I woke up feeling like I was in a commercial advertising the magical effects of Nyquil, all refreshed and happy and scretching my arms out as I sat up like I had accomplished everything I ever wanted in life.

Not really. I just said that to be a sarcastic asshole.

I felt like crap.

Complete and utter crap.

In fact, the very first few seconds that I opened my eyes, my mind was a complete blank. The ceiling was white with a grand crystal chandelier in the middle. The bed was soft. Incredibly so. This was not my bed and that was not my ceiling. I was probably dreaming right now. Was this what Heaven looked like? A really nice hotel room? I knew it was a hotel room because there were towels on the beside table that were embroidered with the words Legacy Hotel  on them.

Yep, a dream. I was dreaming. This could not be real. Man, I had really good dreams. All I needed was a silver platter of Twizzlers and the entire collection of the Harry Potter series, and I'd never want to wake up again. The real world sucked, anyways.

I stared at the ceiling again. After taking a few deep breaths, I sat up. Well, I tried to. A sharp pain elicited from my shoulder with the rage of a thousand piercing needles and with a little scream, I flopped right back onto a black silk throw pillow.

Nope, not a dream.

The stunning realization brought on another bout of panic. Everything, all at once, came rushing back to me. The scenes played out in my mind's eye with watery colors, one picture floating by to the replaced by another. Preston's face when I threw my pillow at him. The sound of glass shattering. The wet rock with the shard that pricked my thumb. My itchy thumb. Flashing red and blue police lights. The cold air bringing goosebumps to my legs. Movements of limbs like they were stuck in cement. Brice's object of luring me towards him. Were the Twizzlers really worth it? Wolfe's cologne.

I didn't see his face before I lost consciousness, and for that, I was grateful.

If panic described how I felt when I realized I had been drugged, the word was nothing compared to how I was feeling now.

Ignoring the protests of my wounded shoulder, I forced myself to sit up. My eyes fell to my thumb. As if mocking me, a Spongebob band-aid was wrapped around the top of the finger. The bandages on my shoulder also had been changed. Thank God there were no frowny faces drawn on them. If there had been, I would have screamed.

I stared down at my pale stick legs and swallowed hard before raising my head to take in my surroundings.

Definitely a hotel room. The air smelled like one, gently fragrant with recent cleaning chemicals and the touch of superiority floating near the smooth white ceiling, as if to say the lower class such as myself weren't welcome in such a luxurious establishment such as this. I wasn't. I was out of place here. I was so  out of my league in places like this. I needed comforting things, like books and chipped plates aged with use but perfect. A room like this, with not even the sound of the radiator humming, with its cold chrome lamps and silk sheets, made me uncomfortable. I didn't belong here. I didn't want  to belong here. I wanted home.

For the second time yet, Wolfe took me away without my consent. Both times it had been because I unfortunately happened to be in his company when I passed out.

I was so angry that I was calm. The room was dead silent except for my heavy breathing. The king bed with its big grey tufted headboard and darkscale pillows matching the rest of the black-and-white themed room felt too big, so I shoved away the blanket placed over me and slipped out. My shoes were carefully placed near the bedside table. I walked over and was just about to put them on when an object caught my eye.

It was a black duffel bag, the zipper halfway closed. I had no bags with me. It must be his.

Wolfe Sterling. Oh, fuck him. In every meaning of the word, fuck him and his undignified ways.

With a frown, I threw a kick at the duffel bag. I ended up hurting my toes, which only made me even angrier. The duffel bag tipped over and some of the contents inside spilled out on the plush carpeting. Some dark clothing. I stared at Wolfe's clothes for a second, contemplating how mad he'd be if I cut holes in them right where his nipples would be. Probably really mad. I decided not to. Before Wolfe came in, I quickly bent down and began shoving the clothes back in. Just as I grabbed a navy blue shirt, something fell out and clattered to the floor.

It was a box. A small, squarish one, the color of mint green and made of matte leather. Very easy to identity. Very recognizable. Everyone would know what it was if they saw one.

It was an engagement ring box, if you hadn't already guessed.

My mouth fell open. I stared at the object where it lay a few feet from the duffel bag. I hoped against hope that what was inside was not what I thought it was. Maybe he had, I don't know, special bullets? Golden bullets? Candy? Sunflower seeds for a hamster? Someone's finger that he cut off and planned to send to the owner's poor mother?! Anything. Anything except...

With trembling fingers, I reached down and picked it up. Oh man, if Wolfe were to walk in right about now, I'd be in so much trouble. I stared at the box, a dreadful clench in my stomach. I wanted to open it and see what was inside, but at the same time, I didn't want to. I had no desire to see someone's detached finger first thing after regaining consciousness. Or an engagement ring. I didn't know which was worse, knowing or not knowing. Ignorance was bliss but in this case, I couldn't handle not knowing. I didn't want to be 80 years old and 6 feet under the ground, wondering what was inside the box. With a deep breath, I pulled open the top.

It was an engagement ring.

I think I preferred the finger.

It was big and shiny, the silver band covered with diamonds with a large one in the middle. The reflective surface glittered in the weak sunlight pouring through the balcony doors.

Barely breathing, I stared at it. An engagement ring? Why would Wolfe need an engagement ring for? Especially one that was so expensive? No doubt the contents of the mint green box was worth tens of thousands of dollars. But why. Why did Wolfe have this? Did he plan on proposing? Maybe he was holding it for a friend. Maybe it was a stolen relic from all the robberies the Crowns had committed. Maybe it was a family heirloom. All of these possibilities ran through my head, some more gut-clenching than others.

Marriage.

As if he was morally principled enough to commit to such a thing like that.

Closing the box, I dropped it in with the rest of his clothes and zipped up the duffel bag, my heart pounding. Why would he need an engagement ring for? Why? Was he going to propose? To whom? Maybe it was Brice's and Brice was the one who was going to propose. No need to jump to conclusions and freak myself out, right? Maybe there was a perfectly good explanation as to why Wolfe was in the possession of such a thing, but I couldn't ask him. He'd know I was snooping and I didn't want to make it weird.

I had no business being in his business. No meddling in affairs not meant for me to be in, right? No, I was going to keep my nose where it belonged, which was on my face, and be as nonchalant as possible. In the meantime, I should figure out how to escape before Wolfe or whoever was holding me hostage decided to come back. I wasn't about to have another rendezvous with the dark side, flirting with danger as if it wasn't going to ruin my life. How the hell was I supposed to explain another disappearance to the FBI? Especially when it happened right under their noses. Shit, I was so screwed.

I walked over to the window and pulled back the dark grey curtains. The stunning view of the New York landscape met my bewildered eyes. Back to Manhattan. I could see Times Square in the distance, close by. The East River or the Brooklyn Bridge was nowhere to be seen, but I was probably looking in the wrong direction. The hotel room I was in was incredibly high up. The sky was a hazy dark blue and I couldn't tell whether it was early in the morning or late evening.

Well, I wasn't about to jump out the window or anything. I wasn't that desperate to leave.

Walking back to the bed, I pulled my shoes on. Screw the pain in my shoulder and screw wherever the hell I was. I was done waiting for Wolfe to come back and mess everything up and I most certainly was not going to waste any time waiting for Preston to come rescue me. Why would Wolfe even bring me here? I was useless to him. I had no purpose to serve here or to him, goddamn.

I was a simple girl. I didn't ask for many things in life. I was content with my books and Twizzlers and Clancy. What made me so special? I didn't want to be special. I wanted to be average.

While I was sitting on the edge of the bed and feeling real sorry for myself, I didn't hear the door open. I didn't realize anyone had come into the room until the bed dipped with an added weight and fingers brushed across the nape of my neck, moving hair back until my skin was vulnerably exposed.

Startled, I stood up and whirled around.

I was expecting him so it wasn't really a surprise, but the sight of him instantly closed my throat up and kicked my heart rate up a few notches.

He was sitting on the bed. I didn't get the chance to get a good look at Wolfe before his arms wrapped around my waist and he pulled me into his lap. Before I knew what was happening, Wolfe had caged me in his strong hold. My legs wrapped around his torso. He buried his face into the crook on my neck. Stunned, I didn't move.

God, the way his arms wrapped around me and pulled me in felt so damn good. And he smelled irresistible. It felt right, but I knew it was wrong. Tears filled my eyes, making the view of the door go blurry. He held me so tight, as if not even a breath of air was allowed between us. Separated by status but brought together by a chance meeting. All because of the tunnels. The constricted feeling that tightened my chest and made it hard to breathe, the fluid movement of his chest rising and falling with each breath he drew against my own, the warmth of his skin and the conflicting feelings that resolved my will and crumbled every part of my being, the way his fingers dug into my back and pulled me in as forceful as he could, was all because of some damn tunnels.

But the brain always rose victorious against the heart in matters like this. Reason over emotions. Mind over body.

My sense finally caught up from the moment it had abandoned me as soon as I saw Wolfe. Heat can melt steel beams. Everything had something that could destruct it, even the strongest material or man in the universe. Every rose has its thorns. Wounds heal but scars remain, scars that escape flickering eyes. There was no happy ending for Wolfe and I, not because I chose not to have one. I wanted a happy ending, I truly did, just not...with him. I didn't think it was possible and I was too tired to try.

Gathering the little courage that I so desperately was in need of, I tried to move back and shift away, but the unfaltering combination of pure muscle and guilt Wolfe had surrounded me in was impossible to even budge. He didn't lift his head up to meet my eyes and his fingers clawing desperately on my back was beginning to hurt. A wonderful hurt, but I swallowed my irrational bout of affection and tried once more to unwrap myself from him. When that failed to work, I reached behind me and tried to loosen the grip of his arms. If anything, they tightened even more.

I was still too stunned to find my voice and tell him to let me go, so I squirmed in Wolfe's lap with visible annoyance. He ignored my hint and kept an unbreakable cage around my waist. I struggled fruitlessly for a few more seconds until exhaustion took over and just as I was about to start yelling, I felt something wet against my neck.

Tears. He was crying.

I froze.

"Wolfe." I croaked. A soft, barely audible and weak tone was all I could find in me at the moment. My voice cracked at his name and he shifted slightly, but still didn't let me go. I put my hands on his shoulder and tried to push him back, but the action proved to be as useless as my previous efforts. He was so freaking strong. I bet he won every single arm wrestling match he's ever been in. Not that anyone would ever want to arm wrestle Wolfe Sterling, though. He'd probably pull a gun out in the middle of the match and shoot the opponent in the face and claim victory. Seemed like the asshole type of thing he'd do.

"I am so sorry." Wolfe whispered. Or at least, I think that's what he whispered. His words came out mumbled and I felt his lips move against my shoulder, bringing along an onslaught of fiery butterflies in my stomach. Like the living room window, my heart felt like it was about to shatter into a million damaged pieces. He sounded so heartbroken, so sincere and vulnerable, that the hostility in me slowly slipped away like a crack in the water dam.

At this point, I was basically freaking out. The most dangerous man in the country was sobbing his heart out on my shoulder. People said that he had no heart, no emotions, no conscience. But would a man without all those things really succumb to the human emotion of sadness? People said he didn't break. People said he was cold, he was dangerous, he was heartless. People were wrong. I was wrong.

Gripping his shoulders, I pushed hard to fruitlessly try to get him off me. The only thing I achieved from doing that was to get a little warning from Wolfe. The edge of his teeth grazed against my neck when he parted his lips, like he was going to bite me. I stopped moving for a second, fearing the danger that lurked in his incisors. He could kill me if he wanted. So damn easily. I probably wouldn't even fight back. Everyone else, he had killed. Or pushed away, even his friends. Even Brice with his awesome beard and his clever persuasion tactics. If I could be so easily kidnapped, I could just as easily get myself killed. But Wolfe didn't kill me and he didn't push me away. 

After several more stifling seconds, Wolfe raised his head but just as quickly covered his face with his hands.

Since I was sitting on his lap, my legs wrapped around his torso and our chests against one another, the close proximity was startling to say the least.

His bruised fingers provided an effective shield. Wolfe looked weak. Not as in physically weak, but like he was tired. He was vulnerable.

Or maybe he was just fake crying and had me completely fooled.

Then again, maybe he wasn't.

I stared at the fingers covering his face for a moment. Wrapping my hands around both of his wrists, I tried (unsuccessfully) to pull his hands away so I could see his face. I wanted to see his face, I needed to. To prove to myself that I didn't have feelings for him. Yes, after all this time, I was still fighting myself. I needed to look at his liquid blue eyes and his red lips and feel nothing but hate. I should hate this man. But I didn't. And that's what I hated.

"Wolfe." I said again, almost a pleading tone to the edge of my voice. Tugging harder, I tried to pull his hands away. His wrists were cold, as if blood didn't run through his veins. The resolve and determination in my chest weakened. Without thinking about it one second longer, I straightened up and pressed my lips against the the widow's peak of his hair that the tops of his fingers didn't cover. I kissed the sharp edge of his jawline and the delicate skin of his throat, and he finally loosened his locked muscles enough for me to catch the corner of his mouth with my own.

His fingers curled against the nape of my neck and held tight. Wolfe raised his head slowly, allowing me to see his face. Liquid blue eyes with hurt chipping away at the ice shield he had created since he was two years old? Yes. Red lips tugging down in the corners, parting slightly to reveal sharp white teeth and the nick of his cut, with all the allure of satisfying my one last desire to kiss him? Yes. The unaffectionate, cold, loathing feeling I should have when I saw all of that? Nope. 

"I'm sorry." Wolfe's voice came out broken but hard, the biting edge of his tone that I had become familiar with evident with regret. His grip tightened. "You know that, don't you Florence?" The way he said my name brought back the butterflies with a thousand times the force. He whispered it like it was a secret. "I am so fucking sorry. I put you through so much. I never wanted to hurt you, Florence, and I never will. Please, I'm asking you with my heart in my hands, to forgive me. I know I don't deserve to even look at you after what I've done-" He said miserably. "-hell, I don't deserve you at all. An apology is the most pathetic thing I have to offer, but it's the only thing I have left. Please forgive me, Florence. Please."

Well. At least he said please.