“I’d like to come over and install cameras over her balcony doors and front door,” I explain. “Building management hasn’t given me the go-ahead to do it, but I figure it’s better to have her safe, and we can always pay damages later. I have a tiny camera I can insert on the trim of the front door. It’s not my preferred method. As I told Natalie, I prefer the visible cameras. That can provide just as much deterrence as anything. People tend not to do shit if they know they’re being watched.”

“You’re coming back?” he asks, and his surprise irritates me.

It’s a good thing we’re not face-to-face, I decide. “Yes, I’ve always been planning on coming back.”

“Don’t hurt her again,” he warns. “I can easily get someone else in here to do your job.”

Again? Shit. I swallow my annoyance. “Look, Natalie’s not answering her phone, and the sooner I get into her place, the safer she’ll be.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t run off, you could’ve talked to her this morning about when the best time to install this stuff would have been.”

I run my tongue over my bottom lip, tasting resentment and exasperation at this questioning, but he isn’t wrong. I did bring this on myself, so I don’t jump down his throat. “Last night was a mistake. I won’t make it again.” It’s as much of an apology as he’s going to get.

“She’s been writing. When she’s in the groove like that with a deadline, she doesn’t answer phone calls, texts, or anything. Just puts her headphones on. You could probably meet me over here now and make the install. She wouldn’t even notice. I’d feel better, and I think she would too, if she had the cameras up. She mentioned it today.”

“I’ll be over in fifty then.”

I gather up the necessary equipment and drive over to Natalie’s condo. There’s parking right across the street from her place. I text Oliver before entering the building. He sends me a text back letting me know that I should head right up to Natalie’s.

Jason, the day doorman, is bent over a magazine. He gives me a nod and doesn’t ask for me to sign in. Either he remembers who I am, or he doesn’t care. I suppose that he could know who I was based upon Oliver’s instruction, but he doesn’t give me even a cursory perusal. I’m going to need to move Natalie out of here soon. All a few cameras are going to do is tell me if she’s being harassed, not prevent it from happening in the first place.

Graham meets me on the third floor. “How’d you get in here?”

“Your doorman waved me through.”

“He what!” Oliver bellows in outrage. It isn’t a question. “That fucking prick is done.”

I don’t know if he’s referring to the building manager or the doorman. “You got a key or do you want me to pick the lock?”

The reference to the poor security on the doors garners another glower. He produces a key and pushes the door open. The condo looks empty, but after a moment I hear a faint clack clack clack coming from the bedroom that serves as Natalie’s office.

“Just do your shit. She won’t notice, and she doesn’t want to be bothered,” Oliver instructs. He stomps over to the living room and takes a seat on the sofa. The remote in hand, he starts flipping through the channels. It’s early afternoon and the only thing on is talk shows and ESPN. While I drill holes into the door casing, he watches . . . Ellen.

“Didn’t take you for an Ellen fan,” I comment as I fish the wiring through the wall.

“You can only watch so much ESPN before it repeats itself, and I’d rather watch a couple of people be surprised with a free house than hear those asshole reporters who haven’t ever played the game talk about how they would do it better.” He gets up and strides to the refrigerator. “Want a drink?”

“Too early for me.”

“Eh, Natalie doesn’t have liquor in here. Only root beer. Pop is my weakness, so I keep it in Natalie’s refrigerator. Once I retire, I’m going to be as big as a house. No more watching my weight, working out five hours a day. I’m going to plant my ass on the sofa and never get up.”

“And watch Ellen?”

“And watch Ellen,” he confirms.

He sinks deeper into the sofa as I drill into the wall. The audience cheers and music plays in the background while I snake wires through the drywall and screw the base of the camera into the wood frame. I’m hooking the camera wires to the interior power when the office door opens and Natalie shuffles out. She’s wearing what looks like flannel pajama bottoms with penguins and a tight tank that stretches across her generous tits. From the way those babies bounce under the form-fitting knit, she’s bare under that tank. My fingers itch to push the fabric up until I can press my face between the shadowed valley and lick my way from peak to peak.

It’s not until she’s at the kitchen counter that she notices she’s not alone.

“Oh my God!” she yelps and the cup she had grabbed from the cupboard drops. Diving forward, I managed to catch the glass about an inch from the floor.

Her mouth opens again to scream—in fear or surprise—I’m not entirely certain. I push to my feet and pull her roughly against my chest. I can feel her body shake as I hold her.

Oliver is there too, his frame filling the small kitchen.

“Three’s a crowd,” I growl when he tries to reach for her. I sweep her into my arms and walk over to the sofa. “Get the door, will you?”

He makes some low, menacing sound as I pass, but I ignore it. I can feel Natalie’s little bird heart fluttering wildly against me. I scared the shit out of her, or Oliver did, and I want to make it right. Oliver stands, hands on his hips, observing the whole scene with disgruntlement.

He doesn’t like that his place as Natalie’s protector has been supplanted. I suppose that’s part of how I feel about Sabrina. Maybe I’ll share that insight with him someday, but not unless he gets his ass out the door and leaves me alone with Natalie.

When I drop onto the sofa with Natalie curling into me, he finally throws up his hands and strides out. After the door closes, I place a finger under her chin. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she says.

I can see her fighting for composure, and I pull her closer against my chest. “I was installing a camera above your door.”

“How’d you get in?”

“Oliver. When I explained that I wanted to give you eyes in the hallway without you needing to open your door, he said he’d meet me here. Apparently you were writing and he didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I didn’t realize building management would allow that,” she says. Her voice is quiet but gaining strength.

I shrug and her body moves too, her lush tits rubbing against my chest. My cock stirs and I try to ignore it, although it isn’t easy when her sweet curves are pressing against my lap. I shift her just slightly, so I’m not shoving my inappropriate boner up her ass. “Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. I don’t want you exposed while they dick around approving my request.”

“You’re serious about this place not being safe, aren’t you?”

“As a heart attack. My offer is still open, you know.”

“You were serious about that offer too?” She finally looks up and her red lips are slightly parted in astonishment. I really fucked up.

“I’m sorry I left you last night,” I say.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal.” She shrugs, but her downcast eyes tell me a different story.

“It’d be a big deal if I woke up and found you gone after I’d spent that kind of night with you.”

“Then why did you leave?” She sits up and pushes herself away from me. Reluctantly I let her go.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I rest my wrists against my knees and watch her as unobtrusively as possible as she sits beside me.

In my lap, I’ve got one hand made of flesh and blood. I can touch her and feel her response, the leap of her pulse, the goose pimpling of her skin, the tightening of her nipple when I palm her breast. My left is a tool that opens and closes. Whatever sensation I have there is pain for a limb that doesn’t even exist.