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A Sunday night storm breaks the humidity apart, and I open the curtains on Monday to a cool blue sky and a white-yellow sun shining down on Pine Ridge.

There’s still no word from Powell, so Reggie suggests he keep his half of the cover story and work on the house.

He shows me his tool kit, which is basically a cross between James Bond’s luggage and my dad’s old workbench stuffed into an army duffle bag that must be seventy years old.

I jump a little when I see guns and knives, even though I know he is my bodyguard. That must equal some sort of weaponry, right?

Reggie takes my hand firmly. It’s the first time we’ve touched since last night.

“The sight upsets you, of course, after what you saw with Matteo. You never have to fear these as long as I’m holding them.

They have only ever been used to defend the defenseless.

” I notice that most of them look like older models, although they all appear well cared for.

He picks up one shiny pistol, which probably used to be black and is now a mottled silvery gray.

“An old Enfield. This was the British Army’s standard service pistol.

.. You know, I believe this was Artie’s at one point.

He passed it on to one of the older boys we rescued, a boy almost old enough to fight in the war himself, but.

.. But I am happy to think we got him to New York with his little sisters. ”

“He gave up his service pistol?”

“It made that young man feel like he would have a way to save his little sisters if we were discovered. And your grandfather never needed a gun as long as he had me around to watch over him.”

That shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. The selflessness of this man— He’s not a man. He’s clay and magic.

Felt like a man last night. Talks and acts with more honor and self-sacrifice than most men I’ve ever known.

Reggie mistakes my silent staring for unease. “It’s not a bad thing to have some kind of protection in these situations. If you don’t know how to defend yourself, it’s a good time to start learning.”

I can picture Reggie standing behind me, body pressed close to mine, helping me aim, his thick chest muscles hugging my back and his thick cock brushing my—

You will get nothing done, Teri. Nothing but bending over and grabbing your ankles like it’s shower time sex round two. You let yourself fall back in bed with this man one more time, and you’ll fall in love—and there is no way you’ll ever climb out.

“M-maybe this afternoon.”

THAT AFTERNOON, REGGIE comes in and puts down a wrench and some rags as I walk in endless loops in the living room, the television on low, too distracted to read or think.

What I really want to do is watch him upgrade the plumbing—not that I’m fascinated by pipes, I just want to watch him .

I’ve heard him banging away throughout the house, and I’m sure the neighbors have, too—and that’s saying something, considering they’re six feet under.

He takes one look at me and his gray face falls, wide planes of his cheeks seeming to flatten in dismay. “No call from your handler?”

“Not a peep. I’m going to call him.” I pick up the phone, sigh, and put it down. “Later. No news is good news, right?”

Reggie doesn’t answer. Instead, he holds out a hand again, and I take it, lacing my fingers through his and feeling instantly lighter and warmer. “Let’s go out to lunch today. You’re pacing a hole in the carpet.”

“Sounds good. There was a restaurant by the grocery store, that Italian place?”

“Tiramisu, yes, I saw that. It’s a new place; it opens in a few weeks.

There are other places in town to go—The River House serves good food from all around the world, mainly Americana.

Jade Forest has Chinese.” Reggie kneads my hand in his, and I ease deeper into his arms, looking up at the smooth head, the wide square jaw, and those eyes.

.. Those eyes are different than they were when I looked into them when we exchanged vows at our sham wedding.

“I want to go somewhere alone with you, where everyone won’t come up and ask questions. Keeping a low profile is better, right?” I whisper.

“There’s several of the nicer chain restaurants out of town. Italian-American cuisine with endless refills on appetizers?” he hints.

“My favorite.”

“Mine, too! Actually, that’s not entirely true. I love everything. My taste buds have been asleep for years, but now that I’m with you... I don’t know. Everything seems to have woken up.”

I manage a giggle as I feel his cock waking up as I sway against him.

I pull back and beam at him. “Ditto. I mean, not about food. I’ve always been the adventurous eater in the family.

Oh, gosh, eating in Europe! I tried so many new things!

I— Well, Belvedere’s Steakhouse is the height of fine dining back in my hometown.

Let’s go.” I retrieve the remote and switch off the news.

“Anything about you-know-who?” Reggie asks tactfully.

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve been trying to listen to the news and not understanding a word of it. My brain has been in a fog, but I didn’t hear the names Estrada or Delgado, so I guess that’s good.” My stomach growls. “Or maybe I was too hungry to notice.”

“Then let’s eat out right now.”

Ohhh, bad, bad brain. I can picture him eating out, buried between my legs, strong hands gripping my thighs as I practically crawl the walls.

“Yes, let me get my purse,” I squeak, trying to outrun my impure thoughts.

“You mentioned your dining adventures in Europe—how many countries were you in?”

“Oh, I don’t know... At least ten,” I muse, trying to think. “Italy, France, Belgium, Spain, Germany, England—”

Reggie cuts me off, and as polite as he is, that really gets my attention.

“Then you know—there are so many big cities to get lost in, Teri. People who work as freelancers or work remotely don’t have to stay in one place.

Plumbers are in demand everywhere. They don’t always have to use their real names, either.

Professional names or nicknames could be used, and money could go straight into a business account under the name of the company.

I could be a handyman in London or a welder in Brussels.

Tiny towns, sprawling cities...” His voice fades away.

I know what he’s thinking. Now I’m thinking it, too. Reggie and I, traveling the country, maybe even the world, setting up a business account for my computer freelance jobs, living off handyman money paid in cash for odd jobs whenever money gets tight.

From first-class and caviar to tacos and tents.

From a murderer who wanted you as eye candy to a man who would sacrifice everything to be with you and keep you safe.

I lean on Reggie's shoulder and trace the sacred markings on his skin through his taut white shirt. “It’s a nice offer. You should make it to someone else,” I murmur. “Someone who could enjoy all that with you, someone who won’t always be looking over her shoulder.”

Before I can breathe, Reggie turns, pushing me against the wall, hands cupping my chin as he pulls it up. “Therese, I don’t want anyone else. I’ve never felt this way, and my instincts are never wrong!” he hisses, pain tightening his features.

I want to tell him I’ve felt it before—this rush of attraction, this desire to listen to impulses—but that isn’t strictly true.

I’ve never felt it coupled with such security.

My mouth moves, but then it’s covered by Reggie's larger one, his tongue plundering my words, kissing me to silence before he speaks again.

“I have never wanted another woman, I want you. I will look over your shoulder. No, better, I will stand between you and danger, as I have always done for your family. Your living shield, mein neshama , only now, I am truly alive because of you.”

It’s been hours since we made love, but it feels like days. My hands scratch frantically at his long t-shirt, trying to get it out of the way of his zipper. Reggie easily solves that problem by yanking my shorts off, and miraculously, his clothes follow.

Even with all of Matteo’s sex god skills, this position never happened, but suddenly it does.

My back is against the wall, and my hips are spread around his waist. His hard, bare cock slips straight into my hungry slit and makes me curse as I slide down.

Impaled on him, I expect to be carried to the couch or the bed. Even the floor. That doesn’t happen.

Reggie has a manic glint in his eyes, something too bright and raw to look away from. We don’t even talk, just pound into each other. The only sound is our heavy breathing and the wet slapping of skin on skin as he hammers me like some beautiful machine.

I want to tell him that he can’t fuck me into saying yes. That good sex and impressive positions won’t change my mind.

They won’t. But that hungry, desperate look in his eye might. The half sob as he tries to pull out and I yank him in deeper, using his shoulders for leverage, that might do it.

“I didn’t mean to love you,” he rasps into my sweaty neck as we pull apart. My toes hit the carpet, and it feels like I’m returning to Earth after spending ten minutes on some other private, primitive planet ruled by passion.

My chest burns. My thighs burn. I’m a sticky mess as I stumble away, shaking my head in confusion. Love me? He can’t. You can’t fall in love in three days.

Although I did it over a drunken weekend in Miami...

My feet freeze on the carpet, even though our mingled juices are dripping down my thighs and hurrying toward my calves.

Don’t. Don’t walk away. Everybody walks away from him, or he forces himself to hide from them.

He loves me because I’m different. And damn it...

I find Reggie sinking down to the carpet, looking winded and empty-eyed. “I didn’t mean to love you back.”

THE ITALIAN LUNCH IS good, and the conversation flows. It’s because we’re playing roles in public, Reggie and Therese.