?" I couldn’t even voice my fears aloud.

He pressed a tender finger to my lips. "No what ifs. If he ..." He cringed. "I'd be in jail, Angel, I promise you that."

I squeezed my eyes tightly at the reality of what could’ve happened. I was so grateful I hadn’t been hurt, but also grateful that Cade hadn’t murdered him. Simply grateful.

Kristy’s voice from last night rang in my head: You're not going to bring her back.

"Was Candice attacked?" I asked carefully.

He nodded.

"Did you almost kill her attacker?"

"We almost did," he answered, and I wondered who he meant by we.

His voice was thick with emotion. "She started using after that ... that happened."

He didn't need to go into more detail. I cuddled deeper against his chest, wanting to take away his anguish, his sadness, his pain. I'd ask him more later, but I knew now was not the time.

So, I just let his warmth soothe me and hoped that having me near was soothing him, too.

* * *

The next night, we had dinner and Netflix in his bed. He hadn't touched me like I wanted him to. After the almost attack, it seemed as though he was keeping his distance.

I snuggled close, laying on his chest and feeling his even breaths on my cheek. "I like this," I said, letting a little of my feelings slip out.

"What do you mean?"

"Doing nothing but lying here with you." I had told myself to be careful. Told myself to keep my heart guarded. He would be off and gone to his next destination in no time, leaving me here in Rosendell, in the background, thinking of him constantly. But I couldn't help the honesty that slipped out.

He kissed the top of my head, and his arms wrapped tighter around me. I breathed in his masculine scent, one that I had already committed to memory. I would never take our time together for granted.

"I know what you mean."

I listened to the sounds of our soft breaths cutting through the muted sounds of the television, feeling his firm body against mine. My hands against his hand, my chest against his chest.

I could lay in this happy heaven forever. I was falling deep for Cade. And it frightened the crap out of me, yet I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop feeling more for him if I wanted to.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. His fingers traced tiny circles on my thigh, tiny little circles that caused huge butterflies to take flight in my stomach.

"I'm thinking how much fun I've had over the last few days. How I don't want it to end." I nuzzled my nose against the crook of his neck, my words getting muffled against his skin. "How much I like you."

His chuckle vibrated from his chest. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I said, embarrassed and cowering into him, my nose jammed into the spot between his shoulder and his neck. I'd let too much slip already.

He pulled back and captured my chin between his fingertips. "What did you say, Angel?"

I averted my gaze, knowing he'd be able to read me and know how deeply I felt for him, that this was more than a fleeting crush.

"Angel." His eyes were like a dark polished shard of metal. Staring up at him, I knew there was no pretense. No reason to fear saying the truth, but before I had a chance to blurt it out, he said it first.

"Angelica Armstrong, I'm very much in like with you."

His words seemed like something a little kid would say, but it was endearing coming from a grown man of his stature and build.

I beamed, and my stomach did flip-flops like a gymnast at a competition. "And Cade Ryder, I'm very much in like with you, too."

His thumb brushed lightly on my bottom lip and a familiar warmth, one that only he could stir up, radiated in my chest. "I want to spend every waking moment with you. It's like I'm on borrowed time."

I nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. "Like it can't be this good. So effortless."

He kissed my lips. "Exactly. So effortless.” Then again. “So happy.” Then again. “So sexy."

His hand tightened, squeezing my outer thigh while his tongue outlined my mouth. And my whole body warmed with arousal.

He took in my face, his thumbs caressing my cheek. "I might have to prolong my trip because of you."

I pulled back, reading his face to see if he was serious. "Really?" My heart skipped two, three, four beats.

"Yes, really." Then his lips captured mine in his. And then I was lost. Lost in his kisses. Lost in his touch. "You're absolutely beautiful." Lost in his words.

And then I sighed. Out loud. And I was pretty sure he heard it. When Cade called me beautiful, it was like he was saying it for the first time. He said it with conviction, like in the dictionary my picture would be under the word. He didn't say it in passing or out of habit or to be nice. He honestly thought that I—Angelica Armstrong—was beautiful, and my heart soared.

"You make me feel beautiful," I whispered.

He pulled back, want and need heavy in his eyes. His thumb lightly grazed my cheek in soft, graceful caresses. His eyebrows furrowed, and I searched his face for what he was thinking. His eyes were transparent, clear gray and endless. He was being careful with me.

Slow and seductive, he nipped at my flesh. "This okay?"

I bit my lip and nodded. "More than okay," I said, urging him on.

His fingers reached for the hem of my long T-shirt. "I don't think it's fair that I'm shirtless and you still have your clothes on."

I lifted my arms, and as soon as the shirt was off, he chucked it to the side.

His tongue explored my breasts, paying each one equal attention, all the while watching me lose control. If this were anyone else, I would’ve been embarrassed by my heavy breathing, but not with this man.

This man made me feel beautiful, even naked in the full light. All my imperfections were plain for him to see, but he marveled at them, not making me feel shy. Instead, he made me feel like the sexiest woman alive.

He gently guided me to my back and lifted his head, staring at me with such reverence. It was as if he was painting a picture of me in his head, and my whole body tingled as I felt every stroke of his imaginary paint brush.

After slipping off my underwear, he bent down to capture my lips in his and entered me in one slow, agonizing sweep. He stilled, and a shudder ran through his body before he pulled back and reentered me, creating a sensual tempo between us.

His voice was husky, hoarse. "Your body ... your body was meant to fit with mine."

The slick of sweat from his chest stuck to mine, and I trembled from the feel of him. "You feel so good, Angel." He voice was guttural, his tempo increasing. "It's never felt this good."

I gripped the top of his hair, so dark, so soft, so wonderful between my fingertips. Our bodies moved as one in a beautiful sexual dance. His body, his being, his whole self was meant for me, too. I believed it. I believed it with every thrust of his body against mine, with every word that left his mouth and with every kiss he planted on my lips.

This wasn't hardcore, uninhibited sex as we'd had many times before, one where I'd experienced instant, body-crushing satisfaction. This was planned, slow, and soul-crushing lovemaking. I felt his every push and pull inside of me, not only with my body but with my soul. I felt him everywhere, places that were broken and healing and being put back together. And I was afraid to admit it, afraid to say it to him, and more so admit it to myself. But I couldn't deny my strong feelings for this man any longer, I more than liked him. I was falling in love with him.

And I never wanted to let him go—ever.