Roman couldn't decide if the woman snoring next to him, the approaching storm, or the compliment from Zoya kept him awake. He chuckled. Wasn't sure the girl considered it flattery. She'd praised his physique with the same emotion as she'd thanked him for doing laundry. If any other woman had mentioned his bare chest, he would have taken it as a come on, but not with her.

For the first time since arriving in Arcadia, he'd learned something about her. His mom's old yearbooks were bound to be packed away somewhere in the house. If he found them, maybe he'd figure out Zoya's identity and the reason she came here. Not that it mattered anymore, because it didn't. She needed him... and he liked being needed. Ophelia was old enough to take care of herself now. She didn't need him, not anymore. But Zoya did.

An angry burst of thunder shook the house and lightning ripped the sky apart. The weather report claimed a chance of hail, so he'd taken time to move the girl's car into the shed with his Harley. It'd been a while since he'd weathered a violent storm, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. He and Ophelia had come to spend the last month of summer with Charamel, and the sky had opened and dumped the largest hailstones he'd seen. Once the surge ended, he ran outside to gather the specimens. Charamel kept them in the freezer until Christmas.

The woman next to him, Erica...or was it Erin? He couldn't be sure. The music blasted in the bar so loudly he wasn't certain he'd heard what she said. Easy way around that. He just called her lovey-dovey names. Baby. Honey. Sweetie. Girls liked that. Whoever she was, she snored like a lumberjack.

He needed a smoke and a drink. The girl's voice rang in his ears. Smoke too much. Drink too much. Why do you bring women home? He'd pass on the whiskey and a cigarette. Maybe she was right. He needed to cut down on his bad habits. One vice at a time.

He shifted in bed as the first stone hit the tin roof... then another... and another, until the place sounded like it was being pelted by gunfire. All the while, baby-honey-sweetie kept right on sawing logs. Just as he decided to get up and look outside, a shadow blocked the light show coming through the window.

He blinked, then blinked again, unsure of what he saw. Wrapped in a blanket, Zoya laid down on top of the cover next to him. He scooted over to make room, then propped his head in his hand and tried to keep his voice down, not that it'd wake up sleeping lumberjack.  "What the hell are you doing?"

She snuggled into him. "I don't want to be in there by myself."

His heart pounded harder than the hail. A whispered yell proved to be a challenge. "Maybe so, but you can't sleep with me. Did you notice I have a woman in here?"

"You're finished with her."

"How do you know?"

Zoya turned to face him and her breath floated over his neck. "Weeknights, you do it one time. Weekends, multiple times. It's Thursday."

A shiver ran up his spine. He sucked in a deep breath and gestured over his shoulder.  "Holy shit. Get out of this bed right now before you wake her up."

Zoya rolled off the mattress and settled on the floor. "I'll just sleep down here."

He hung his head off the side. "No. You will not. Get out of this room before I carry you out. And if I have to do that, you're going to see a lot more than my bare chest. Understand?"

Even in the dark, he could see her eyes widen. "Oh. You mean...you're not..."

"That's exactly what I mean. Go to the living room. I'll be there in a minute."

"Okay."

Roman eased off the mattress and pulled on his jeans and tee shirt. What the hell was she thinking? All he needed was for his guest to wake and find another girl in bed. 

In the living room he found Zoya huddled on the sofa, chin resting on knees, arms wrapped tight around her legs. Another crack of thunder caused her to flinch. He sat next to her. She stiffened in retaliation, as if showing putting on a bravado. Moments passed before she relaxed, finding ease in his presence.  "Before I showed up, and it stormed, what did you do?"

"I had the cats."

"Well, you can't come into my room when I have a guest. That's not appropriate."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

She shivered, then rose and yanked the blanket tighter. Then her chin quivered and his throat thickened with guilt. She wasn't pretending. The fear in her eyes was as real as what he'd seen in inmates their first day in the yard. He remembered that feeling. Constant dread. Night terrors. Always looking over his shoulder. He took a deep breath, came to his feet, and followed her down the hallway.

She slipped into bed and he slid the corner chair closer and dropped into it. "I'll sit with you until you fall asleep. How will that be?"

"Good."

"Why do storms frighten you so much?"

"Because that's when bad things happen."

"Like what?"

At first, he didn't think she would answer, but then she wiped at her cheeks and faced him.

"My mom died during a storm."

Zoya pulled the sheet to her face and wiped tears now coming faster. Roman reached for her hand. He'd begun to have a soft spot for her and wasn't sure that was a good thing.

Her fingers tighten around his. "My dad used to hold my hand until I fell asleep during bad weather."

God, he wanted to crawl in next to her. Wrap her in his arms and say it'd get better, but the truth was, it didn't. He'd suffered the loss of his mother and even now, when he thought of her, he went right back to the twelve-year-old kid he'd been when he saw her for the last time. If there was any consolation, it was she'd not been alive to see him go to prison.

"Well, I can do that."

"I'll try to be quick so you can get back to your bed partner."

He stroked the top of her hand with his thumb. "No hurry. Turns out it's Thursday and I'm done with her."

"Is that a joke?"

"Yeah."

She smiled and closed her eyes.

Dozing sporadically, Roman didn't know how long he sat there. With all the memories running through his mind, he lost track of time. After Rosamie's death, he'd gone to live with his deadbeat dad and never bonded with him or his step-mother. Flynn, his stepbrother, was half all right, and he made an effort at his sister's insistence. If anything, Flynn hated Roman's old man, too, and that was an easy camaraderie. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Even though his father was shit, at least he had Ophelia. Until he got arrested. Then he became an example of evil. Yeah, he was the bad seed. The terrible influence. The biggest mistake.

Dad took no responsibility for screwing around while still married to Roman's mom, even going as far as blaming her for cheating when he left them for six months and came home to find Rosamie two months pregnant with someone else's child. Somehow, that was her fault. And her death, too. As if she wanted to die and force him to raise Roman and Ophelia.

Mom was gone. Charamel was gone. Dad didn't give a shit. Ophelia had her own life - a good job and a steady girlfriend who adored her. Flynn had a fiancée and was getting his shit together. Roman stared at Zoya sleeping peacefully.

She depended on him. And it'd been a long time since anyone had. He laughed to himself. The remark about liking him without his shirt was the last thing he expected her to say. He'd never met anybody like her and she was beginning to trust him. It seemed a phenomenal feat, since Zoya didn't seem the type to readily trust anyone.

Eventually, she'd tell him what or who she was hiding from.

He picked up her phone and checked the time. In two more hours, it'd be dawn. The storm had passed. Time to return to bed, but for some reason, getting back to the snoring barfly didn't interest him.

He stared at the cell. If he wanted to snoop, and she didn't have it locked, he might be able to learn more about her. No. Bad choice. They were becoming friends, and he didn't want to jeopardize that. He forced himself to his feet. Wouldn't be wise to have his visitor come looking and find him here. He eased down the hall, but instead of going into his room, he went to the kitchen to make coffee.

Even though he was wide awake, he splashed water on his face, dried it with a dish towel, then neatly folded it. The girl would give him too much grief if he didn't. He poured his coffee, added a splash of milk and whisky, then wandered toward the back porch. Steam rose from his cup and sent a thin swirl into the damp air. A bird, probably an owl or hawk, swooped low. Propping a hip onto the railing, he closed his eyes and listened to the night sounds.

When he'd first gone to prison, he dreamed of this. The peaceful song of nature. Crickets. Birds. Frogs. This is where he belonged and never intended to leave again. He chuckled.  Except later this morning, he'd have to drive to Breaux Bridge to get the shower hardware he'd forgotten to purchase. While he was in town, he'd buy something suitable for the banquet.

He hadn't agreed to go, but he would. Didn't want to leave Zoya without a plus one. He just hoped her contempt for fashion didn't carry over to social events.

Behind him the door opened and lovey-dovey stepped onto the deck.  "I wondered where you got off to. You're an early riser."

"The storm woke me and I couldn't go back to sleep."

She rubbed her eyes. "There was a storm?"

Yeah. Almost as loud as your snoring. "Yeah. You slept right through it."

She giggled. "I get that way when I drink. Alcohol puts me out like a light."

He lifted his cup. "You want some coffee?"

"No, thanks. I better go. Need to be home to see my kids before they leave for school."

She turned, and he followed her inside. She hiked her purse strap over her shoulder, faced him, tiptoed and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. "I had a nice time."

"Yeah. Me, too." Total lie.

He stood at the door and watched her taillights disappear, then heaved a deep breath. Why was he doing this? A different woman every time and none of them meant a thing. He picked up his cigarettes and shook one out of the package, then put it back. Zoya was right. Too many bad habits and smoking was the first to go.

"Is your friend gone?"

He turned to face her. She looked a mess, curly, frizzy bed head stuck to her face. Dark half-moons under her eyes. She looked like an adorably wrecked mess, and he could get used to seeing that every day. He cleared his throat, shoving that thought away. "Yeah. Hey, I'm going into Breaux Bridge today to pick up some supplies. You need anything?"

"No, thanks."

"Thought I'd buy a pair of khakis and a new shirt for the banquet. You got something to wear?"

"You're going with me?"

"Why not? Probably get a fancy meal out of it, right? Not that it will be any better than what you cook, but I don't want you to be the only one there without an escort. So, you have a dress?"

"I borrowed one from Mariana."

The answer stopped him. Zoya was short and thin where Mariana was curvy and towered at least a good four inches over her. "Does it fit?"

"Yeah. She bought it when she got—I mean she bought it a long time ago. It doesn't fit her anymore. It's blue."

Roman went back to the pot and refilled his cup. "Is that your favorite color?"

"I don't know. I guess I don't have one."

"What did you wear to your prom?"

"I was homeschooled."

That might explain why she was socially awkward. Parents thought they were doing the right thing by isolating their kids from the evil of the world, and it worked until the children left home, then some went wild to make up for lost time. Deny a kid chocolate, he'll eat it until he pukes the first chance he gets.

"So, no high school dances for you?"

He took a minute to recall his senior prom. He'd gotten lucky with Jessica Wilson, head cheerleader and Homecoming Queen. He'd been her date and half-time escort. Man, that had been a night to remember. No backseat sex for her. She'd taken him to her parent's lake house. Turned out she had a list of things she wanted to try and he'd been more than happy to help. Zoya's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"No."

There was no sadness in her voice. No poor pitiful me I-didn't-have-a-prom. Just stated the facts as if her life was the same as everyone else. Clearly it wasn't. He could fix that, and this new bit of information gave him an idea.

Oh my, what's he up to now?

TEASER: She'd seen him half-naked before, but something about how the sunlight gilded his tanned body caused her heart to hammer.

What do you think is going on here?