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  “But it all really happened. Alan did leave me in this mess, and it’s going to keep happening, don’t you see? It’s going to keep happening until I—”

  Find the money.

  She closed her mouth, wishing she could find an escape, something to take her out of this existence of terror.

  His hand stroked her hair, and she closed her eyes, thinking if he kept doing that, maybe for the rest of the night she could pretend none of it had ever happened, that they were here together because they wanted to be.

  That she was safe.

  “It’s going to keep happening until…what, Bailey?”

  And even though he couldn’t see her, she shook her head from side to side. She couldn’t tell him. The less he knew, the better. She was still breathing kind of crazily, as if she’d really been running in the woods from Alan. It had seemed so real, but truthfully? Lying in bed with Noah like this, tucked beneath his long, tough, sinewy body, it wasn’t Alan she was in danger from now, but her own heart.

  Noah stroked the hair from her face. She still couldn’t see him, but she didn’t have to; she could feel him. He’d kept his word; he’d kept her safe. It was like her own little miracle.

  He brushed his nose along her jaw toward her ear, where he slowly exhaled and brought an entirely different kind of shiver to her body, one that had nothing, nothing at all, to do with fear.

  Not a little miracle, she corrected when she felt something pressing into her thigh. A big miracle with a long, tough-built body more than capable of doing whatever was needed.

  Including, apparently, her, and in spite of herself, she felt her body heat up in memory.

  “You’re safe here,” Noah said, his voice coming disembodied in the dark. “Believe that much, at least.”

  “I do.” Her voice was raspy, telling her she’d slept long and hard. A shock. She hadn’t slept long and hard since Alan’s death.

  His fingers sank into her hair as his thumbs stroked her forehead. “That’s got to hurt,” he said, and she heard the wry smile in his voice. “You hit my chin hard.”

  “Seeing stars,” she admitted.

  “You really are safe here, you know,” he said, sounding sure and confident.

  What she’d give for half of that confidence. “Still, I should go. I have to—”

  “It’s only five. Sleep some more first, then I’ll take you where you need to go.”

  “Five…in the morning?”

  “Yeah.”

  With a squeak, she pushed him aside and sat straight up again. “We slept all night?”

  “What was left of it.”

  She felt the mattress give as he stretched for something, and then she heard a click, and a soft light flooded the room.

  Then an entirely different nightmare came to her. Because she’d kicked away the covers while running in her dreams, and she wore only a set of goose bumps, and nothing else.

  She grabbed for the down comforter to pull it over herself, but Noah beat her to it, holding the blanket away, his gaze running over her breasts, her ribs, her belly, his eyes dark, so very, very dark.

  But that wasn’t what made her breath catch in her throat, what had her nipples hardening in spite of herself.

  No, that came from the fact that he was also completely, gloriously, one-hundred-percent naked.

  And aroused.

  Oh, good Lord, was the man aroused, and built, not to mention completely at ease with his body in a way she would have admired if she wasn’t suddenly so aware of how exposed she was, and vulnerable.

  And needy.

  With the light on, she felt extremely…vulnerable. She covered her breasts with her hands and closed her eyes, concentrating on breathing and not on the image she presented him with.

  But then she felt his hands on her, turning her to him. “Bailey.”

  “We shouldn’t have slept together—”

  “We were chilled, and you were near shock. You needed body heat.”

  Again she felt the mattress shift beneath his weight, and then she was tucked back beneath that admittedly warm, deliciously warm, hard body.

  The man was her virtual opposite, not a soft, giving, cushy inch on him. “You’re not wearing anything,” she said breathlessly.

  “I was soaked all the way through. I couldn’t sleep like that.”

  No excuses, no apology.

  He’d stripped down, slipped into bed to keep her warm, and she’d let him. She squeezed her eyes tighter, knowing he was looking at her, that she was just about as bared and exposed as she could get.

  He said nothing, and when the moment stretched on past bearing, she cracked open an eye.

  And met two orbs of heated jade. Oh, God. Yeah, he was looking at her, but not her body. Nope, he was looking right into her one eye, and suddenly she couldn’t look away to save her life. “The covers,” she said.

  “You want to cover up to hide.”

  “I’m cold.”

  “Then I’ll keep you warm.” And that said, keeping his gaze locked on hers, he slowly but inexorably pulled her closer, ignoring the fact that she resisted slightly—only slightly because being against him was hardly a hardship—ignoring everything until he’d sat back against the headboard, with her in his lap.

  Only then did he pull the comforter up over the both of them, but by then she didn’t need the warmth of the down; she had the blazing heat from his body, and it generated a heat of her own, one that started deep within and burned outward.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  Her breasts were mashed up against his hard chest, reminding her that while she was soft and feminine, he was sinewy and tough and hard as nails. One of her hands was trapped at her side, the other between them, pressing into his corrugated abs. Beneath her hip she could feel—“Either you’re still carrying that flashlight,” she said, still breathless. “Or—”

  “Or I’m happy to see you?” he asked dryly. “Take a guess.”

  Her entire body went on red-alert status, complete with happy nipples and some sort of fireworks between her thighs. She didn’t mean to, she really didn’t, but she wriggled, just enough to wrench a low, rough sound from his throat.

  And the “penlight” swelled to full-blown searchlight size. “Oh, boy,” she whispered.

  “That’s what you do to me, Bailey,” he said, keeping her close when she might have scooted free. “I can’t help the reaction, but I’m not going to hurt you, or make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

  At the unexpected gentleness of his voice, her gaze whipped to his. Slowly he reached up and swiped at a tear she hadn’t even known she’d shed.

  “Can’t you talk to me?” he asked quietly.

  Throat nearly closed, she could only stare up at him, never so aware of a man in her entire life. Aware and alive, two beautiful things.

  But this was not meant to be. She’d committed crimes to get here. She’d lied, and though he knew of both, he’d been the victim, her victim, and when this was over—assuming she managed to survive—nothing could come of this rather startlingly explosive attraction.

  “You can trust me,” he said.

  It made her heart hurt, physically hurt. All her life she’d been controlled, first by her father, and then by Alan, almost without her even realizing it. She’d been on her own for months now, and though it had been terrifying, it had also been exhilarating. Making her own decisions, accounting to no one…

  Trusting went against the grain. Even for a man who’d gone over and beyond the duty, who’d been forced here against his will and yet continued to do everything in his power to help her, to keep her safe.

  Even when he didn’t know the whole story.

  He just wanted to help her. That was all.

  In light of that, some of her unwavering determination stalled, and as she watched him, she softened some more.

  And melted.

  As if sensing it, he dipped his head and stroked his thumb over her ribs, his eyes so dark and deep sh