Leigh bit her lip. Then she unzipped her purse and rummaged for a pen. Stepping over to the notepad she debated what to write. Her thoughts were all jumbled. Finally, she decided on something short and sweet.

“Taking off?”

She jumped and whirled around. Brandon loomed behind her in the darkness, naked except for black boxer briefs. He looked like an underwear model, and she was struck speechless.

He stepped closer and lifted an eyebrow. “Early meeting?”

It was Sunday. He was being sarcastic.

“I have a headache.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “A migraine, actually. I need to get home.”

Frowning, he eased closer, and she caught the warm scent of his skin. He stepped around her and into the kitchen, where he opened an upper cabinet and took out a bottle. He shook out a few white tablets and placed them on the counter beside her, then took down a glass and filled it with water.

Her stomach tightened at the sweetness of the gesture.

“Thanks.” She popped the pills into her mouth, even though she knew they’d have little effect.

“Gimme a sec.” He walked around her and disappeared into the bedroom.

She took a gulp of water and set the glass down. Noticing the pad on the counter, she peeled off her scribbled note and stuffed it into her purse.

Brandon emerged from the bedroom in jeans, still bare chested.

“You should go back to bed,” she told him.

“I’ll walk you down,” he said, zipping up.

“You don’t need to—”

“Humor me.” He brushed past her and grabbed a black hoodie off the armchair in the living room. He shrugged into it and stepped around her to open the front door.

The morning was cold and damp, but the rain had stopped. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and tall streetlamps still shone down on the parking lot beside his building. Without talking, they trudged down the stairs and crossed the wet lot. Almost no one was out this early—just a man walking blearily up the sidewalk and a woman in pajamas who stood in a patch of grass with a Schnauzer.

Leigh glanced at Brandon. He was scanning the area, taking in everything—like the cop that he was—as he walked her to her car.

Guilt needled her, but she ignored it as she dug her keys from her purse and popped her locks. She opened the door, and Brandon rested his hand on the top of it, the same way he’d done last night when she’d shown up here out of the blue.

He gazed down at her, his dark eyes unreadable, and her stomach tensed. This was the part she’d wanted to avoid when she’d slipped out of his bed.

“Try chocolate,” he said. “My sister gets migraines. She says it helps.”

Nothing would help except twenty-five milligrams of sumatriptan and a pitch-black room, but Leigh forced a smile.

“Thanks.”