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“You’ve got a meeting with your agent at ten. It’s on your schedule,” he says. The usually bright white in his eyes is dull. He looks drained. “I’ve got fresh clothes in my car. I’ll come back and wait for you out here.”

He turns to walk away, but I reach out and grab his sleeve.

“You need a shower. And coffee.” I wrinkle my nose. “Preferably in that order.”

“Sin—”

“Don’t argue with me. I’m not taking you to a meeting with my agent when it’s obvious you’ve spent the night sleeping on the floor.”

Denver holds my steady gaze, and my heart pounds against my ribs in anticipation of the argument.

But I don’t care what I have to say to make him come inside, take that shower, and have a drink.

After all, he slept on my hallway floor—it’s the least he needs.

He tips his chin at me. A silent agreement.

I lean against my doorframe and purse my lips. “Good. Hurry up, then. Go get your stuff from your car.” I flick my fingers in a shooing motion.

He steps forward, and my nipples pull even tighter.

“You know what you need to do first,” he rasps.

I move back and close the door on him slowly, sliding the bolt into place.

The deep husk of his morning voice carries through the wood. “Good girl.”

I lean back against the door, sucking in a sharp breath.

Then I wait for him to come back.

“We leave in eight minutes,” Denver clips as I walk into the open living area with my purse and shoes in my hand.

“I know.” I throw him a small smile which he doesn’t return.

I thought him coming in and having a shower would thaw him a bit.

But his moodiness has remained frosty since he came back up to my apartment with his duffel bag of clothes.

I left him to use my shower in peace, but the clouds of man-scented body wash filling my bedroom had me hovering outside, breathing in the notes of bergamot and mint.

Only one other man has ever used my shower, and it didn’t smell like that when he did.

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his jacket pocket.

His deep brown hair is neat again, but still damp above his collar, and his jaw is freshly shaven.

When he woke up this morning, there was a dust of stubble that I’ve never seen on him before.

It suited him. Made him look more intimidating if that’s possible.

“You hungry?” I ask.

“No,” he replies, his eyes fixed on his phone.

I don’t believe him. A guy his size can’t survive on thin air. I still remember the giant breakfasts my brother would eat when he was alive. He was muscular and always working out, but he still wasn’t as large as Denver.

I should have been scared when he grabbed me last night.

And for a second, I was. But the fear vanished as soon as I saw it was him.

Seeing him so mad was intimidating, but also oddly comforting, knowing he cares about my safety.

But the way he pinned me inside his arms with that wild look in his eyes like he could devour me with one bite prevented me from getting straight to sleep last night.

I laid awake in my bed thinking about him. About whether he fucks women with the same dangerous intensity that oozed from him last night. Whether he holds their eyes as he thrusts inside them. Whether he growls their name when he comes.

And while I was imagining it, he was sleeping against my front door.

A rare smile lifts his lips as he types something into his phone before pocketing it again.

“Killian?” I ask as I walk over to the kitchen counter.

“No.”

A single, worded grunt from Denver shuts down any hope of conversation as his expression returns to stony seriousness.

I steal small glances at him while turning on the coffee machine and gathering what I need from the cupboards.

He stands statue-like, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living area that offer an impressive view down Park Avenue.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

I slip on my shoes and reach down to clip Monty’s leash onto his collar, then pick up my two travel cups and walk over to Denver.

I hold one out to him. His eyes flick to it like it’s an unstable explosive.

“It’s the way you like it.” I move the cup closer, urging him to take it.

His long fingers curl around the sides, brushing mine.

“Black with a splash of vanilla… and stirred with an olive branch.”

His eyes meet mine, but I can’t tell if there’s amusement hiding in them. He’d win an award for the world’s best poker face.

“Thank you.”

He lifts my purse to carry, and my heart sinks as he moves toward the door, not saying anything else. I follow him out into the hallway, and he holds my purse and coffee in one hand as he pulls the door closed behind us.

“Is it okay?” I gesture toward the coffee.

He takes a sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck against his white collar.

“It is.”

“Okay then.” I shrug. He’s obviously someone who likes to stew after an argument. But it’s still an improvement. We’re up to two syllables.

I walk ahead of him with Monty and press the button for the elevator. We step inside the empty cart once it arrives, and I stare at the numbers going down on the display as we ride it to the lobby.

Denver clears his throat. “Vanilla?”

“You’re not the only one who pays attention,” I reply, not looking at him.

I bite my tongue to stop myself from adding that in my case I’m not paid to notice, like he is.

I just like to remember things about people.

Like the way Molly’s face lit up when I gave her that first fruit sticker from the smoothie truck.

And how Halliday loves crystals so much that I’m planning on taking her to this crystal themed restaurant in London as part of her bachelorette celebrations.

And the way Denver has always ordered vanilla in his coffee whenever we’ve stopped to get one.

“We need to stop at the deli on the corner on the way,” I say breezily.

“Okay.”

His hand finds my lower back once the elevator doors open, like usual. Part of me wishes I’d never made the coffees at all so that I’d have a free hand.

Because a tiny part of me wonders if he’d hold it as tight as he did last night if he could.