“Right.” Besides, if he put her in bed, then he could follow up with Murphy, make arrangements for someone to talk to Jenny first thing in the morning. Maxwell contacting Jenny was a huge a break in the investigation. But Maxwell’s blatant move had been dangerous. Asher wanted to pace the room like a caged tiger, ready to rip flesh from bone given the chance to attack. Jenny didn’t need to see him worked up.

He scooped her up. “Off to bed.”

She blinked, innocent and uncertain. “You joining me?”

“Not tonight.”

Her face fell. Why had he stayed away from her this long? And how badly had he hurt her over the years? Damn, McIntyre.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I have to work a little, and you have Tassels and Tangos tomorrow. Gotta get your beauty sleep.”

He walked down the hall with her pressed against his shirt. He’d denied himself this simple luxury for years. Holding her couldn’t compare to any other woman. And kissing her… wow. Not equivalent either. She tasted like honey and smelled like vanilla. A kiss from anyone else was akin to licking cardboard. Lifeless and unnecessary.

After opening her door, he laid her on the bed. “You okay?”

She shrugged, grabbed a huge T-shirt from the foot of her bed, and changed. Her modesty was charming, but he had stolen a glance at her lace bra and thong and loved knowing what was under her cotton nightshirt. Somehow that peep show was even better than what he’d imagined with his earlier thoughts of silk pajamas.

“Not sure I can sleep.” Her voice was worried.

“Forget about Maxwell.” Saying the man’s name made Asher’s blood boil.

Jenny crawled under the covers. “Trying.”

A vortex of emotion swirled in his mind. Like. Lust. Longing. He traced her chin with the back of two fingers. “You are as soft as you look.”

“Stay with me tonight.”

He should walk out. Stay away. Board up her door and call in for reinforcements. But one bat of her eyelashes, and he was done. Kicking off his shoes, he crawled next to her and brought her to his chest. Butterscotch and vanilla. He was in deep. Asher kissed the top of her head. “Sweet dreams.”

***

New York vibed well with Jenny. Even in dirty Penn Station with people cruising past, cops standing around, and pickpockets manning the walls. She rode the escalator up with a duffel bag slung over her back. This is my break. I will get this part, and I won’t worry about Maxwell.

An icy chill ran down her spine. Jenny peered over her shoulder incessantly and tracked for any face that rang remotely familiar. She was terrible with faces, even after Agent Murphy had questioned her bright and early that morning. After I woke up next to Asher.