"What time is it?" she asked.

"Ten o'clock."

Her face went whiter, if that were possible. "Oh my God. I must've turned off my alarm. Are there other people here?"

"Yes, Alyssa, there are. It's Sunday. We open in two hours, and the first show is at one. Now you see what I'm saying?"

"Okay, Marco. I get it. I messed up. Yelling at me doesn't change that." She picked up her bag and stepped past him.

He grabbed her arm. "We're not done yet."

She arched a brow. Tears clung to the rims of her eyes, twisting his gut. "Let go," she whispered, staring at his hand.

Ease off, Marco. But he couldn't. Every instinct screamed to protect her, hold on to her, never let her go. It was the only way to be sure. He forced a more normal tone into his voice. "Why were you sleeping in here?"

Alyssa released a shaky breath. A single tear spilled down her cheek.

That unusual show of weakness chased away the last of his anger. Even as a child, she rarely dealt with her father's abuse with tears. Gently, he pulled her in front of him and bent down enough he could look into her eyes. "Tell me what's going on, Aly."

She struggled to hold his gaze, and that about broke his heart. When had she stopped feeling comfortable around him? When had she stopped being able to tell him anything? They'd always had that kind of relationship.

You never raised your voice at her before. Ever think of that, genius?

He forced himself to take a calming breath. "I'm sorry I yelled. You're right. That wasn't helpful. I was just worried." He shook his head, now finding that he was the one who had to look away. "But please tell me why you slept in here."

Her muscles tensed under his grip. "My money's tight. That's all. I didn't mean to hurt anything. And today I'll be able to wait my own tables, so-"

Anger took root in his chest again. "You put yourself in danger over money? Why didn't you just ask me for help?"

"Because I wanted to do this on my own. I can do this on my own."

He made a big show of looking around, knowing he was being an asshole, but her navete was setting off every protective urge he possessed. "Oh, really? Well, if this is you doing it on your own, you're doing a bang-up job."

Alyssa tugged out of his hands, her face bright red. "Go to hell, Marco. I already admitted I screwed up, so what else do you want from me? And," she said, storming down the hall, "if this was the kind of help you had in mind, you can keep it. If I wanted to be yelled at and taunted, I'd have gone to my father's."

She might as well have slapped him. "Alyssa!"

Hesitating in the bathroom doorway, she said, "Can you just stand watch for a minute? I know I probably shouldn't, but I need a shower. I'll be fast." The door clicked shut behind her.

That she was getting naked on the other side of that door shouldn't have turned him on, but his anger instantly morphed into red-hot desire that had his body wanting to prove she was here and okay by burying himself deep inside her.

Jesus. What was wrong with him? He dropped onto the couch, still warm where he'd found her curled into a ball. He needed to calm himself down-his temper and his damn hard-on. He could kick himself for coming at her with both barrels blazing, but the idea that something might've happened to her tripped the irrational anger triggers in his brain.

It wasn't irrational. He thought he was wrecked now? Anything ever happened to that woman and it would destroy him.

Woman.

When had he started thinking of her on those terms? It was true, wasn't it? Alyssa Scott was all grown up.

An idea came to mind, and he knew what he had to do. But would she agree? And could he handle it?

When the bathroom door opened, Marco flew to his feet. Though she looked fresh-faced and smelled like heaven, her normally sparkling eyes were dull.

"Alyssa, I'm sorry."

She hiked her bag onto her shoulder. "Can you...would you please not say anything to Pete? It won't happen again."

She thought he was going to rat her out? Clearly he was the one doing a bang-up job here. "Of course I won't say anything, but-"

She rested her hand on his bicep, her palm covering the edge of his scars. That one touch had his body roaring back to life. "I don't want to fight with you, okay? Let's just"-she sighed-"let's just drop it." She stepped around him and reached for the door.

"Aly, wait."

She paused but didn't face him. "I need some air." Then she slipped through the door.

Tense negotiations in foreign languages with warlords who would shoot you as soon as look at you, he could handle. A simple conversation with a twenty-two-year-old American woman? Apparently not. Goddammit.

By the time Marco screwed his head on straight, Alyssa's car was gone from the lot. He dialed her cell number, but she didn't answer. Guess he had that coming after he'd sent her calls to voice mail yesterday. But it was only because his arm had hurt like a mother-Max's prediction had been dead-on-and he hadn't wanted her to hear it in his voice.

Shit if the whole fiasco this morning didn't prove he had no business wanting into her life. Or her bed.

Or her heart, a traitorous part of his mind whispered.

Fucking hell. Not a chance.

Hoping work would distract him from his most recent cluster, Marco returned to the bar and got everything restocked and ready for the double service Sundays entailed. He was working lunch and his part-time counterpart, Jameson, was working the dinner shift. Alyssa was on with him for lunch, which Marco hoped would work in his favor.

With the doors ready to open in fifteen minutes, Marco headed to the break room for a bite to eat. Before he got there, a raucous conversation made its way down the hall to him.

"...and she turned him down," someone said, dissolving into laughter.

"Shut up, asshole. Why do I tell you anything?" Eric grumbled.

"Just as well. She's too good for you anyway," Van said. "Speaking of...where is she? Isn't she on for lunch?"

Tell me I didn't just hear what I think I heard. Marco rounded into the room and the conversation died an unnatural death. "Hey," he said, attempting to act like he hadn't been eavesdropping.

Van crossed his arms and eyed him curiously. "You feeling better?"