Glancing at the closed door, she remembered their argument about coming here. He’d taken her from the home she no longer felt safe in, insisting they go to his home. She’d refused at first. Her reasons escaped her at the moment.  Pride probably.  It had a habit of getting in the way of her better judgment when it came to the Special Agent.  Her pride aside, she knew she would be safe here.  She’d fallen asleep in the car, in the garage.

Then there was the fear. The fear of uncertainty. The fear of rejection. The fear that she wasn’t brave enough to give Flynn her best shot because she was afraid of failure. It was all too much, too fast. Now here she was, in his house, in his guest room bed. Her nerves were shot. She wasn’t quite ready to face Flynn in his home where anything could happen.

Giving herself a few minutes to take it all in, Izzy looked around some more.

Seeing the balcony, she knew she was at least on the second floor.  Warmth infused her as she imagined Flynn gathering her up in his arms and carrying her from the garage, up the winding stairway, and settling her here.  She must have been sound asleep, because she didn’t remember anything after closing her eyes and resting her head back in the SUV after the lights went out.

The only thing missing from her person was her shoes. They were neatly placed beside her overnight bag on the floor by the open French doors.  Her purse was sitting on the nightstand next to a full bottle of water.

Settling back into the mass of pillows, Izzy contemplated Flynn. She had her work cut out for her. His actions were contradictory and confusing.  His signals mixed.  The emotional roller coaster she found herself on careened along its own turbulent course.  Hanging on could kill her, but so could jumping off.  Her plan of action was to remain cool, aloof, give him just little pieces of herself at a time.  It would be a testament to her willpower if she could maintain the “steady as she goes” course.

How would Flynn be this morning?  Feeling like he had made a mistake bringing her here? Had the trauma of last night pushed her here too fast?

Oh for crying out loud.  Stop with all the back-and-forth, Izzy.  Go downstairs and see what’s up.

Flinging the covers off, her she heard the chirp of her cell phone.  She had a message.

Digging in her purse for the phone, she grabbed it and pulled it out.  Two messages.  One from Charlie:  Must. Have. Update. Now.

Izzy smiled and texted him back:  You don’t even want to know.  Just don’t go back to the house. I’ll call later.  I’m ok and so is Flynn.  Xoxox

The second one was from Lover Boy, aka her handler, Maddox. Izzy smirked at the name he had assigned himself.

“That will ensure that when I boss you around like an overprotective boyfriend, if someone takes a look at the texts, it’ll appear normal caveman behavior when in fact, it’s instructions,” he had told her as he programmed in his number.

Flynn had stood silently by, not saying a word, but Izzy saw the proverbial steam coming out of his ears.  Hesitating, she thought about that. It was obvious Flynn didn’t like the fact that Maddox acted comfortable around her, and wasn’t threatened by Flynn. If Flynn didn’t care for her in the relationship way, why act all possessive?  Trying to understand Flynn was an exercise in futility. She had never met a more complex human being than Flynn Atticus Ryker.

Confirm you did not inflict grave bodily harm upon Special Agent Ryker’s person. Also confirm my CI is ok.

Confirming I did not inflict grave bodily harm upon Special Agent Ryker (just a big lump on his head which actually served to diminish his gigantic ego). Your CI is fine.  TY 4 asking.

As Izzy tossed the phone back into her bag she wondered why Maddox would text her. All he had to do was ask Flynn how he was.  Maybe he didn’t want to rock the boat.

Her phone chirped that she had a new message.

Charlie:  O.M.GAWD! Plz tell me you are safe and sound with Special Agent Stud?

Xoxox I am.  

Le sigh

Maddox: 10-4 stand by later this afternoon for an update.  Delete this thread.

Yes, sir!

Setting the phone on the nightstand Izzy smiled. The texts from Maddox and Charlie warmed her heart.  They cared about her. She liked being cared about. Why couldn’t Flynn put aside his issues and relax around her?  As complex and frustrating as Flynn was, he was the one who was there last night. Had he not been, there was a good chance she would not be alive this morning.  Izzy owed him her life. She owed him a little patience, too.

Her feelings for Flynn aside, it was past time to call a truce.  Accept that while he had his issues with her, none of which she cared for, she could live with them.  That was the easy part.  The hard part was getting a grip of her feelings for him. Flynn was one of a kind, he’d gone where no man had gone: straight into her heart.

He was a magnet to her steel.  Law of attraction personified.  She could kick herself for letting him get under her skin.  Life was so much simpler with no complications.

On that note, Izzy stretched again, then checked out the bathroom, did her thing, and washed up. Feeling slightly more prepared to face the storm that was sure to be brewing somewhere in the house, she went in search of Grumpy Man.

She found him in the solarium off the kitchen.  His back to her, he was barefoot, dressed in a white T-shirt and gray sweats.  Her fingers twitched, wanting to run across the wide expanse of his shoulders.  Silently, she walked across the tile floor to him.

“There’s coffee on the sideboard, and eggs and bacon on the counter,” he said, looking up at her as she moved around the small table he was seated at.  He closed his laptop and looked straight at her.

Suddenly she was nervous. Her tummy did a little flip-flop. She didn’t stand a chance. Morning stubble darkened his face, and his dark hair, usually neatly styled, was mussed.  The planes and valleys of his muscles were clearly defined beneath the T-shirt. Those cobalt blue eyes of his burned bright.  Warmth pooled low in her belly.  She suspected morning sex with him would be phenomenal.

Biting her bottom lip, Izzy tried to steer her thoughts away from his body and how compatible it was with hers.  “I—ah…” she stuttered. Glancing at the coffeepot on the buffet, she hurried to pour herself a cup.  After she added the cream and stirred, she lifted the cup to her lips and sipped.  “Mmm, Jamaican Blue Mountain. My favorite.”

Taking another sip, Izzy picked a piece of bacon off the plate on the counter and moved to the table and took the chair across from Flynn, who quietly watched her.  Feeling uncomfortable under his silent regard, she set the cup down and nibbled the bacon. When she looked over at him, he was scowling.

“You do that a lot,” she said, setting the half eaten piece of bacon down.

“Do what?”

“Scowl.”

“A lot makes me unhappy lately.”

Nervous energy rolled through her.  “I’m not going to apologize for who I am or what I do, Flynn.  That it makes you unhappy is on you.”

“I didn’t say you made me unhappy.”

His remark surprised her, but Izzy was smart enough not to go down that road with him again.  It would end up in the same dead end it always did.  Baby steps. Instead, she said, “I will however apologize for not thanking you last night for saving my life. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

He reached for his cup of coffee and took a sip.  Her eyes riveted on the sensual fullness of his lips and the sheen of coffee on his upper lip.  Hard shards of desire jabbed at her core.  Squirming in her seat, she tried to suppress the craving.  Didn’t work.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and took another sip.

“How is your head this morning?”