Disclaimer: Although I own the rights to this story, I do not own BATB or it's characters.

Summary:(AU) – Catherine Chandler lost her brother, Zach, to The Ryders MC biker club as a young child. All grown up, she is New York's favorite undercover officer and PI. Once she takes her vacation, her work doesn't stop there. She returns to Falling Spring, West Virginia where it all began, to exact revenge on the biker gang. What she doesn't bargain for is Vincent, also known as Beast—the newly-elected vice-president of the gang and Zach's best friend. When Catherine and Vincent come face-to-face, the sparks are immediate, and Catherine finds herself torn between exacting vengeance for her shattered past, and an uncertain future in the arms of a biker bad boy.

Warning: This story contains explicit language, graphic sexual adult content, gang violence, and drug usage. If you DO NOT wish to read any of the named above, then I advise that you not read this story at all.

A/N: Dear God, how long has it been? Ages? Good gracious! Lol. I apologize for the long wait. Please, forgive me! I hope you all are ready for this chapter...

Because things are about to get risky ;)

Enjoy, peeps! Love yal!

-Chapter 10—Roomies-

Vincent POV

The steaming water of my shower rolls in hot rivulets down my back as I replay the past hour through my head.

How did things get so out of hand so quickly? Erica hasn't been here, what...? Two weeks? And, hell, she's already made enemies? And with a club whore of all people?

Jesus!

I mean, what the hell was Tori thinking? Has she lost her ever loving mind? I have never, in the years that I've known her, seen her so reckless and cruel. And I've never seen the bitch as anything other than a club whore. You see, that's the thing about Tori. She loves what she does for the MC, even if that means taking every dick into every hole in her body. Now I don't mean to be crude here, but as the saying goes, honesty is simply the best policy.

And another thing, if only to make things more perfectly clear to everyone.

Victoria fucking Windsor will neverbe my anything.

In fact, I can honestly say that I will never have another ole' lady again. A real one, at least. I just don't see myself permanently with anyone besides Alex.

And she's dead...

….because of me.

But then again, Erica could...

No. I can't think like that. There is no replacing Alex. I couldn't.

I fucking won't!

Fuck!

I need to shake the thoughts of my dead wife away before things get out of control again. Especially since here lately, I've found it quite difficult to dominate my inner beast. Oddly, I started losing control when this Erica character showed up. Because that's when I felt the sudden, unexplainable rush of needing to keep her safe.

But...why?

Why do I feel this primal wave of need whenever I'm around the mysterious woman?

The only answer that seems to justify my recent reactions to the stranger who is currently unconscious in my house, is the fact that my beast feels this powerful sense of possession over her.

And whatever he feels, I feel.

Whether I like it or not.

Which I don't.

At least, I don't think I do. Perhaps my beast is trying to intercept my outlook on that as well. Who knows. All I know is, that I have to put a stop to it; to put a stop tohim before people get hurt.

He snarls at my thoughts of detaining him.

Good, you raging bastard. How do you like me now?

Looking down at my trembling, blood-stained hands, I swallow hard as the realization of what had transpired tonight finally catches up to me. Seeing Erica like that...

Christ!

Seeing her all battered and bloody... it was as if I had overdosed on a bottle of deja vu. The whole time—from the moment I brought her unconscious form into my kitchen and laid her on the table, JT fast on my heels with his medical bag, to the part where JT ripped her shirt open and made me hold pressure to her wound to temporarily stop the bleeding while he prepared to clean and stitch the wound—all I could see lying on my table was my dead wife.

That's when I started to brake out into a sweat.

Although Erica's hair was a perfect blend of chestnut, red, and blond, Alex's was purely a perfect shade of auburn. Where Erica's skin was smooth and lightly tanned, Alex's was fair and she had cute little freckles dusting across her nose.

But in that moment, Erica had lost so much blood that her skin began to pale. Almost looked like death with the way dark rings slowly formed around her beautiful blue eyes.

And there was so much. Fucking. Blood.

In her hair. Soaking parts of her clothes. On her face and body; a deep ruby contrast compared to her now paling complexion. Her lips that were once a soft pink in color, had shifted into more of a bruised purplish-blue.

Breathing became harder and harder as my gaze traveled her entire body that would look lifeless right now if it weren't for the rise and fall of her chest as she continued breathing.

And through the process of seeing Erica like this; of having flashbacks to a time I wish I could forget, I felt something—although, slightly—course through my veins at the sight of this woman on my kitchen table.

I wanted revenge.

I would rip Tori's fucking heart out and make her eat it for breakfast.

I would...

What the hell is wrong with me?!

I don't even know the first thing about this woman, yet I feel like it's my duty to carry out the punishment on anyone who dares to hurt her...?

No.

This is completely insane!

I'm going insane.

So insane that I could actually hear Erica's heart beat.

Wait...

Th-thump... Th-thump... Th-thump!

Okay, I may not be the expert here when it comes to anti-beast medication, but I know for a fact that that's not supposed to happen. At. All.

Oh, for fucks sake!

Did I forget to take my medicine today?

No. I took it alright. Just like I've been taking it every day for the past couple of years, three times a day.

Maybe I should up my dose or something. Maybe I'm becoming resistant to the drug.

Maybe you need to stay the hell away from Erica so little mishaps like this don't happen again.

Yeah. Maybe I should.

But how would I protect her if I distanced myself?

More blood gushed when JT took the needle through Erica's skin, and that was about all I could take for one night. So, as JT finished stitching her up, I took off to my bedroom where I carelessly started tossing my clothes off and headed to my private bathroom to shower.

With a quick wash of my body and hair, I turn off the shower and dry off, wrapping the towel around my waist before exiting into my bedroom.

The bedroom which houses my bed.

Where Erica is now sleeping peacefully.

What the ever loving fuck...?

I glance over at JT, who is now sitting prescription pill bottles onto the nightstand. I take the time to grab a pair of gray sweats and a navy t-shirt and black briefs, dressing quickly as possible back in the bathroom. My best friend and brother in the MC is in the kitchen cleaning up the mess when I enter the room.

"She'll live," JT answers the unspoken question drifting through my head. "Although, she may be sore for about a week. Maybe two, tops. I've given her a shot of morphine for the pain and to help her rest, and I've left her a couple bottles of pain medication next to her on the bedside table. Her arm is in a sling for the first week so she doesn't rip out the stitches on her side, so make sure she doesn't strain herself or do anything that would be a risk of opening the wound. She can take a shower tomorrow, if she wakes up..."

"If?"

"...but for now she needs rest. And once she wakes up, she'll need plenty of nourishment to help build her strength back up."

I nod, a sigh of relief pouring out of me and making my beast calm. "Night cap?" I ask, sitting a bottle of Jack onto the kitchen counter.

"Sure. Why not?" he mumbles, his voice giving away how tired he is.

Clearing my throat, I begin pouring our drinks. "I need to talk to you about upping my dose of medication."

"Already?"

I hesitate for what seems like an eternity, merely seconds, before turning and handing him a tumbler filled to the rim. "Yes."

And now I need to get the hell out of the kitchen for a while. So I head into the living area, sitting down on the arm of my couch.

"When did you want to try to up the dosage?"

I sigh, finishing off my drink. "Tomorrow, if possible. Immediately, actually."

He nods, finishing his drink as well. "Can't tomorrow. With Erica out of commission until she's healed, I'll be taking over her shifts, tomorrow included." he rolls his eyes on a rough sigh. "I'm off the day after if that'll work out for you?"

"Perfect. The sooner, the better."

JT stares at me, as if examining me. And trust me, I know that look because he gives it to me every time I'm over at his place doing those stupid tests. "Why are you so determined all of a sudden? Did something happen? Any... freak-out's?"

I nod, glancing towards the direction of my bedroom.

The direction where a beast-virgin is sleeping, but I still don't want to talk about this here with her around, just in case. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, you need to get back home. Do you need a ride?"

"Oh. No. Tess is on her way and should be here in a few minutes."

I nod. "Thanks again, JT. For helping me out. Man, I don't know what I'd do without you." I say as we enter a back-slap—also known as a 'manly hug'—and then JT is out of the door and I'm placed into complete silence.

Walking back into the kitchen, I place our glasses into the sink and grab the bottle of whiskey off the counter before making my way out onto the porch for a smoke.

Man, it's peaceful out here, you know?

Chilly, but peaceful.

And it's simply a beautiful place out here in seclusion.

I can't help but to wonder what Alex would think of living out here if she had the chance. Would she love it as much as I do? Hate it? Somewhere in between?

I know Olivia would have loved living here. I can picture her right now, giggling as she ran through the front yard, catching fireflies into a mason jar. Alex would be smiling at how happy our daughter would be.

But all of that is wishful thinking.

Not reality.

Not anymore.

With a roar, I throw the whiskey bottle up against the closest tree. As if in slow motion, the glass bottle shatters into a million tiny little pieces, almost like my heart when I think about the what ifs.

I'm pissed off now, so I should just go to bed.

Only, I can't because Erica is sleeping in there.

Not that you sleep in your bed anyways, dipshit!

Taking one last drag off my cigarette, I put it out in the ashtray before walking back inside to grab a couple of blankets and a pillow. Considering I'm not in the mood to take a walk down memory lane with Alex tonight, it lookks like I'lol be sleeping in the guest room.

But as I walk up the stairs, I feel the need to check in on Erica. I mean, it's the right thing to do, so why not? Opening my bedroom door, I walk over to the bed—cause I gotta make sure that she's breathing—and pull the blanket up a little bit because she looks cold. But at the same time, she looks peaceful.

And despite the rumble match she had with Tori, she looks beautif...

NO! Stop it!

Telling myself that it's wrong to look at her any longer, I finally make my way across the hall, leaving my bedroom door open, as well as the guest room door, just in case she wakes up or something. JT said for her to take it easy, after all, and I want to be sure that I hear her when she wakes up.

That night I have the same nightmare I normally have on most nights with the terror that haunts me every single day.

But this time, the woman I dream about...

…..is not my wife.


Catherine POV

My eyes pop open to the sound of shattering glass from a distance. On instinct in case of a break in, I rise from the bed in search of my gun, only, the bedside table that I'm swiftly reaching towards is not the same as the one I'm used to seeing the motel. In fact, as I glance around the room I'm lying in, none of this furniture is familiar at all. I've never seen anything like it. Everything looks to be hand made, from the beautiful bed I slept in to the dressers and side tables. I notice that the sun is no where in sight as I glance out the window. But unfortunately, there are no clocks in the room, so I can't really tell what time it currently is, other than it being night.

And now I'm regretting sitting up from the bed as fast as I did because my head is slightly spinning and an ache begins pulsing at both sides of my temples. My side is sore too, I realize. Like really, really sore. It kind of feels like I've been kicked in the same place repeatedly over a million times. My arm seems to be constricted in a cloth-like makeshift sling, keeping it immobile; perfectly still besides my being able to move my hand and fingers.

I'm not sure where I am, or how I even got here. Actually, the last thing I remember is soaring in mid-air before blacking out completely. All, of which, happened after I had an unfortunate encounter with the Wicked Bitch of the West.

So many questions run through my head, making it throb even worse than it had been when I had first awakened. But if I'm going to get any answers, it sure as hell won't be from this bedroom. I guess it's time I pay my mysterious host a visit.

And maybe even explore the premises while I'm at it. I mean, seriously, what could it hurt?

As I come to a stand—slowly, of course—I'm forced to lean on the wall adjacent to the bed. I wince as this movement cause my side to pulse angrily. But I push forward anyways through the pain, limping my way over towards a broad wooden door before opening it with my good arm.

The aroma of food travels to my nostrils the moment the door opens, and my stomach grumbles with need at the smell. God, it smells so good. Perhaps that explains the broken glass that woke me. Maybe someone is cooking...

Or maybe someone is hurt.

At the thought, I make my way down the stairs as fast as my stiff yet sore body will allow me to, following the smells of the kitchen. And the sight that greets me makes me pause and gives away my host's identity.

Oh, Jesus take the freaking wheel...

Because Vincent Keller is currently standing in front of the stove stirring something in a pot. Of what, I have no clue. But if I were to guess, it smells like some sort of Italian dish. It smells completely divine and my mouth waters.

"What are you making?" He jumps at the sound of my voice, although it's hoarse and scratchy, spinning around swiftly causing him to knock a half-full Budweiser bottle off of the marble counter and it shatters upon impact to the floor.

"Jesus, you scared the fuck out of me." he hisses, immediately grabbing a roll of paper towels to dry up the remnants of his beer.

I can't help the giggle that escapes me, which soon shifts into a hissing wince because of my sore side. Vincent closes the distance between us with a look of panic painted across his face. His beautiful hazel orbs reflect sincere concern for my well-being.

My heart does this little flip thing because of it, and I hate myself for it.

Vincent Keller is the enemy. Don't you forget that, Catherine!

"Why are you out of bed anyway? JT gave specific orders that you shouldn't be doing anything that could cause you to rip the stitches..."

Wait... what? Stitches?

Now, I know that Tori cut me and I clearly remember passing out at the club, but was it really that bad? Was stitches really necessary for just a little cut?

"Stitches...?" I whisper more to myself, but I know Vincent heard me because he's now standing within two feet from me. And his scent—sandalwood and clean, pure masculinity—intoxicates my senses, making certain parts of me to clench unexpectedly and unwillingly. Slowly glancing upwards, my green eyes—well, I should say blue considering I'm still wearing contacts—meet his hazel ones and lock, my body trembling with a sudden need that I just cannot explain.

He mentioned something about JT giving orders of some kind. Does that mean that JT may have also drugged me, considering I needed stitches? Because that is the only way I can explain my feelings right now. Is that I'm high or something. I have to be. Otherwise, my body would be known as a traitorous bitch! And I would hate the damn thing for years to come.

But his eyes are nearly hypnotizing from this view. A combination of green and brown with little flecks of amber. Then I look down to his lips, which are plump, wet from his tongue just recently trailing along the seal of them, and a soft looking. And in that moment I wish I could go back to the time that he first tried to kiss me. I wish, in this moment of need, that he would kiss me just once. Right the fuck now. And maybe, just maybe, I could get over this lustful spell. May my injuries be damned.

And my god...

His tattoo is finally fully on display.

Thick black strips of ink cover his entire left shoulder, which thins and spans out as it elegantly wraps around his bicep before stopping just above his elbow. Hmmm... and what do people call this type of tattoo? A tribal, maybe?

Dear god, forgive me for I have sinned...

The things I'm thinking about doing to this man right now would make the devil blush.

When I look back up into his now darker, more fierce, dilated eyes, I have a feeling that he feels the same way. But he's fighting it. God, is he fighting it. And I realize that I'm not alone in this battle of wrong versus right.

A clearing of throat interrupts our moment from behind me. And as I turn, I see the man that may have saved my life.

JT...

And I couldn't feel more relieved to see his presence than I do right now.

"Was I interrupting something... or something?"

"No..." I mutter calmly as Vincent growls out a frustrated, "Yes."

For the first time since I've known him, JT's cheeks redden as he turns away and disappears from the kitchen. "I'll just be waiting in the living room." he calls out.

Without giving Vincent another glance, I turn on my heels to go back to the room I slept in, when Vincent speaks, stopping me in my tracks. "Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. JT is here to check up on you and he needs to repack the worst wound of them all."

Throughout the entirety of those two sentences, the only word that keeps replaying in my head is dinner.

Dinner.

Dinner.

Dinner...?

So that means that the complete blackness outside of my window tells me that it's anywhere from ten o' clock at night to anytime after that.

And this is when he cooks dinner?

"What time is it?"

Vincent looks a bit embarrassed, but he quickly wipes that emotion off his face when he turns to stir—what I now see is—some sort of tomato sauce. I take that tiny little second before his response to actually take in his appearance. His usual style, black t-shirts and dark jeans, are now replaced with a white tank and gray sweat pants. His hair looks disheveled as always. Wild and messy—sexy, even—as if he's been roaming his long fingered hand through it—or maybe somebody else did that for him. His arms are corded in veins; roped with thick muscles—but not too thick.

And that tattoo...

Oh, sweet baby Jesus!

"Nearly midnight."

I jump, startled by the sound of his voice while being under such a spell, when I realize that he's now staring right at me. Which means...

Oh my God! He knew I was checking him out. And he's smirking—smirking, I tell you—as if he's a parent who just caught his errant child sticking their hand into the cookie jar before supper.

My cheeks heat, and my head drops in embarrassing defeat. I can't look at him now. Not after being caught practically eye-fucking him like a hormonal teenager. What the ever loving fuck is wrong with me?!

The drugs...

It has to be the drugs.

Yes! Of course, it is.I never took much interest in this man any other time I've been around him—though, I am human, and a female, so I can totally appreciate a sexy man when I see one.

But I still can't look at him. I'm too embarrassed in being caught red handed ogling him from head to toe with my eyes. So, take the opportunity to get as far away from the sexy as sin biker before the 'drugs' force me to climb his bones and do something I know I will regret for days to come.

JT is in the living room where I suspected, reading a book called Technology for Dummies. I'm not quite sure what to do or what to say, so I stick to just sitting next to him on the couch. He closes the book as soon as I do, and all of the questions that previously scanned through my brain return in full force, which reminds me of the damn throb I have yet to take care of.

An awkward silence takes place seconds later, so I decide on thanking him for saving my life.

He waves a hand, a smile forming, as he hands me two little capsule's—assuming that they're for my abusive headache. "Ah, it was nothing. In case you didn't already know, I'm used to stitching up people. Especially since the MC can't really turn to hospital's for help without raging suspicion for situations like these."

That answers one of my questions.

Only ten thousand more to go, Cat.

"Honestly, though, if Vincent hadn't found you in the hall of the club when he did, it's hard tellin' if you'd be alive right now. He's the one who came to me for help."

A warmth spreads over my heart for a brief second.

Vincent Keller—murderer, cold-hearted biker that may, or may not have had anything to do with my brother's death—saved me.

That now makes it twice that he's done that. So, I keep that in mind so I can thank him later, too.

Vincent appears from the kitchen, carrying two bottled waters and handing them out to JT and myself. He looks to me briefly before returning back into the kitchen.

Opening the cap of my bottle, I pop the tiny pills into my mouth, tipping my head back and begin guzzling the water down as if I haven't had anything to drink in days.

And JT confirms it as soon as the ridiculous thought runs through my head. "You've been out of it for three days, Erica."

I spit my water out to nothing specific in front of me, but apparently my water ended up on JT's face. He closes his eyes, as if frustrated to no end, yet, holding back as he slowly produces a white handkerchief, wiping his face with it.

Well, that explains the stiffness and some of the soreness.

"Oh my God... JT... I-I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. It's just—"

"Don't worry about it. Wasn't the first time to be spit on, and totally won't be the last time. Anyways," he pauses to take a sip of his own water before continuing, "It's been three days. No worries, though. It's completely normal because your body needed the rest to help you heal. But that doesn't mean you still don't need to rest. And I'm sure you should know not to do anything that can cause your injury to burst open, right? Which also explains the sling. I'm sure you're wondering when you can shower again, as well?"

Oh, God, yes!

"Yes."

He clears his throat. "Yes, well. After I clean and repack the gash on your side," he says, lifting my shirt and doing exactly as he says he'll do. And it's really uncomfortable, let me tell you. "I'll tape some plastic over it and leave the supplies for future reference for when you decide to shower. Keep it dry for the remainder of the week, but take off the plastic when you're not showering because it will need some air to contribute to the healing process, especially now that it's already been three days. I'll also show you how to clean and care for the wound, because I'm going out of town with Tess and the kids this weekend. Trust me, Disneyland cannot wait as far as the children are concerned. Keep taking the medication I've given you, as needed, and try to relax for the next week or so... Annnnd, all done. Any questions?"

Yeah... How the hell can you breathe after saying all of that?"When can I shower?"

"After dinner. Food's ready." Vincent says from behind me. With a curt nod and smile to JT, I stand, following Vincent into the kitchen to sit at a beautiful ornate-carved table with a nice finish to it.

My stomach chooses this time to grumble like a demon, once again. Only, this time, I have an audience to my stomach's screams of agony, and my cheeks heat.

"You staying for dinner, JT?" Vincent asks, placing a plate of delicious looking spaghetti in front of me. Hell, who am I kidding?The way my stomach keeps growling like a maniac, I'm sure if a live cow were sitting in front of me, I would devour it like a zombie would do so in a scene of The Walking Dead.

Jesus, I could eat the whole ceramic plate, I'm so fucking hungry right now!

JT glances at me before returning his eyes back to Vincent. "Nah, I should get back to the club. I'm working late as a part of my new schedule. You know, more hours considering the situation." he waves a hand towards me as way of explaining his 'situation'.

I mouth a tiny "I'm sorry" and JT chuckles with a shake of his head.

"It's no big deal, Erica. What do you think I did before you even came 'round? Sure wasn't sitting on my ass doing jack shit for paper. That's a fact." his smile drifts, and his expression changes to something more serious. "All the more reason ya' better get better because if I have to put up with Dom's drunken ass one more time, I—"

"Thanks, JT." I interrupt with a huge smile on my face. "For everything."

He nods, slapping Vincent on his shoulder as he leaves.

"I should be thanking you too. You know... for, uh, saving my ass back there. Apparently, three days ago." I add with a nervous laugh. "And thank you for your generous hospitality. You really didn't have to do all of this for me."

But, my God, I am totally glad that he did, considering he is one hell of a cook.

Jesus!

I start moaning within taking my third bite, and I have to stop myself...

….because Chef Keller is now staring at me with wide eyes, a half-way open mouth, and his fork paused in front of his face.

Did I do something wrong? Am I eating too fast for comfort?

I can't help but to feel extremely self-conscious right now with the way he continues staring at me. My face heats and I'm sure it's as red hot looking as it feels right now.

"Sorry." I mumble under my breath, before taking another generous bite, licking the excess sauce off of the corners of my mouth. "It's really good. Thanks."

Snort! That is totally the biggest understatement of the year.

In fact, this meal is better than sex... or maybe it's not and I've just been deprived of the sex part for too long to know the difference.

But when I think about it, as I take yet another bite, perhaps all along it has less to do with Vincent's cooking and more to do with not eating the past three days.

Or was it four? Did I even eat the day of the rumble?

Christ!

"So," Vincent clears his throat, swirling pasta and sauce around his fork before cramming it into his mouth. "You wanna talk about what happened?"

I, too, clear my throat. But mainly it's because I feel pretty uncomfortable right now with his inquisition. And clearly, I have no idea why. I just am.

Maybe I'm just uncomfortable around bikers who kill people without any sense of remorse. Maybe, I'm scared of how he makes me feel in general. Especially knowing that he is the sole reason why I'm even enjoying this meal at all.

"No?" he quirks a brow. From the way he's looking at me, though, he already knows the cliff notes to what really happened and is now asking my side of the story.

"Uhm... pretty much she's a psychopath that really feels the need to let me know that you're claimed. Can you pass the cheese and grater?"

Instead of passing it, he hovers over my plate and grates some Parmesan on my pasta.

"Thank you."

"No problem." he smiles when he sits back down, though it's brief. "Anyways, I feel that I should apologize for her rabid behavior. Tori is, and forever will be, a club whore. She has no claim to me, as you say. She just feels threatened by you, and is jealous because I claimed you and not her, despite being any truth behind my claim. I only did what I felt was right, and I only hope that you scratch my back in return."

"Duly noted." I huff, shoving more food into my mouth. I don't know why that fact pisses me off. But it does. And I feel kind of used because of it even though it's my fault that I'm in this predicament anyways.

He sighs. "In addition, I've already had your stuff packed and brought over here to my house and I took the liberty to turn in your motel key. As we talked about before, and were supposed to talk about before Tori attacked you, you'll be living here, with me."

Instantly, the bite of food I just crammed in my mouth turns to ash with his words.

He did what?

My eyes widen in fear because there is a possibility that when I took all of the things involving my true identity over to the house in case more bikers wanted to just pop up at the motel suddenly, that I forgot something. And if Vincent found out...

Oh, shit... I'm fucked, aren't I?

No way, Kitty Cat. If that were the case, would he still be going through with having you move in with him and still calling you Erica? Pfft! Your identity is still safe. So stop worrying...

"Erica, are you alright? You look pale."

Erica...

See? You have nothing to worry about. He doesn't know!

Instead of voicing my response openly, I nod my head as I take my last bite of food, coming to a stand to take my dish over to the sink. That was a close one... maybe even one of the closest calls I've had so far. And now I'm angry with myself because I don't know how much longer I can take this shit. I'm not sure if I can continue to play this game.

But you have to! You made a vow and you must keep it now, Catherine. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

My hands are still shaking from the scare of being exposed to the MC's VP as I begin washing my dish with angry force when a pair of hands wrap around my wrists from behind me and I stiffen. I swallow hard when I feel his heated breath upon the back of my neck, the tingling sensation from his touch. He takes the plate out of my hand with a heated expression. "I've got this," he whispers into my ear. "Besides, you're supposed to be relaxing. Doctor's orders, remember?"

My sex clinches with how sexy he just made those words sound and my eyes close as a shudder passes through my body. All thoughts of him going through my things and turning in my motel key completely vanish with just the sound of his deep, velvety voice.

Stop it... Stop it... STOP IT!

"Thank you." I say, stepping off to the side away from him, but our eyes connect almost instantaneously.

"You're welcome," he says. "Now, please. Sit." I do so and he continues while he prepares to wash dishes. "For the past two nights, you slept in my bed."

What the holy... "Excuse me?"

He throws a devious smile over his shoulder before returning back to the task at hand. "No worries, cupcake. I've been sleeping in the guest room across the hall from you. And I'm leaving it up to you on whether or not you want to sleep in my room for the remainder of your stay, or would you rather I move your things to one of the guest rooms?"

One of them?

Jeez, how big is this house?

I make note that I most definitely need to take a tour of his house, and soon.

"Wherever you want me, is fine." my voice is merely a whisper, and maybe I added a little seduction into the mix to pay him back for being so deliciously hot right now and making me feel things that I shouldn't.

He drops a dish into the sink with a clattering thunk and turns to face me. "Yes," he squeaks, clearing his throat, "Yes, well, I don't mind sleeping in the guest room. Only, I ask that you stay out of the bedroom on the opposite side of the house."

I wait for him to give me an explanation as to why, but he doesn't. And it makes me all the more curious as to what he may be hiding. But I agree to his rules, of course, crossing my fingers behind my back. It's a childish move, I know. But who cares?

He continues washing the dishes, spouting off a list of different rules that—and I quote—"I intend for you to abide by them..." and all I can do is agree to his terms. I mean, it is his house. So, his rules.

When he finishes, he leads me upstairs to the adjoining bathroom to the room I'll be sleeping in. Vincent's bedroom, which I haven't forgotten smells like him, by the way.

And holy cheese on a cracker, his bathroom is huge.

It's a woman's paradise, to be frank. Even a tom-boyish woman like me. And the shower? It's simply to die for with it's stoned high walls, open entrance and rain shower head hanging from the roof. Kind of reminds me of what a shower would look like in pricey penthouse suite.

And don't get me started on the huge garden tub.

Oh, I think I'm in love!

He shows me how to work the shower, something that should be simple, but it's not. A control panel is how you operate this thing and it looks even more difficult with all of the buttons. But, of course, Vincent makes it look simple, pushing only two buttons to turn it on.

"I'll go grab you a couple of towels." he murmurs with a sniff, and I'm thankful for the time I now have alone.

Turning back towards the running shower, I place the hand on my good side onto the wall as support whilst I push off my shoes, one by one, by stepping on the heels. Next are my socks, which I have to sit on the toilet lid to do so with this sling—which I plan to take off next, may my injured side be damned. But I'm discovering how each article of clothing is becoming harder and harder for me to take off.

Reaching the button on my jeans, I attempt to pop it open with one hand. After about four tries, I become frustrated and cautiously pull the sling strap over my head. That's about how far I go because the arm trapped into the make-shift contraption is severely stiff and it makes it difficult to remove the rest of the sling from my arm.

"Ouch!" I hiss, when I try to lower my bad arm. I'm about to just get in the shower with my fucking clothes on, when...

"Everything okay?" Vincent asks, startling me... again.

Placing a flat palm onto my chest, my heart going a million miles per second, I finally face the Boogeyman. "Jesus, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Sorry." he smirks, holding out three fluffy white towels. "Soap is already in the shower on the built-in shelf. Do you need anything else? Because I have to return a couple of emails to clients before I turn in for the night."

I think about that question. I mean, it's obvious that I need help undressing. But is this all that I have in a selection for a temporary assistant? Is there not another way of doing this without having a strange man strip me bare?

I swallow hard, hoping my pride and dignity go down my throat as smoothly as possible for what I'm about to say. Because deep down, I know that there are no other options for me unless I want to call a friend, like Tess or Gabi, but I know it would take a damn century for either one of them to get here, and the water has already been on for like five minutes.

"Actually, I do need help."

He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to finish.

Is he really that clueless? Does he truly think I can undress like this?

"I... Well, I..." Just spit it out already! "I need you to help me take my clothes off."


Well, well, well... how was THAT for a comeback? Got a lot of sexual tension going on in this chapter ;D And trust me, there WILL be plenty more where that came from. I decided that this was a good place to stop (please don't kill me). I promise I will be updating soon, because I am oddly on a roll with my writing lately (knock on wood). Lots of things have inspired me lately, and I'm SERIOUSLY hoping to update Floggers (FSOG Fic) next, now that I've got some of my load off of my shoulders. In case you all knew about my book, I'm delaying the publish date until further notice. Also, FSOG fans, I am going to be uploading a NEW story sometime soon in that category as well. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, because I truly enjoyed writing it. I actually had a little fun with this one. Anyways, leave me a review... they make my day :) Until next time...