I rolled off the bed and stumbled around the bedroom, searching for anything to cover myself with. My hands landed on Donovan's shirt, and I threw it over my head without a second thought.

Someone was out there.

My breath had disappeared. What were the chances Donovan had packed a weapon in his bags? What if whoever was after me was coming for me right now?

I held my breath as the silence hardened into something brittle, waiting to be broken. Please be Clarissa, I prayed as I unplugged a lamp in the shape of Cupid from the bedside table and tore off the shade. Holding it bulb-first in front of me like a sword, I threw the bedroom door open as quietly as possible.

Its creak might as well have been a scream as it shattered the cabin's stillness. I froze. Why, why couldn't Donovan have chosen a brand spanking new cabin with well-oiled hinges? Everything else in his life was polished and perfect; did he really have to go rustic on this one thing?

Footsteps pounded from the kitchen, mingling with my own heartbeats pulsing hard in my ears. After a moment of panicked debate, I forced my bare feet out into the rest of the cabin. I scanned the kitchen, then the living area, then back again, waiting for someone to jump out.

I tiptoed to the stove and reached up, opening the cabinets one by one. It was stupid—a person couldn't have possibly climbed that high or fit into a cabinet that size—but logic wasn't on my side right then.

I felt dumber with each door that I flipped open, only to find plates and bowls and glasses sitting innocently on shelves. I opened the oven door and found only empty racks.

Nothing was out of place.

In the living room, I peered behind the couch, then knelt down and pressed my face to the floor as if someone could have shoved themselves into the inch of space between it and the ground. As a light breeze whispered over my back, the panic seemed more like paranoia.

Wait. I sat up. A breeze? I shivered as it danced over my shoulders again, ruffling the hem of Donovan's shirt around my bare thighs. Hardly daring to breathe, I glanced over my shoulder.

A curtain flapped beside the wide-open window next to the front door, taunting me like the cape of a supervillain disappearing around a corner. I raced to it, gripping the sill with one hand and the lamp with the other as I stared out at the woods.

Something flashed between the trees, a hint of golden yellow, before it disappeared again among the thick trunks.

It's just an animal. Donovan opened the window before he left. The wind blew something over.

I knew it was bullshit, but I would've done anything to calm my racing heart. My arms shook, weak and useless as I lowered the lamp to my side.

Explain the footsteps, a niggling voice whispered smugly. What if that's what woke you up? Someone moving out here? Someone moving in there?

I glanced back at the bedroom. I would have known if someone tried to open the door, right? I wouldn't have slept through someone in the room with me?

A crunch, perfectly crisp and clear through the open window, had me raising the lamp again. Another followed, light enough that it had to be feet in the gravel driveway. I stepped away from the window, pressing myself against the wall beside it so I couldn't be seen from the outside.

Unfortunately, I couldn't see much of the outside anymore, either.

Two more crunches came, moving closer. I glanced at the lock. Still latched tight.

My relief melted into horror as it started to turn, the scrape of the key echoing in the empty cabin. My fingers tightened around the lamp, pressing harder and harder until the nail beds turned white.

My pulse hammered in my throat as silence took over. The door swung inward. I leapt from my spot against the wall, Cupid raised high above my head, and I was already halfway through swinging when I recognized Donovan.

"Hey!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Hey, it's me! It's me!"

I couldn't stop the lamp's momentum completely, but Donovan gently caught it a few inches from his face, humor dancing in his eyes.

"You know, you don't need to whack me over the head with Cupid." He took the heavy object from me, wrapping the cord around the base. "Most people go for a more subtle approach. Like arrows."

I frowned. The lightness of his tone made no sense against the backdrop of my lingering nerves. Any other time, I would have clung to the attempt at flirtation, at the fact that he wanted me enough to try to charm me.

For years, that was all I'd wanted. Now it meant nothing as I blinked at him, letting his presence chase away the demons in the shadowy corners of the cabin. It didn't erase the agonizing minutes of sheer terror as I listened to someone else invade my safe place. It didn't change the fact that he had left.

Just like everybody else.

I turned away. He grabbed me by the back of his shirt, tugging gently. I hated the way it lifted dangerously high up my thighs. I hated the way I let him shift me back around to face him. I stared at the floor, refusing to let the blue of his eyes wipe everything away.

"Hey." He lifted my chin. "What's wrong?"

I reluctantly met his gaze, grasping desperately at my anger before it could drain away. I never wanted to be the girl who couldn't be alone. I never wanted to be needy. And you'd think that the years of having nothing and no one would have strengthened me, not worn me into something weak and pathetic and...this.

"Where were you?" I asked softly.

"I wanted to get some work done while you were asleep, so I could spend more time with you while you were awake."

My mouth twitched. The device on the floor in the bedroom called to me, like it knew I'd failed. And then my stomach sank as I realized I'd left it in plain sight, where anyone could walk in and spot it.

Even Donovan.

"Maisye?" He tapped my cheek with one finger, smoothing my hair away from my face.

Why was he smiling? I was minutes away from having my cover blown, barely past the break-in. How much should I tell him? Should I mention the footsteps I'd heard in his house both times I'd been there? What if he thought I was crazy?

The curtain flapped behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder. "You opened the window."

I shook my head. "Someone was here."

His fingers stiffened against my face. "Who?"

"I don't know. I didn't get a look."

He scanned the room, eyes flicking from corner to corner. If he saw anything out of place, he didn't say it.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm..." A wavering sigh escaped my lips. "I don't understand. Who would do something like this?"

Donovan chewed his lip, then sighed. "I'm sorry. I wanted to keep you from this part of my life."

"What part?" I asked, half for myself and half for Clarissa.

He remained silent, his lips pursed into a thin line.

"Donovan!" I snapped, making him jump. "What part of your life? What aren't you telling me?"

He didn't answer, just let me go. I mourned the loss of contact as he stepped around me, toward the bedroom.

The bedroom.

"No—!"

It was too late. He peered inside, and by the time I rushed to the doorframe, he was already squatting beside Clarissa's device.

He lifted it gently, turning it over in his fingers as he stood. I swallowed, my throat suddenly swollen.

"What is it?" I croaked, hoping I sounded convincing.

His nostrils flared. I braced myself for a tirade, a shout, for him to push me out of the way as he left. Would he let me live? If he was really as ruthless as Clarissa believed, why wouldn't he take a steak knife to my throat? There were plenty in the kitchen.

But he just dropped his hands to his sides, still rotating the device between his fingers. "Someone was in here."

I swallowed. He wasn't wrong. That someone was me.

"Someone was in here with you." He threw the device down on the floor and smashed it under the heel of his shoe. I jumped, biting back a cry as bits of plastic skittered across the laminated wood.

A light blinked out on one of the shards, and with it went any hope of helping Clarissa.

"Watching you sleep." Donovan prowled to the window, staring out at the woods as if he might find the intruder peering back at him from between the trees. "Watching you—"

He bit back whatever came next, but I saw it in his eyes when he whirled around and ran them from my bare feet to my face.

Watching you the way I did. Naked.

I gulped. He might have been right. What if the intruder had entered the bedroom before I woke? What if they'd listened to my entire conversation with Mark from just outside the door?

"Let's get out of here," Donovan said suddenly. He covered the distance between us in two steps, his toe sending a piece of Clarissa's tech clattering across the floor.

We both ignored it as he settled his hands on my hips. I wished I felt what I saw in his eyes. The reminder of a few hours earlier, the memories shifting behind there. I wished I remembered it, too.

With the remains of my betrayal scattered on the floor at our feet, all I could manage was, "Where?"

"It's almost dinner time," he said, his finger ghosting across my stomach. "Let me take you somewhere nice."

"I don't have any nice clothes." I didn't even know if I'd showered yet.

Donovan glanced toward the bags, tossed in a corner and forgotten. "I think you do," he said with a small grin.

I understood. He wanted me to wear her things again. I backed away, starting to gather my clothes. The skirt, the top, my bra flung haphazardly against the closet door. The torn foil of a condom wrapper fell out of it, and I hung my head.

"What's wrong?" Donovan asked when I didn't rise.

Heat wrapped itself around my neck, racing up to my ears. "I can't find my underwear."

He laughed. It was a wonderful sound, deep and straight from his belly. The head-thrown-back, careless kind of laughter of a man who had never known loss. I wished I could listen to it forever.

It almost made me forget he was laughing at me.

"Here." He lifted the flowery duffel onto the bed and unzipped it, revealing several of Tilda's outfits and a few pieces of undergarments. "Take whatever you like. Or"—he shot me a sideways glance—"you could always skip them."

Cheeks flaming, I stood up. I clutched my ball of clothes in front of me, wishing I could use them to cover my face.

I'd slept with him and I couldn't even remember where my underwear had been tossed in the process. And as he backed away, eyes still alight with humor, I already knew I was going to do as he asked.

I always did.