Page 28 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

I laugh weakly. “Honestly, brushing it takes forever, and all I want to do now is sleep. I know it’s early, but I haven’t slept well in a month.”

Jefferson helps me step into a pair of borrowed boxers. I don’t even care whose these belong to, as long as I never see those bib overalls again. “You ready to tell me what they did to you?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so.”

“I thought you were joking about sleeping in a closet,” I say when I see Jefferson’s “room.”

Dressed in one of his sweatshirts along with his boxers, I stand in the doorway, staring in surprise.

The room is about ten feet deep and five feet across. A mattress takes up much of the floor. In the far corner is a duffel, and on the wall by the head of the bed is a wall calendar with a sexy blonde model wearing nothing but a bikini. The model is draped over the engine of an old-timey car. I try not to takeit personally, but a part of me wonders if blondes with bikini bodies are his actual type.

“Technically, it’s a storage room,” he says.

I nod and try not to freak out at the idea of sleeping in such a small space.

Sensing my hesitation, Jefferson says, “I’ll sleep on the magic couch.”

I grab his arm. “No! I can’t sleep in here alone.”

“The mattress isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

I don’t like to talk about the fact that my uncle once locked me in a closet for eight hours, and I’ve been freaked out by tight spaces ever since. On top of that, now I have extra isolation trauma to deal with.

“Could you humor me without asking any questions? Just for tonight. Tomorrow night, I might feel more secure being in here alone,” I say, knowing that is not the case.

Jefferson dips his head down and presses a sweet kiss to my forehead. “We’ll figure it out,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“First things first.”

I smile when he goes to the far wall and rips down the calendar with the bikini model.

“You didn’t have to do that for my comfort,” I say, sliding my legs under the surprisingly comfy blankets.

“Does it make you more comfortable?”

I yawn the world’s biggest yawn, stretching my arms so wide my knuckles hit the walls on either side of me. “Yes.”

“Good.”

I lie down and close my eyes, trying not to think about the small space. Jefferson spoons me from behind.

“Do you need quiet or do you need a bedtime story to go to sleep.”

“Hmm,” I say, half asleep and hunkering down into the pillow. “I think I’d like a bedtime story regardless.”

This hulking man who barely fits on this mattress on his own, let alone with a partner, slides his arm under my head, effectively forcing me to use his bicep as a pillow.

“Let’s see if I can remember a good one,” he says, kissing my damp neck.

“Tell me why it’s called the magic couch.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s not all that interesting. That sofa came with the house. It’s so ugly that it disappears against the industrial green walls. The clients who visit the office are usually here for Joaquin, and they are not exactly in a position to be picky about decor.”

I yawn again. “What does he do?”

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