The room is quiet, too quiet.

It leaves me too much time to think. And my thoughts aren't happy ones.

I couldn't concentrate enough to watch any T.V. and none of the shows seemed interesting anyway. I wanted to ask Taylor to let Emily stay, but they were both exhausted and Emily needed to be somewhere familiar. There's no use upsetting her more than she already is.

It's been twenty-four hours since our rescue and I've thought of her at least a million times during every one. The doctors restricted me to the hospital bed for 48 hours of observation due to my injuries and the officers guarding my door won't let anyone but vetted personnel and my family in.

In short, I'm slowly going crazy.

It'd be a different story if I had something to occupy my time other than quiet contemplation. I'd kill for a devastating hurricane or a capsized boat. Then I remember that I'm still recovering from the gunshots and my misery starts all over again. The only sleep I've gotten is medically induced and even then my nightmares wake me every couple hours.

This time, I didn't let the nurses give me a sedative. If I'm not gonna sleep, I'd rather do it without the grogginess that accompanies the medicine.

A knock comes at the door and I open my mouth to snarl at them when I recognize the dark, wavy hair. Of course, the last time I saw her she was in a torn, soaked dress the same dark blue of her eyes. She looks as beautiful as I remembered, even in a shapeless hospital gown.

"Hey," she says.

I sit up in the bed and hope I don't sound like an eager fuckin' teenager. "Hey."

She walks hesitantly to my bedside with her lip clamped between her teeth. My heart hammers in my chest, the first sign of life I've had since the boat exploded, as she sits down next to me. The bed shifts with her weight and I have to knot the bed sheets on the other side to keep from pulling her close.

"How are you?" she asks, pausing the gnawing on her lip enough to say the words and then her teeth take hold again.

"I'm—" I stop to wet my own lips to keep from tasting hers. The few kisses we'd shared didn't necessarily mean anything to her. They hadn't to me at the time, or so I thought. Now, I'm not so sure. Do I want them to? She damn sure deserves better than me. "I'm good. Doctor says I should make a full recovery."

"That's good news," she says.

"How about you? Gonna make it?"

"Looks like it," she says, shifting slightly on the bed so that our legs brush. She takes no outward notice of it, but my body goes electric. "How's the hospital treating you? Still hate them?"

"I don't know," I say, my eyes on her lips. "It's not so bad right now."

Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes drop to the thin comforter. "There's the Gabe I know," she says.

"Been missin' him, huh?" I tease.

Then she looks back up at me, and the smile fades from my lips and it becomes difficult to breathe.

"What if I was?" she asks, her voice soft.

I swallow, then say, "Then why didn't you come here sooner?"

She laughs. "I guess I didn't want to seem like a crazy person. I didn't want you to tell me to get lost."

I scoot over on the bed to make room for her, noting the dark shadows under her eyes. "I'd never tell you to get lost," I say and then tug on her arm. "Lie down with me."

She resists for a second and then caves. "You been able to sleep?" she asks as she reclines next to me. She takes care not to bump my wounds and then finally lays her head on my shoulder.

The bed isn't huge and the bars are pressing into my back, but having her next to me is the most comfortable I've been in a long time.

"No," I say when I remember she asked me a question. "Not well and I hate medicine. If another person comes at me with a syringe of sedatives, I might have to tackle them to the ground to defend myself."

She laughs. "So you've been terrorizing the nursing staff."

The tension in my shoulders starts to dissolve and I relax into the bed. "I'd never do that," I say with a grin.

Chloe turns on her side and rests her head on my shoulder. "Sure you wouldn't."

I fake-scoff. "I don't think you've known me long enough to make those kinds of judgments, thanks."

She blinks up at me. "You're right."

My smile fades. "I didn't mean—"

"No," she interrupts with a giggle. "I don't mean that. I mean I don't know you. I mean we survived this horrible thing and I feel closer to you than I've ever felt with anyone." She pauses, her eyes widening with surprise and she glances away nervously. "I mean, not that we're close or anything, um, I mean that—"

I cover her mouth with my hand and she stops speaking, her gaze coming back to mine. "You don't have to explain," I say, my voice low.

"I don't?"

Her hair feels like silk in my hands and I murmur, "Mmhmm," as I drape it over her dainty shoulders. She's a delicately made woman for someone so fierce. Remembering her guarding me with a gun makes me smile.

"What?" she asks, smiling back at me.

"Just remembering you protecting me with a gun. For someone so little you're pretty damn formidable."

"I'm not little," she says. "You're just huge."

Having her so close is doing ridiculous things to my body. I'd turned off all the lights to go to sleep so the lack of light is intensifying all of my other senses. I can smell the plain soap she must have used in the shower, which only serves to make my imagination run wild.

I gulp down air and try to refocus on the conversation. "What do you want to know?" I ask to get my brain to focus on something, anything, other than how she feels against me.

"Everything," she says.

* * *

In the hazy light of morning, I wake to find myself wrapped around a beautiful woman, slightly confused as to how I got there. I have one arm cradled underneath her head and the other slung around her waist so she's pressed against me in all the right places. And I mean all the right places. Her breath fans across the sensitive skin along my neck.

It takes a while for me to remember what happened and how she got into bed with me and then the previous night comes to me. We'd lain in the bed together for hours, just talking. It's been a long time since I had a woman in bed for a reason other than getting naked with her.

As I shift to put a little room between us, despite every instinct telling me not to, she makes a sound of protest and moves closer. She throws one of her thighs over my hip and—hand to God—I don't intend to kiss her again—at least not until we'd at least gone on an official date, but I do.

Her lips are unbelievably, exquisitely soft. A growl rumbles in my chest and her hand rises to press against it, hesitantly at first as she rouses. I watch as her eyes flutter open and catch mine. As they widen in surprise and then dilate with desire, my muscles steel with triumph.

I use the arm around her waist to my advantage, leveraging her weight until she's pressed as close as she can be. We both groan in unison at the sensitive contact, the simple touch reigniting the spark between us I've been trying so hard to ignore. The pain from my wounds is nonexistent. In its place is pure pleasure.

Her mouth opens and I cup her face with my hands, guiding her movements in tandem with mine. I touch, and taste, and go a little crazy with her kiss. Her fingers clutch at my shoulders as she does everything that she can to practically bind herself to me.

Desire flares white-hot between us and when I'm about to flip her to her back and show her how much I need her, she devastates me by breaking the kiss and sliding her lips along my jaw to my ear. She exhales an unsteady breath and nibbles at the sensitive skin there. My mind blanks and narrows to the simple, but effective point of contact.

How or why doesn't matter. What matters is the breathless way she whispers my name when I knot her hair in my hand to plunder her mouth. What matters is the way her heart stutters in her chest when I trail my lips on a path down her neck to the pink-splotched skin revealed by the thin hospital blanket.

I bring my lips back to her ear as my hand ghosts along her neckline. "Do you want me to stop, baby?" The question burns me when I ask; the last thing I want to do is stop. But even worse than that would be making a move she isn't ready for. I've got all the time in the world, I can wait. It'll probably kill me, but I can try.

She answers by plunging her hands into my hair and pulling my mouth back to hers. I respond by covering her body with my own. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I'm moving too fast, doing too much, but she simply cradles me between her thighs, pulling me closer to her warmth. There's a twinge from my stitches, but I push that to the back of my mind.

It's been a long time since I've been with a woman I cared about—probably too long if I'm being honest. After my horrific divorce, relationships weren't high on my list of priorities. Maybe I was waiting for someone like Chloe. Someone soft and a little sweet, too idealistic for this shitty world, but at the same time, determined in her own right.

Her hands trail along my chest, and no fucking joke, my breath catches in my throat at the hesitant touch of her fingers against my skin. I feel like a goddamned teenager necking in the living room and realize I must immediately shift the balance of power before I completely lose control.

I awaken to the warm, comforting feeling of being surrounded by a pair of strong arms. The scent he wears—whatever it is—is like an aphrodisiac. I can't get close enough. Then his lips are on mine and I forget everything but how it feels to fall.

The world around us fades like a watercolor. The only sensations I'm aware of are the press of his lips against mine, the stubble on his jaw as it scrapes a line down my throat and the sound of the growl in his chest as our bodies press together.

I have to taste more of him so I break the kiss to nibble my way up to his ear and his body vibrates against me. I press my lips to the curve of his neck and inhale deeply. I'm certain then, as sure as I am of my own name, that I will never forget his scent. I'll be rolling down an aisle at the grocery store and catch the slightest whiff of his cologne and be immediately transported back to this moment.

His mouth travels down my body and then he pauses to ask if this is okay. My only answer is bringing his lips back to mine.

I don't know how long we lie there, getting to know one another, learning each other's bodies and responses. We could stay here forever and I wouldn't give a damn.

It's been so long since I've felt wanted like this. No, needed. When was the last time a man held on to me like he couldn't let go? I wrap my arms around him and plunge my fingers into his hair, suddenly frantic at the thought of losing this feeling.

He pulls back to break the contact and sits up. I blink blearily up at him. His face appears haloed in a beam of early morning sunlight dappling through the window. I thank God for sunlight because it allows me to see every blessed, beautiful inch of him without the need to rush.

"What's wrong? Why'd you stop?" I ask.

"Nothin'." He wraps an arm around my legs and pulls me flat along the bed. Then he spreads out alongside me, tucking my body into his.

"What are you doing?"

"Shhh." He presses a finger to my lips. "I want to touch you. I wanna make you forget everything. I wanna make you feel better. Will you let me?"

My breath hitches in my chest and I can only nod. His finger traces my bottom lip, his eyes captivated by the movement. I'm trembling by the time his mouth comes back to mine. I can feel his smile against my lips. He has me right where he wants me and he damn well knows it.

His hand glides over the material of my bra underneath my hospital gown, so close to the aching weight of my breasts. I make a frustrated noise and he laughs, diverting his hand to the exposed skin of my knees. Even better.

The tips of his fingernails scrape along the skin of my thighs and at this point, I've virtually given up on ever breathing again. He makes one painstaking journey up to the top of my thigh, then stops and changes direction.

I grab on to his shoulder, discarding any rational thought, and press against him. "Please," I whisper.

Our eyes lock and his hand presses against where I need him the most. I can feel the heat of him through the thin material and my eyes drift closed at the overwhelming sensation.

I feel him dip his head next to my ear and he says, "No, baby, I want to see your eyes."

I bite my tongue and do as he says. He rewards me with the gentle play of his fingers, ever so soft, against me. And oh, God, the feeling is amplified a hundred times because it's nowhere near as hard as I need it. No, instead, he traces me in small, languid circles until my hips are matching the back and forth movement of his hand.

My cheeks burn hot with shame and want. I shouldn't be doing this. He slips his devilish fingers underneath the material of my panties and all good sense escapes me. My entire body bows up in response, muscles arched in a sweet ache of unleashed tension.

"You like that, Chloe?" His voice. God that voice. Each whisper sends a shockwave along my body, inciting the heat growing in my core as though it were a caress. He'll devastate every one of my senses before this is over, I swear.

"Please," I whisper.

"You want it?" he grunts.

I hold my breath in my chest like a captive trying to force myself over the peak. My hips roll against the soft play of his fingers and each flutter brings me ever closer to relief.

"Yes," I hiss as he speeds up. "Yes, just like that."

His fingers move lower and I let out a sobbing breath. Yes, yes, yes, I think to myself. His chuckle is a rumble in my ear.

Then, disaster strikes and three things happen all at once. First, he plunges two fingers deep inside of me, and I come. Exquisitely. Deliciously. Fantastically hard. Then, the door to his hospital room bursts open.