Using my hand to help get the angle right, I press the head of my aching hard-on into her. It's tighter this way, and I don't want to get it wrong and hurt her.

She gasps.

I freeze. "Too much?"

"No ... just ... really good," she pants.

So maybe not just morning, but this position.

Now that I'm in, I thrust again, deeper this time, and she moves with me, so slick and welcoming I'm going to lose my mind in a matter of seconds.

But it doesn't matter because she's already rocking faster than I am, taking me all the way in.

"Your hand ... touch yourself," I say through gritted teeth, trying to hold on.

I feel her touch herself and brush me where I'm plunging in and out of her, and she makes a soft surprised sound. Then the ripples start in her, clamping down hard on me.

I groan and push into her faster, the need to spill building up in me, like pressure in my lower back, until it breaks, sending splinters of pleasure through me.

When I return to myself, she's running her hand over my arm in a soothing manner.

"Wow," is her only comment, with a small self-deprecating laugh.

I kiss her flushed cheek. "Yeah, I think maybe that works."

She laughs, and I feel the contractions of it inside her. God. I don't want to leave her, but a condom leak is a complication we don't need.

I shift away from her reluctantly, and she makes a noise of protest.

"Back in a minute." Climbing over the covers, off the bed, and into the bathroom to deal with a condom is my least favorite Olympic event ever, but it has to be done.

While I'm in there washing my hands, clothes land in the doorway. My jeans, a shirt from my closet, boxers.

"Pancake time," Amanda says from outside in a determined cheerful voice. She's not allowing time or space for the inevitable argument to begin.

Except, is it so inevitable? The thought of watching her vanish down the road in a car hurts. I don't want her to go. But I want her to be safe, and that means staying away while my stalker problem is out there somewhere. What if Leon and the cops catch Sera right away, though? They might even have her already; stealth wasn't her strong suit. She tried to move into my condo, for fuck's sake.

So even if she's out there now, she probably won't be for long. And if Amanda wants to stay, is it that much of a danger? We have Leon, guards, people on our side. Plus, as Amanda has said to me over and over this week, she makes her own decisions. If I take that from her by unilaterally making a choice on her behalf, I'm doing exactly what she said, trying to control her. Which I don't want to do. It's what she's working so hard to get back.

So, maybe the real danger-and the unformed dread in my gut-is actually something else. Maybe it's believing that, even if there is trouble, even if there's risk, I'm still worth it to her. To anyone.

I want to be worth it. I want to be worthy of her. Which means maybe I need to act like it. By asking her if she wants to stay and respecting her decision. And by telling her the truth about how we began and hoping she won't change her mind.

"Amanda-"

"I'll be back," she calls from a distance. "I'm going to get clothes from my room."

"Wait." I grab a towel, wrap it around my waist, and hurry after her.

"You're not seriously worried about me going to my room alone, are you?" Still dressed in my shirt, she stops at the closed and locked adjoining door but doesn't turn around. "You checked it last night and there's a guard outside."

"No, I..."

Her shoulders slump. "After breakfast," she says. "Remember?"

"That's not it," I say quickly. "I just wanted to say ... wanted to ask if..."

A knock sounds loudly on my hallway door, more like pounding, enough so that we both jump.

I frown. "Stay there," I say.

Amanda raises her eyebrows. "Because you're more bulletproof than I am?" she asks. "Also, I don't think she'd knock. We'd probably just see smoke curling in under the door."

She grimaces before I can say anything. "Sorry. Humor is my preferred defense mechanism."

"I've noticed," I say. Pulling my towel tighter around my waist, I edge toward the door. But a quick look out the peephole shows Leon and two Wescott uniformed police officers in the hall.

Thanks to my history, the sudden and unexpected appearance of cops signals trouble in my brain. But I throw back the bolt latch and open the door, hoping against hope that for the first time in my life, this is a good thing.

"What's going on?" I ask. "Did you find her?"

"Yeah," Leon says grimly. "We did."

But he doesn't look happy; in fact, he seems downright pissed. "These gentlemen would like to escort you to their place of business to answer a few questions."

Panic flickers in me. "Wait, what's going on?"

"Right now, they're asking you to come in as a courtesy," Leon says. "So get dressed and go before it's not a request." He looks at me in distaste, and my temper flares.

"What the hell, Leon?" I demand.

"Chase?" Amanda asks from where she stands by the other door, tugging at the hem of my/her shirt nervously.

Leon and the two cops bristle like they're going to leap at me.

"That's Amanda?" Leon asks, a frown carving his face into serious lines.

"Yeah, we were getting ready to go to breakfast," I say. "Can you just tell me what's going-"

"Tell us," she calls loudly. "Tell us what's going on."

But Leon ignores us. "Amanda, can you verify that you're unharmed and here by your own decision?" he asks in a raised voice.

Her face is one of shock and then pure, unadulterated fury. She snatches my jacket off the back of the chair, wraps it around her waist to cover herself, and then marches around the corner to stand next to me.

"What is going on?" she demands, angry like I've never seen her before. "I'm fine. I'm here by my own decision, and I've been here all week by my own decision. What the hell."

"My apologies," Leon says. "Recent developments"-his gaze cheats toward me-"have forced us to question what we know."

He shifts his full attention in my direction. "When is the last time you spoke to-"

"I haven't spoken to her, ever," I say firmly. "Except to tell her to leave me the hell alone and that I'm calling the police."

"Not the stalker," Leon says. "The publicist."

My stomach plummets. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"That's who you found," I say weakly.

"And she had plenty to say about you," Leon says.

"Of course she did," Amanda spits. "He fired her."

"Did he?" Leon asks simply.

"Yes, Sunday afternoon. Before we ever even talked to each other," she says.

I try not to flinch at hearing the lie I told repeated with such conviction.

Leon's gaze meets mine steadily, and I know I'm fucked. He knows. Everything, and whatever Elise may have invented to make things worse for me. She told me if she was caught she'd take me down with her.

"I'll get dressed," I say, dread slowly weighing my limbs like concrete pouring through my veins.

"Good idea," Leon says.

"Wait, Chase-you didn't do anything wrong. He shouldn't have to do this," Amanda insists to Leon.

She looks to me for confirmation.

My mouth works without words coming out.

"Chase?" she asks. There's a hint of wariness in her voice suddenly, and I hate it. Hate that I caused it.

But I don't know what to say.

Leon gives me a disgusted look and then turns a gentler expression toward Amanda.

"Miss Grace, you've been given a misleading set of facts regarding your visit here," he says.

"I don't understand," she says, but she takes a step back from the door, and seeing her retreat kills something in me.

"It was a setup," he says.

I close my eyes. I should speak up, but how do you argue with the truth?

"You were told this was a charitable act, intended to draw positive media attention?" Leon presses.

"Yes," Amanda admits reluctantly.

"According to Miss Prescott, she and Mr. Henry have been secretly collaborating from the beginning to create the impression of a romantic relationship between the two of you. Without your consent or knowledge, as far as I know." Leon pauses. "He lied, Miss Grace."

I hear Amanda's sharp inhale. My eyes snap open against my will, and because of that, the stunned betrayal on her face will be etched into my memory forever.

31.

Amanda "Amanda," Chase begins in a voice gravelly with desperation, and if I had any doubt about what Leon was saying, it's gone now.

"No," I say softly. All the pieces are falling into place with a horrible smoothness, like the picture has been there all along, just waiting for me to open my eyes and see it.

The adjoining hotel rooms. Elise hadn't been a pissed-off ex lashing out; they were scheming and I played right into it. No wonder Chase was so willing to let me stay in the room next to his.

And was this why Chase loaned me his shirt on the first day? I warned him what it would look like and he ... he said he didn't care. Of course he didn't. It was what he wanted in the first place.

I'm aware suddenly of how exposed I am, wrapped in Chase's jacket and wearing his shirt. Again. Like an idiot.

I fold my arms over myself as best as I can. "How much of it was real?" I ask him, surprised by the calm deadness in my voice instead of the shrill hysteria I'm feeling. "Any of it?" I don't care about the cameras or what happened in front of them; it's everything that happened privately that I'm concerned with.

His eyes widen. "Amanda, all of it. I went along with Elise's plan at first, but I stopped." His accent is stronger now. "You know I did. All the social media stuff-"

"You said you fired her," I say.

He tightens his grip on the towel around his waist. "I did!"

"When?"

His gaze darts away from me, and my heart falls. "Amanda, I never wanted to-"

"When did you fire her?" I repeat, enunciating each word carefully.

"I sent her a text on Monday night, late," he says finally.

Monday night. A whole day after he came to my house with apologies and claims of firing the person responsible for the worst moment I've had since escaping Jonathon Jakes's basement. And from the guilt in his expression, I know without even asking that it was also after I kissed him on Monday night. After he kissed me. He was still in contact with her. He only stopped it, theoretically, when he realized scheming was no longer necessary-I was willingly falling into their plan and his false assurances.

Trembling starts within me until I feel like my teeth are chattering from it. "The box with the flowers and the chain, was that you, too? More grist for the media mill?"

Chase looks horrified. "No!" He reaches for me, and I jerk away. Pain crosses his face, and in spite of everything, seeing it sets off a twinge in me. I hate myself for my weakness in that moment.

He holds his free hand up slowly. "I swear, I had no idea any of that stuff was going on until after it was already happening. And when I found out, I told Elise it had to stop. She was just doing it because she was pissed I stopped going along with her plan. I didn't even know Sera was here until I saw those pictures."

"Miss Prescott's version of events differs," Leon points out dryly. "The police caught her at the motel where they were searching for the Drummond woman."

And I realize that's why they're here. They're trying to figure out how much Chase had to do with the vandalism, with this crazy woman showing up here and making threats. Was he really desperate enough to participate in such a dangerous plan?