Warring responses waged within her. The thought of sharing a house with him again was the stuff of late-night hopes and fantasies, but she knew he was only doing this out of a sense of duty and obligation. He'd found her sleeping at Whiskey's this morning, and now he felt the need to help her. Just like old times.

Her insides deflated at the thought.

"I'm fine. I have enough money now. I can make it until payday."

He stepped in closer and cupped her cheek in his big hand. "Great. I'm glad to hear that. But if you stay at my place, you can save that money and use it to...I don't know. Furnish an apartment or whatever."

It took everything she had not to lean into his hand, not to turn her face and press a kiss against his palm. It made the desire to fall into him so damn strong. Instead, she shrugged. "I wouldn't want to intrude or, uh, be in the way when you have...guests over." The thought of who those guests might be made her stomach hurt.

His hand dropped to her shoulder and squeezed, a sad smile playing at his lips. "What guests? I've been a total recluse since I got home. My parents haven't even been over since the day they helped me move in. So it would be just you and me. And since I'm inviting you, you wouldn't be intruding."

The way he'd said you and me echoed in Alyssa's mind and tugged at her deepest desires. "I don't know," she whispered.

He leaned in. "I want you...or, um, I wouldn't have asked." With a strange expression on his face, he backed away and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

Did he just say he wants me? Alyssa felt the heat of a blush creep up her cheeks and hoped he might believe the heat of the sun was the cause. "Okay."

His eyes were wary but his expression relaxed. "Okay?"

"Yeah. But it won't be for long."

He frowned. "My house is yours for however long you need. Besides, uh, you know Brady would have a fit if he found out about last night."

Alyssa's hopes plummeted to the ground. Duty and obligation it was, then. "I'm sure you're right," she managed.

"So just follow me home, then?"

Alyssa agreed, eager to return to the privacy of her car so she could spend a few minutes kicking herself over reading into what he'd said, how he'd touched her. "Lead the way."

Marco slid into his car as she got into hers. Alyssa followed Betty to the edge of town to Marco's house, a surprisingly charming brick Cape Cod with a curving sloped roof, loft-style windows on the second floor, and a wide front porch. His street backed to Braddock Mountain, the part of Catoctin Mountain that formed Frederick's western boundary. The setting gave the house a rural feel even though it was only ten minutes from the small downtown.

Marco walked from his car in the driveway to where she'd parked on the street. "What can I help you with?"

Alyssa slung her overnight bag onto her shoulder. "I don't have that much. I can manage."

"Seriously. Load me up."

Alyssa smiled. "Okay. Remember, you asked for it." She popped the trunk, reached in, and chucked two pillows at him.

He bobbled the second one, nearly dropping it to the ground, and cocked an eyebrow at her.

Her grin was instantaneous. "Just seeing if you were a man of your word."

"Count on it." He stuffed both pillows under one arm and yanked her suitcase out with the other. "What else?" He surveyed the contents of her trunk, then stepped around and peered into her backseat. "Is this all you have?"

"For now." The trunk held a small TV, a DVD player, her guitar, two boxes of kitchen items, a folded comforter, and three crates of books and picture frames. In her backseat sat a laundry basket of sheets and blankets and a duffel bag filled with towels and a few pairs of shoes.

He pressed his lips into a tight line and nailed her with a disapproving gaze.

She closed the trunk and tilted her head. "No yelling, remember? And no stern talking, either."

He stared at her for another moment, then chuffed out a laugh. "Yes, ma'am. Come on." He started up the front walk. "I don't know how I'll ever fit all this stuff in my house."

Alyssa followed after him. "Do I need to add 'no smart-ass commentary' to the list?"

He unlocked the front door. "Probably. But I can't make any promises on that one."

She rolled her eyes and stepped in behind him. "Wow, Marco. This place is great."

Original hardwood floors stretched out in every direction and matched the carved molding that ran along the baseboards and around the doors. A huge front window let warm light into the L-shaped living room, which connected directly to a dining room. However, sparsely decorated didn't begin to describe it. "I don't think I'm the only one who needs to get some furniture, though."

Marco glanced around, a troubled expression on his face. A futon, a folding tray, and a TV on a small stand comprised the totality of his belongings in the two rooms she'd seen so far. "Yeah. It's on my to-do list. Come on, I'll show you to your room."

A hallway off the empty dining room led to a set of stairs with detailed moldings all along the side, then to a bathroom and a bedroom.

She followed him into the bedroom, the most furnished room she'd seen so far. A queen-size mission bed and two nightstands sat on one wall, and a long dresser with a mirror took up most of another. A solid navy comforter provided the only color in the room. The walls were bare.

"Here you go." He dropped her pillows onto the bed and settled her suitcase next to it.

Two folded shirts rested on the long dresser, and a glass of water and a sports watch sat on one of the night tables.

"Wait," she said, looking around, her stomach flipping in realization. "This isn't your room, is it?"

Chapter Seven

So much for the plan to keep his distance.

Scrubbing his hand through his hair, Marco nodded. Yes, it was his room. And having Alyssa in there three feet from where he'd dreamed those dreams about her was really fucking distracting. "I haven't gotten around to outfitting the upstairs guestrooms. You know, because of the no-guest thing. So it's yours as long as you need it."

"Then where are you going to sleep?" She stared at him, cheeks pink. Her eyes went wide. "You're not thinking of the futon. Marco, I'm not kicking you out of your bed."

"It's fine. I don't sleep that much anyway."

Her gaze narrowed. "Why not?"

The question caught him off guard. He needed to watch what he said around her. She was too damn perceptive and knew him too well-or, at least, the old him. "When you do what I used to do, you learn to operate on very little sleep."