Musa woke from a restful sleep to a quiet room. The mid-morning light gave the space a golden glow, turning everything it touched into something out of a fairy tale. The clock on her bedside table, blurry in her sleepy, gold-touched eyes, told her it was just past 8. The soft cotton sheets on her bare skin felt like a warm hug. Musa buried her face into the pillow, wanting to go back to the peaceful state she'd woken from; back to the dream she'd woken from.

But it wasn't a dream.

It all came rushing back to her: Kissing in the hot tub; Riven's hands roaming her body; the way he'd pinned her to the door and fucked her like he'd been thinking about it as much as she had; the follow up in her bed where she'd finally satisfied a fantasy she'd been having for far longer than she cared to admit. If she thought about it hard, she could still feel his lips on hers.

Maybe they could replay last night, she thought. A smirk grew on her lips as she thought of rolling over, kissing every inch of his body until he was awake and begging for her like he was supposed to be last night until she'd ruined it by not being able to hold out.

She rolled over, turning away from the soft light shining in through her window. She wondered what he looked like in the morning. Would his hair be a mess? Face smashed up against the pillow? Did he drool in his sleep? Did he turn over so often through the night that the blanket on his side would be a mess? Whatever it was, she would find him adorable. She would bet everything she owned that he had a morning voice so sexy it should be illegal; everything else about him was.

The bed was empty.

She sat up, suddenly much more awake than she'd been a few seconds ago. She strained her ear for noise in the bathroom, but there was none. Musa's feet hit the floor much faster than they ever had before. She walked over to the bathroom quickly hoping to find the door closed but it was open, and the simple white bathroom was empty.

Maybe he was working out. He usually did in the mornings. At least she was fairly sure he did; he was usually done and showered by the time she woke up. As she threw on a baggy t-shirt and pajama shorts, and walked down the hall to the gym, Musa thought that she wouldn't mind watching him work out a bit. She'd never been much of a gym person – never understood the appeal of working out or especially of, like Stella liked to do, people watching at the gym – but the idea of watching Riven's glistening muscles flex was something she could certainly get behind.

Only he wasn't in the gym. He wasn't in his room or out on the upper terrace, either.

Musa made her way down to the kitchen, expecting to find him standing at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. So many mornings she'd wandered down to the kitchen in search of coffee only to be greeted by him walking around half naked making them breakfast. It was a sight she'd been on the fence about before – she loved watching him, but it was more of a tease than a treat – but now, now she could walk up behind him and hug him, step up onto her tiptoes and kiss his shoulders and neck.

But he wasn't there either. In fact, the only thing that proved he had been there – and that he wasn't a figment of her imagination to start with – was the aroma that filled the air and the full pot of fresh coffee.

She backed out of the kitchen and into the living room where, finally, she spotted him through the glass door sitting on the guest terrace couch. With his back turned to her, Musa allowed herself a moment to watch him as he leaned forward and reached for the cup he had left on the coffee table. He took a sip and ran his hands through his hair, those muscles of his flexing under his t-shirt. God, he was beautiful.

After grabbing herself a cup of coffee, Musa quickly made her way to the terrace. She was planning on sliding in beside him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Maybe she would cuddle up to him and he would wrap his arm around her shoulder and kiss the top of her head. She could already feel his body heat warming her on the surprisingly cold August morning and the ghost of his hand lingering on her shoulder.

It was only as she reached the door that it dawned on her that she was getting ahead of herself. Sex was just that: sex. It was no indication that he felt for her what she did for him. It wasn't even an indication that he liked her as a person. Musa slowed her pace and took a deep breath before stepping out into the morning air. "Morning" she said, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible but failing to keep the hopeful smile off her face.

"Morning." Riven's reply was short and blunt. He didn't even look at her when he spoke. Her smile faltered and she found she had to hold her cup with both hands to stop it from spilling over. Nerves never got the best of her anymore. She was told that performing in front of millions of people was supposed to be nerve-wracking, but Musa knew herself and her abilities. She would kill it, and whatever else happened, happened. Talk shows were nerve-wracking, but as long as she kept composed, she would be fine. Putting her heart on the line, though, was something she hadn't done in years. Not since Madison. Andy and Jared had chased her, all she'd had to do was say yes.

"We, uh... we should talk about last ni-"

"It's fine" he interrupted. "I know it was a mistake. We can pretend it never happened."

Her heart shattered in her chest. Dust particles of what had once been a beating heart scattered into her throat and stomach, making the singer feel like she was choking and had to throw up at the same time. The ground fell out from under her, and she was left floating in empty space, searching desperately for something to tether onto. His words echoed in her mind slowly driving her mad.

A mistake.

What had been her best night in weeks was a mistake.

She forced back the tears that had started to gather in her eyes and took a breath as steadily as she could muster. It was anything but. Her breath came out ragged, like she'd just taken a hit to the stomach. Her heart – what was left of it – beat unevenly in her ears reminding her with every thump that it was faltering. "Right, good. Okay then" she managed in a tone that betrayed her breaking state to an impressive degree.

He didn't turn to look at her. She'd hoped he would at least spare her a glance while he tore her heart out and threw it into the busy Manhattan street to be run over by dozens of cars. Fuck him. Fucking heartless asshole. She should've known he'd never care for her the way she'd grown to care for him. She should've known he'd never see her as anything more than what he wanted to see her as.

Musa pivoted on her heel and marched herself into the living room and up to her bedroom. She dropped her cup of coffee on the edge of the pool table by the door as she went in. Coffee would keep her up and all she wanted to do was sleep until she didn't feel like crumbling into a million pieces every time she thought about him.

Her bed welcomed her lovingly as she dropped herself onto it and curled herself into one of her pillows. She could make out the faint smell of his shampoo lingering on the fabric, reminding her of the man that had just ripped himself from her grip. Her bed was taunting her.

She could see the way his hair, loose and unstyled, had fallen on her pillow. His hooded, lustful eyes looked up at her in her memory. He'd been so goddamn beautiful. The way his head had tilted back against the pillow when he moaned would do her in, she was sure of it. The ghost of his hands on her legs, her hips, her waist prickled her body until she wanted to scrub her skin off.

Before Musa could register what she was doing, she was standing at the foot of her bed. Her hands pulled at the sheets, tearing them off her bed and ridding the space of any hint he'd ever been there. She threw them on the floor, reluctant to touch them any longer lest she lose the will to get rid of them, her longing to hold onto him just a bit longer getting the best of her.

A shower would do her good she told herself as she stripped down and turned the water on to a temperature so high it would burn off every piece of him. She jumped in, letting the droplets roll off her skin, washing Riven's touch down the drain.

Through the steam, a hand reached out and opened the shower door. A tall, muscular body with a head topped with thick maroon locks walked in. His eyes met hers through the steam as his hand reached out to brush her cheek. He stepped closer, looming over her. The gentility of his eyes and his touched betrayed the confident and imposing figure he portrayed. Musa loved both sides of him; loved the way he made her feel safe and taken care of all at once. He gave off this brute image of a careless man, but he was a big softy once you got to know him.

"I was wrong" he whispered, pushing back the hair that had stuck to her neck. His head lowered until he was giving her neck soft, gentle pecks. "I don't want to pretend it never happened."

Musa buried her face in his hair, trapping him in the crook of her neck. She could feel his breath hitting her skin even in the heat and steam of the shower. He pressed a kiss softly against her collar bone bringing a smile to her lips. "I thought last night was a mistake?"

"It was" he chuckled. "But I don't care. It's a mistake I'll make a thousand times over."

"Yeah?" She pulled her head away from his, allowing him to stand at his full height. The water hit the top of his head, dripping down onto his forehead and cheek. Droplets plummeted from the tips of his hair onto her face that was otherwise free of the shower's spray, but she didn't care. He was looking at her and smiling at her.

"I love you, Musa" Riven told her before pulling her into a kiss that was sweeter and softer than any she'd ever had, and millions of times better than anything she ever experienced. The water and steam gave way to rainbows and sunshine, to candy and fountains of chocolate, walking barefoot in the sand on a warm not too hot day, driving down the road with the wind blowing through her hair and music blasting so loud in deafened everyone in the vicinity. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and then...

Cold.

Ice cold hit her back, startling her. Musa's hand flailed backwards, stopping the stream of the shower water. They'd been there so long, staring at each other with loving eyes and tender touches that the hot water had run out. Musa turned back to him, a silent laugh etched on her face. Only, he wasn't there. Nobody was.

She was alone.

He'd never joined her.

Never kissed her.

Never told her he loved her.

She had imagined the whole thing.

Musa's back hit the shower wall with a small thud. She slid down the wall until her butt hit the shower floor and she could rest her head against the wall. So fucking stupid she muttered to herself. Of course, he wouldn't love her. How could she even convince herself of that? Sensitive, tomboy-ish her was not what he wanted. Why would he when he could pull confident and sexy? And he worked for her. He didn't even have to like her as a person – he certainly hadn't when he'd started – so why would anything change?

Musa shook her head and forced herself to her feet. Men had tried to break her before and failed, this one would too. Some stupid meathead with the body of a god and a smile that made her feel like jelly...eyes that simultaneously calmed her and made her heart beat a mile minute... a laugh that could make the most miserable of people happy...

NO.

Fuck him.

Fuck that fucking moron. The very one who made her breakfast every day so she would eat something; who took care of her when she was drunk and let her use him as a pillow whenever she wanted; who ran to the bodega with her in the middle of the night when she wanted snacks or made her pancakes at 3 am cause his were better; who watched musicals with her even if he hated them and had even asked her to teach him to play guitar a bit; who taught her about football and basketball so she could watch with him and tolerated her incessant questions during the game when he was trying to watch; who let her hide behind him during horror movies because she was a huge baby even if she loved them; who made her laugh and feel understood.

She would not break for him.

An unmade bed greeted her; the sheets splayed out on the floor by her closed bedroom door. She'd been in the bathroom so long she'd forgotten about them. Musa kicked them aside and made up the bed with sheets she had in her closet.

This would not break her. She would get dressed, made up, show him what he was missing out on. She would walk out into the apartment like nothing had happened, like he hadn't broken her heart.

She had her bra hooked around her arms when a knock came at the door. A cough clearing a throat and then Riven's stifled, awkward voice asking: "Are you, uh, gonna want lunch?"

How was it that the simplest, least harmful questions were the worst ones when she was trying to keep herself together? Or maybe it was the fact that he sounded reluctant – uncomfortable – like he didn't want to be around her. Did he regret sleeping with her that much?

"No" she managed to reply coldly before the very fragile dam that had been keeping her tears at bay broke. She dropped her bra to the ground and curled herself up in the freshly made bed. It welcomed her lovingly, cocooning her as she cried until she lost the ability to produce tears. Hours must have passed, but she didn't move. She couldn't move. She couldn't see him. Maybe she'd been wrong: she would break for him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What the fuck had he done?! He was completely and utterly screwed. He knew better than to sleep with a client. Remain professional. Don't get involved. And don't fucking sleep with them. It wasn't that hard.

She was just so much more than a client.

Riven watched Musa turn in the bed. She looked so peaceful when she slept. Her dark hair was twisted up under her neck and her arms hugged the pillow. He wished his body could replace the pillow, and his lips her hair. He wished he could hug and kiss her.

He'd woken up twenty minutes earlier. In his half-awake state, he'd seen her like a vision. A dream. Her hair splayed out in front of him. Her perfect little body covered by the thin blanket, shoulders, and arms visible with just the tiniest bit of her back peeking out. Riven had thought that he was imagining her there, that he'd dreamt her lips on his. Touching her, kissing her, fucking her; it had all been a dream.

Only it wasn't. He was in her bed. She was beside him, naked and content. And he was doomed. She would regret it. She would report it. Request he be replaced. Saladin would be furious. Riven would lose his job. He'd be blacklisted from other security companies because word travels and who wants to hire the guy that falls in love with and sleeps with clients?

It broke his heart that one girl – one amazing, beautiful, brilliant girl – held his entire future in his hands. Musa wouldn't willingly ruin his life; she wasn't that person. She might, however, not want to be around him.

Riven forced himself out of the bed. He needed to think; to figure out how to not let one stupid move ruin everything he'd worked so hard for. Staying in the bed would not be conducive to that. He would be swept up by her and spend all morning watching her and soaking in her presence. He would daydream of what they could be if Musa decided that she loved him as much as he loved her. He would imagine the nights they'd spend at home making out and playing video games. He would picture how he'd propose to her. They'd have a small wedding, intimate, with just close friends and family. He'd see a home and kids. They would wake up together every morning and fall asleep cuddled up every night. She would teach their kids to play piano while he cooked supper. He would put the kids to bed while she wrote. They'd spend their nights watching TV or making love. They'd have her dad over for supper; Riven would make sure she stayed close to him; he couldn't let her lose someone that loved her so much. They'd have their friends over and he'd spend all night watching her laugh at all the stupid things they said. They'd take family trips to Disneyland and couple trips to wherever the fuck they wanted. He would take care of her whenever she was sick or take the kids away on that day. They could have it all.

But they couldn't.

He and Musa weren't of the same world. Even though she'd grown up poor as dirt like him, the life she lived now was luxurious and glamorous. He would never fit into her world, and she wouldn't return to his.

Once he'd made himself a cup of coffee, Riven took a seat on the guest patio couch. He tried to think of how he could avoid the blowback of the mess he'd let himself make. He sat on the couch, mind completely blank as he watched the sun rise over the skyscrapers and listened to the birds chirp. He didn't know how long he sat there, only that at some point the glass door behind him slid open.

"Morning" Musa said. Riven would never consider himself the most observant person, but it was almost impossible to miss the strain in her voice and the way it shook.

"Morning." His reply was cold, stilted. He knew that. He just didn't know how else to answer; he would never say he regretted their night, but it was better for it to be a one-time thing. That was why he chose to keep his eyes fixed firmly on his cup of coffee. Riven knew that if he looked at her – even just the smallest glance – he would falter. What little strength was helping stop him from kissing her again would snap and then he would be sure to lose his job.

"We, uh... we should talk about last ni-"

"It's fine" he interrupted. She sounded so uncomfortable. He could practically see her, fiddling with her hands, trying not to drum her thighs like she did when she was nervous. "I know it was a mistake. We can pretend it never happened."

It killed him to say it. It killed him even more to hear her say Right, good. Okay then before heading back inside.

Riven's head dropped into his hands. She thought it was a mistake. How could she think it was a mistake? How couldn't she think it was a mistake? How did she even know what to think? He certainly didn't. He'd fucked up by breaking Saladin's rules, that much was for sure, but would he regret sleeping with her? No.

He would regret not telling her. How hard could it possibly be to admit to your employer – a woman so out of your league it wasn't even funny – that you were head over heels in love with her? He was a brave guy – or a dumb one depending on who was asked – he could do this.

It took him longer than he cared to admit to even work up the courage to walk up to her bedroom door. He had his speech all planned out by then, so maybe the lost time wasn't so lost. He would sit beside her and say I know you think what happened last night was a mistake, but it wasn't to me. I don't want to forget about it or pretend it never happened. Last night was the second-best thing to happen to me in the last God-knows-how-long. The first best was being offered this contract because it brought you into my life. I know this might be a long shot, but I need you to know how I feel. You make me happier than I've ever been, and I would do anything for you. No one has ever affected me the way you do. You're on my mind constantly. I crave your presence. I know that I said all those stupid things about you when we first met, but I couldn't have been more wrong. You are one of best, if not the best, person to come into my life and if you'll have me, I'd like to try to make you as happy as you've made me. I love you, Musa."

Or maybe he'd say something shorter than that. He knew that he didn't handle emotional conversations well, especially when they required vulnerability on his part. It was more than likely that he'd freeze up and stutter out an I love you. Then he just had to pray she didn't reject him. Or fire him.

He knocked on her door three times, but she didn't answer. He called her name, but she didn't answer. It was entirely possible that she just didn't want to speak to him. He wouldn't think about that. That would crush him. Riven stuck his ear to the door and, hearing nothing, opened it. It was his job. Hearing nothing from the room he knew she was in was a valid reason for concern. At least that's how he would justify it if she stood there and barked him out of her room.

Only she wasn't there. Her bed was stripped, the sheets thrown onto the ground by the door. Did she want to rid herself of him that much? From inside the room, he could hear the shower going in the bathroom. Riven contemplated poking his head in to make sure she was actually there, but that was too invasive. 'Doing his job' would never justify that. Instead, he checked the windows in her room. All closed, all locked. She was fine and his declaration of love would have to wait.

Riven made his way back downstairs and turned on the TV. He listened to the sounds of terrible daytime television while he waited. For what, he wasn't entirely sure. For her to finish showering? For her to come downstairs? An asteroid to hit the condo and destroy them?

It was the first day they'd had off in weeks. On the plane back to New York, Musa had talked about enjoying the day. She'd had the idea of going for another bike ride. The idea of staying in and relaxing at home appealed to him a lot more, but, as long as she was happy, he would do whatever she wanted. They headed off to London tomorrow afternoon for more promo. From there it was to Paris, Rome, Berlin. If he was right, they wouldn't be back in New York for at least another three weeks. There wouldn't be many days in or out just the two of them.

He didn't know how long he sat there staring at the TV, not absorbing a single second. He waited to hear her door open, her feet hit the steps. He pictured her walking over to him apprehensively, asking to speak, telling him she felt the same. God, he wished so badly his imaginings were real. His stomach growled, prompting Riven to look at the clock and realise it was just past noon. The day was slipping by. Musa still hadn't come down and Riven was starting to lose hope that she would reciprocate his feelings.

He offered to make her lunch. He'd knocked on the door, asked if she wanted anything. If they couldn't be anything, maybe they could at least go back to being friends. Pretend last night never happened. If that was the easiest way to have her in his life, he would take it. It was masochistic to deny himself his feelings, but there just wasn't the possibility of joy without Musa in his life in one way or another. It might take a while, he was okay with that, as long as he got her back.

"No." Her reply was cold. Final. Going back was unlikely.

Riven made lunch in a numbness-induced daze. He made Musa lunch too, left it outside her door. He sat on the couch, his mind blank. Hours dripped by. He made supper, replaced the food outside her bedroom door with the fresh plate. It seemed odd to him that she was the one locked away in a room, avoiding him in her own home. No matter how at home he'd come to feel here, it wasn't his home. She wasn't his home.

Riven raised his hand to knock. He wanted to let her know food was available if she was hungry. All she'd had today was coffee. She needed to eat. His knuckle was inches from the door when he heard a guitar strum. He stood motionless, frozen in place listening to her play. She sang a few words, but they came out softer than she usually sang.

He was pulled in three: walk away and have his supper, stand there and listen to the voice he loved so much, or knock and interrupt her to let her know food is ready. He couldn't do the last one. He didn't know much about her creative process, but he'd heard her complain to Aisha about how she'd had a moment of inspiration while getting out of the shower a few weeks back and by the time she'd gotten to her phone that had been plugged in by her bed, the moment was gone. She was evidently deep in that moment now, and he wasn't going to be the one to ruin it – not if he ever wanted her to talk to him again.

The evening was an eternity in limbo. He hoped she would come out – she had to eventually. Only she didn't. Riven had supper alone, checked the apartment and went up to his room. He found himself checking, for the very first time, the camera Timmy had installed in Musa's room. She was on her bed, guitar in hand and a notebook opened in front of her. He watched for a minute as she strummed softly and went back to writing before shutting down the camera, satisfied that she was okay. He sat in his bed, eyes flicking between his open bedroom door into the hallway and the wall that separated him from where he really wanted to be.

Maybe, he hoped, tomorrow would be better.