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“Uh huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nate asked, unable to hide the note of defensiveness.

Jackson lifted and lowered one heavily muscled shoulder. “She’s a fine-looking woman. Seems nice too. If I wasn’t planning to get my Essie back, I’d be entertaining ideas.”

“Yeah, well, make sure the guys don’t get any of those ideas. She’s been through enough the last couple of days. The last thing she needs is a bunch of guys pawing all over her.”

“You got it, boss.” Jackson stood, the empty glass in his hand. “I’m going to bed. There’s extra supplies in the hallway closet. First come, first served, so you might want to grab what you need before these two wake up.” As he passed the recliner, he gave it a hard enough nudge to rouse Navarre. “Get up, Sleeping Beauty. You’re on first watch with Nate. He’ll brief you on the situation. Wake me if anything happens. I’ll be pissed if I miss any fun.”

THE SOUND OF METALclanging woke Dorcas from a sound sleep. Cracking her eyes open, she peered about the room, which was dimly lit and out of focus. She rolled over to reach for her contacts, only to remember this wasn’t her house, and she’d lost her contact lenses the night before.

Her stomach knotted as the memory of what happened at the hotel played in her mind. If it wasn’t for Nate, God only knew what those men would have done to her. If she’d even be alive. He’d been calm and efficient in the face of danger, with an underlying air of confidence that she found extremely compelling. It gave her a deeper appreciation of the man, and for the first time she looked beyond the player persona and considered a whole new world of possibilities.

One of those possibilities involved the kiss he’d laid on her at the hotel. She’d had no idea a simple kiss could hold that kind of power. Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his warm, soft lips pressed to hers, hear the low moan rumbling in his chest. And though her practical nature warned against the idea, she wanted to do it again.

Her train of thought was derailed by the sound of snoring. Looking to where the noise was coming from, she saw the blurry outline of a person lying on the carpeted floor, covered by a light-colored sheet.

“Nate?”

The snoring stopped. He made a low noise, as if clearing his throat, and the sheet rustled as he rolled onto his side to face her.

“Hey.” His voice sounded rough and raspy. “How’s your hand?”

She glanced down at the bandage that she’d forgotten all about until now. “It’s fine; doesn’t even hurt. Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

“Had to sleep somewhere. I wanted to be close in case...well, you know.”

Yeah, she did, and his commitment to her safety gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. “You could have come up here. There’s plenty of room.”

He hesitated before responding. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

An awkward silence filled the room, and once again, she really wished she could see his face more clearly.

“What time is it?” she asked, hoping to break the tension.

He checked his watch. “Shit, it’s almost ten. I asked Jackson to wake me at nine.”

“When did you get to sleep?”

“I don’t know; sometime around six.”

“That’s not enough rest. You should sleep longer.”

“No, now that I’m awake, I won’t be able to get back to sleep.” He pushed up to a sitting position and the sheet slid down, exposing his bare chest, and she cursed her crappy vision. He watched her for a long moment, and then smiled. “Damn, even with bed hair, you’re gorgeous. You know that, right?”

A blush heated her cheeks. “Suck-up.”

“It’s not sucking up when it’s true.” He scratched his chest. “Are you hungry?”

Now there was a loaded question. “A little.”

In truth, she hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours. Her stomach gurgled, and she hoped it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.

His smile broadened, leading her to believe that yeah, he totally heard, but he didn’t say anything about it. He picked his black T-shirt off the floor and tugged it over his head. “Let’s get some breakfast. I heard Pinto’s pancakes are to die for.”

After making the bed and a half-hearted attempt to smooth the wrinkles from her clothes, Dorcas opened the bedroom door and was hit with the mouthwatering aroma of bacon. The gurgle in her stomach turned into a growl. Nate must have heard that one. He was right behind her, less than a foot away, close enough she could almost feel the heat radiating off his body. He smelled incredible, even better than the bacon but in a different kind of way that she shouldn’t be thinking about.

In the living room, she tiptoed past Hatch, who was passed out on the couch with a blanket draped over the lower half of his body. Shirtless, he lay on his stomach, with his head turned toward the television and one arm dangling over the cushion. There were tattoos on his back, but without her contacts she couldn’t make out the intricate designs.