MARISA TIPTOED OUT of the bedroom, careful not to wake Ana as she closed the door gently behind her. There was just enough light coming from outside that she didn't need to turn a lamp on. She crossed the room into the kitchen and started the coffee machine. It steamed and gurgled, and she thought about shutting it off so it wouldn't wake Sam. But she needed coffee, badly. After she'd brewed a cup, she turned and saw a lump on the sofa.

Wait. There was a lump on the love seat, too. Sam was on the love seat.

Who was on the couch?

She crept forward, thankful that her noise in the kitchen hadn't woken either of them. When she got closer, she barely made out the sleeping face.

Nate.

When had he gotten here?

She set her coffee on the counter and sat on the coffee table across from him. His curly hair was tangled, his body mostly hidden beneath his blanket, a landscape of rises and valleys that hid the man who'd nearly sacrificed everything for her. Just one hand was visible, hanging off the narrow couch and nearly touching the floor. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly open.

She looked at the head wound. Two staples. A wave of discomfort flowed over her midsection as if it were she who'd endured that pain, not Nate, this man that she...

Yes, she could admit it.

She loved him. And it wasn't because he'd saved their lives. She loved him for a million other things he'd done. She loved him for the meals he'd delivered to her when she'd been in hiding—Greek salads stuffed in pita bread he refused to call sandwiches, not to mention pizzas and subs and soups and noodles and whatever else she'd requested. She loved him because he'd stayed with her to eat so she wouldn't be lonely. She loved him for flying to Mexico, simply because she'd asked him to. She loved him for the way he'd stood beside her every terrifying moment of the previous week, worked just as hard as she had to find her daughter, and never once lost hope. She loved him for the way his eyes had filled with tears when he'd seen her daughter again. Marisa loved him for the way he'd kissed her on the dock, and then, when she'd climbed into his bed, she loved him for the way he'd not kissed her.

She loved him for all of it, and all of it wasn't enough to describe the reasons she loved Nate.

Her fingers itched to touch him, but she wouldn't risk waking him. She brushed a light kiss on his temple and stood. She lifted her coffee from the counter and headed for the bedroom.

* * *