5. Graham

Iwatch her as she wakes the next morning. She slept soundly the entire night. I know that because I was unable to sleep a wink. There were too many things running through my mind. She could have woken up in the middle of the night, scared and wondering where she was. Or she could have woken up in the middle of the night and wanted to harm me.

I have no idea who this woman is. And yet I saved her last night and brought her home. It's been a long time since I did anything that selfless.

She still hasn't noticed me yet. Very slowly, her eyes open fully. She sits up on the bed, which is when she finally looks to her right. She takes me in, noticing me seated on a chair right by the bed. I watch her eyes widen and her mouth open.

"Don't scream," I warn quickly.

If she starts screaming now, I'll be left with an even worse headache than I already have.

Thankfully, her mouth clamps shut.

"Who the hell are you? And what am I doing here?"

"Relax. Try to remember," I say gently.

Her eyes narrow. "I can name at least five horror movies where a serial killer is seated in the exact same position as you while they watch their next victim."

My lips twitch. "I'm not a serial killer. Come on, concentrate. Try to remember what happened last night," I prompt.

She glares at me for a second before closing her eyes and clutching her head. "Ah," she cries out.

"Yeah, you'll have a terrible headache. The drug you were given last night could have been dangerous in a large quantity. Considering how long it took for you to lose consciousness, though, I'm guessing he only slipped a little into your drink."

She looks at me and I see realization dawn in her expression.

"You saved me," she states.

"You're welcome."

She rolls her eyes. "I didn't thank you. Who even are you? And where the hell am I?"

"Well, currently, you're in my bed," I inform her.

Her lips thin. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"No. But you asked where you were."

"I meant where are we? What stre—you know what? Forget it. It doesn't matter." She looks at me, her gaze even more focused.

Her eyes are blue, icy blue like the Arctic. I realized that last night when I saved her.

"What happened last night? And before you decide to be a jerk and state the obvious, just remember I'm a very pissed off woman who was assaulted last night. And you're only one man."

I smile, wondering how she plans to take me on. "Those are intriguing odds."

"Just tell me what happened? Where did you come from last night?"

I sigh before starting to speak. "I was at the bar when I noticed that bastard slip something into your drink.

"You mean you were staring at me like a creep," she corrects with narrowed eyes.

"I wasn't staring at you," I correct.

I was trying to figure her out. She was intriguing from the moment I first saw her. And after she bumped into me, I was just a little curious. When she returned, I watched her, wanting to see what else she would do.

"You were, but continue," she says airily.

I roll my eyes before doing as she asked.

I thought it was odd so I followed you both when you left. I got derailed for a minute or two so it took me some time before I got to you, but thankfully I did."

The derailment was courtesy of Sloane and his buddies who somehow found me and tried to get me into a bathroom so I could snort a line of coke with them. I came very close to punching him in the jaw but I had to remind myself that he had good intentions, or at least he thought he did. Honestly, a year ago, I probably would have accepted the offer.

"What drug was it?" she asks.

"SlumberX," I inform her. "It was developed a few years ago by some stupid college kids who wanted a new kind of drug that wouldn't have the more permanent effects other drugs have on unsuspecting women. It's highly illegal, but the drug itself only causes some drowsiness, dizziness. You get weak until you eventually pass out. After that, just some weakness until you're fully yourself again. Shouldn't last too long and after that, nothing."

"Okay." She nods repeatedly, trying to come to terms with what I said. "So you came outside, fought those two men, and then brought me here."

"You asked me not to take you to the hospital, darling. And no police. You were too far gone to tell me where you live, so I brought you here."

"Alright, then. So I guess I do owe you my thanks."

I arch an eyebrow. "You still haven't said it yet," I point out.

"Thank you," she mutters. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go."

She starts to climb out of the bed. She's still in her dress from yesterday, although I made sure to take off her shoes. Once she steps out of the bed, though, she sways on her feet. I stand immediately, placing a hand on her arm.

"Careful. You'll still be feeling a little weak," I tell her. "You're not going anywhere. At least not until you've eaten some food and taken aspirin or something. Come on."

She pauses, looking up at me. For such a fierce woman, she's not very tall, so she has to crane her head a little to look me in the eye.

"I'm wary of people who are nice for no reason," she informs me.

"And I'm wary of women who are wary of nice people. Everyone likes nice people."

"Aaron seemed like a nice person," she says softly under her breath.

"Who?"

"The guy from last night. The one who slipped something into my drink."

Oh. "Yeah, that asshole is a good reason to be wary. Unfortunately, wariness didn't help you out when you decided to go out alone with him," I say, then immediately want to punch myself because that was so insensitive.

Fucking hell, Graham. Filter!

For some reason, that makes her smile. "Okay, fine. You're obviously a jerk so I guess I can tone down the wariness."

"Great, breakfast. Now. I'm starving," I say, starting to walk out of the room.

"You don't even know my name," she points out. "And I don't know yours."

That gives me pause. I stare at her for a second.

"Do you want to tell me your name?" I ask.

She seems taken aback by the question. "Not really, no," she says unsurely.

I shrug. "Then it's okay. You don't have to. Now come on, let's go to the kitchen."

She follows me begrudgingly. I hear her footsteps behind me as I lead her down the stairs.

"Do you own this place?" she asks.

I glance at her and she's taking in the house. I can see some surprise in her expression. Probably at how extravagant the house is. It's pretty expansive, tastefully decorated—it screams wealth.

"No. My father does," I reply.

"Oh. That makes sense."

"I take offense to that," I say, smiling.

We arrive at the kitchen and I head for the pantry to grab the ingredients for our meal. She makes herself comfortable on one of the stools.

"I would cook you some pancakes, whip up a five-star breakfast. But I burn everything else I try to cook but toast, bacon and eggs." I inform her, slightly sheepish. "I also can't promise the eggs will be good."

"Then I can cook," she offers. "I'm pretty good at it."

"No, it's fine," I say, waving her off. "We'll eat like peasants this morning. Maybe later you'll be feeling well enough to cook us a nice lunch."

She raises both eyebrows. "Bold of you to assume I'll still be here by then."

"Who knows? Maybe you'll enjoy the pleasure of my company so much you won't want to leave."

"I doubt that."

I get started on the meal.

"Exactly why were you so angry last night? When you bumped into me?" she questions after a couple of minutes pass.

"Well, when you bumped into me, I had just finished a phone call that pissed me off. You were collateral damage, darling," I state, cracking some eggs into a plate. "And I seem to recall you saying some unnecessary mean stuff."

She sniffs looking away at that, "I'm not going to apologize."

That makes me grin, "Yeah, I didn't think you would."

She doesn't say anything else after that, simply watching me as I prepare the only meal I'm good at.

It's all ready in a matter of minutes, with a cup of coffee already brewed as well. I place it down in front of her, and she offers me a grateful look before starting to eat without any complaint, so I'm guessing it's good enough. I take a seat to eat as well.

My legs bounce up and down on the elevated stool, and I can't help but sneak a few glances at her as she eats.

What am I doing?

It's an important question I have to ask myself. Not only have I invited a stranger into my home, I'm feeding her breakfast and inviting her to cook us lunch. Where is all this coming from?

Granted, she's gorgeous as hell, but considering what happened last night, hooking up with her is the last thing I'm thinking about. The fact that she didn't want me calling the police raises some serious red flags. She could be a fugitive, a murderer, anything.

And then I told her she didn't have to tell me her name if she didn't want to. I did that to make her comfortable, but now I'm battling against urge to ask her to tell me so I can look her up and ensure she's not some kind of threat. Just one search and I'd have all the information I could need on her at my disposal.

But that would be an invasion of privacy. Xander likes to say that just because we're good with hacking doesn't mean we should use our skills to commit crimes. I always used to tell him that was bullshit.

"Could you stop thinking so loud?" she questions, looking up at me.

Those icy blue eyes meet mine and for only a moment everything else falls away. My mind actually stops. Then I blink and everything starts working again.

"What?"

"That," she says, pointing at my leg, which has paused in its bouncing. "And those," she gestures at my eyes. "I smell smoke. You keep glancing at me like you're waiting for me to turn into a demon or something."

"Actually I've been told I have a lot of restless energy. And you can't blame me for being curious, darling. It's human to wonder."

"It's also human to shut up and eat your breakfast," she retorts.

I smile. She's pretty mean. I like her. Most women in her position would still be in shock, scared. But she's barely showing any emotion apart from annoyance. She made sure to get all the facts from the night before and now that she has, I can tell she's slowly making her peace with what happened.

"Alright. I'll eat," I say in agreement, taking a bite of my toast.

Neither of us says a word until we're done with the meal. I grab both our plates and place them in the sink before trying to find the first aid kit in there. By the time I turn around, she's already washing the dishes.

"You don't have to," I point out. "Someone comes in daily to clean the house."

She looks at me, her lips pulled into a smirk. "You're a spoiled rich guy, aren't you? Let me guess, trust fund?"

"I'm don't depend on a trust fund, darling. I happen to work, thank you very much," I mutter.

"Let me guess, your dad's company?"

I don't need to reply to that, my expression is answer enough. I glare at her and to my surprise, she actually laughs. It's a soft, melodic sound. Music to my ears. Her laughter transforms her entire face.

Damn, and I thought she was beautiful before.

She seems to catch herself too soon, her laugh tapering out quickly. "Anyway, the least you could do is the dishes after cooking a meal," she says in a scolding manner.

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the wall. "Considering I barely ever cook, I'm not sure I need that lesson."

"Spoiled," she says under her breath.

"Judgy."

When she finishes the dishes, she eagerly accepts the aspirin and water in my hand, downing it all in one gulp.

"Okay, so two things. Number one, what time is it? Also, do you happen to know where my phone is?"

Her eyes are clearer now, much sharper than they were before.

"Took you long enough to ask."

She shrugs. "I was disoriented."

I start walking into the living room and she follows. I grab the purse on the table once we arrive.

"Your phone should be in here. And I'd like to point out that I showed incredible restraint by not opening the purse and checking out the contents. I figured I'd be invading your privacy."

Which is ironic because if I had a choice, I'd be in front of my laptop so fast, finding out everything I could about her.

That seems to put her at ease, though. She nods once, accepting the purse from me and pulling out her phone.

"You would have been," she says in reply. "Thanks for not doing it."

Another thank you. We're really making progress.

"Also it's currently eleven 11 a.m., pretty late," I add.

I watch as she powers on her phone, biting her bottom lip.

"I'm guessing there'll be people already worried about you. Friends. Were you alone at the club yesterday? I didn't see you come in with anyone."

She arches an eyebrow at that. I realize why immediately. Fuck. She's probably wondering when I saw her coming in. She must think I'd been watching her the entire night like a creep. I was, but damn, she didn't need to know that.

Thankfully, she doesn't comment on it.

"I don't think they're actually my friends. But yes, I did go to the club last night with some acquaintances. Although I'm sure they've probably not noticed my absence."

She doesn't seem sad when she says that.

"So you have no friends. That's not surprising."

She glares up at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're prickly. It wouldn't hurt you to be nice once in a while. Especially to a man who saved your life."

"Shut up," she mumbles as her phone comes on.

I watch as it lights up with a couple of notifications. She moves to take a seat on the couch and I watch as she replies to a few texts. Soon enough, she's effectively ignoring me, which is amusing. I take to pacing the length of the living room, wondering what to do next.

"You're making my headache worse," she says, still scrolling through her phone. "I swear, you're worse than Matthew. Can't you sit still?"

"Who's Matthew?"

That makes her look up. I can see the slight hesitation in her gaze.

"My cousin," she replies after a few seconds. "He's eleven."

"I have a nephew that's around that age as well."

She makes a small noise of acknowledgment before going back to staring at her phone. I resume my pacing. Soon enough, she sighs softly before dropping the phone.

"I should probably leave," she states.

"Why?"

"Because it's starting to feel like I'm imposing."

"I saved you, brought you to my home, put you in my bed to sleep, and then I fed you breakfast. Trust me, you're well past imposing."

She smirks, crossing her arms over her chest. "So what's your deal? Are you a good guy? Are you not?"

"I'm doing good deeds, aren't I?" I point out, unwilling to bore her with the details of my mid-life crisis.

"True, would you like cookies for a job well done?" she asks teasingly.

"It wouldn't hurt," I say, smiling. "But is there anyone you'd like to get to? I could always drive you home now, you don't have to stay."

Although I'd rather she stay a while. Maybe it's because I don't want this to be over yet.

She shakes her head. "The only place I have to get to right now is an empty hotel room."

My eyebrows rise. "You don't live in Boulder?"

"No. I came here for a visit."

I nod, filing that into the mysterious beautiful woman cabinet of my brain.

"I can tell you're trying to figure me out," she says knowingly. "I'll help you out. But first, what's your name?"

"Are you going to tell me yours?"

"Maybe," she drawls.

I let out a breath, figuring it can't hurt. "Fine. I'm Graham. Graham Steele."

Maybe I'm imagining it, but I could swear there's a flicker of recognition in her eyes when I say my name. But it disappears quickly. It was probably nothing. There's no reason a woman I randomly met should know my name. Unless she's from D.C. and really interested in gossip columns. Or maybe she works in business and recognized my last name somehow. It could be anything.

"Isabella," she says on a soft breath, introducing herself.

"Isabella what?" I prompt.

She cocks her head to the side. "If I told you my last name, it would be a lie. Do you want me to lie to you, Graham?"

For some reason, I like the sound of my name on her lips.

"How can I be sure Isabella's not a lie?"

"It's not," she assures me.. "You should feel lucky. I don't usually give my real name out to strangers."

"My life is just overflowing with unicorns and puppies due to that luck you mentioned," I say sarcastically. She simply shrugs. "How old are you?" I ask.

Because that's also an important question. If she's a college student, I might not have a choice in notifying the authorities. She doesn't look that young, though.

"Twenty-seven," she replies.

I cock my head. "Was that a lie?"

"No. Don't worry, Graham, I would tell you if I was lying."

"That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

"Sure, but it would also help you be less on edge," she says.

She's intuitive, I'll give her that.

"Okay. So, Isabella. From where…?" I question.

She shakes her head with a small smile. "Not telling you that."

Alright. "Why didn't you want me to call the police or take you to the hospital?"

"Because I didn't want it to be a big thing. If the police got involved, my cousin could find out."

"Another cousin?"

"Yeah."

"And who is this cousin? Some kind of politician, a mayor or senator?"

She shakes her head.

"Where is he?" I prod, needing answers.

"New York," she replies.

"How could he have found out from New York?"

"He's very well connected."

"So I'm guessing you live in New York?"

She peers at me with her big blue eyes, "You know, you like asking questions I'm not going to answer."

"I blame you for that predicament," I state before sighing. "Fine, keep being mysterious. I'm going to get another cup of coffee."

"Not sure that's a good idea," she says as I walk out of the living room.

"I didn't sleep a wink last night because I was watching you, Isabella. Trust me, I need coffee," I call back.