“Wyoming.”

“As long as it isn’t England.”

I nearly smiled at him but stopped myself just in time.

I looked at the phone. Then I realized I had a slight problem. Although I had memorized Sissy’s Mom’s number, I couldn’t see the keypad without my contacts. It was a new phone to me, who knew where the buttons were?

Shit.

I was wrong, the going to the bathroom thing was embarrassing, this was mortifying.

I stood there, uncertain. Then I realized I had no choice. Sissy was probably packing the car as I hesitated, ready to come down to find out what happened to me and face my house, empty, or her house, probably cordoned off with police tape. Then she would lose it, thinking Dom had killed me or, more likely, I had killed Dom.

Crap.

“Luke?”

“Yeah?”

I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought he was looking at me. “I need you to dial the number. I can’t see the phone.”

I didn’t know what I expected him to do. Still, I was surprised that, without hesitation, he sat up and took the phone out of my hand.

“What’s the number?”

I told him, he punched it in with his thumb and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I whispered, listening to it ring.

“Good to have you back, babe,” he said, his voice soft, gentle, affectionate and I felt my body jerk in reaction to his tone and his words just before Sissy answered the phone.

“Please let this be Ava,” she said.

“Yo,” I replied, turning away from Luke, wishing I could run away from Luke, and again wondering what in the hell I was doing.

“I’ve called a gazillion times!” Sissy shouted in my ear.

“I know. I’m sorry. I… something happened and I got separated from my purse,” I made it to the window by the kitchen, leaned against the brick sill and stared out at LoDo.

It was blurry but I could still tell that Luke had a kickass view.

“Are you okay?” Sissy asked.

“Yeah, fine.”

“My phone says this number is blocked. Are you home?”

Shit.

I had to make a split-second decision. Lie to her or tell her the truth when the truth would both freak her out (her living room getting shot out and Dom, still her husband, being delivered a very scary message) and make her jump for joy (that I was standing in Luke’s t-shirt in his loft in LoDo).

I decided to hedge. “Listen, I’m really tired, I’ll call you tomorrow. Tell you all about it.”

“Did you find anything?”

I had to give her something and that something had to be something Luke, who I was certain was listening, couldn’t get anything out of. “Just an industrial-sized box of condoms in his nightstand.”

Silence.

“Sissy?”

“Guess he isn’t pining for me, hunh?”

“Sissy,” I said softly, feeling her pain as only best friends do and wishing she were closer so I could give her a hug.

“Get to sleep, it’s late. Tell me about it tomorrow,” she said.

“Okay.”

“I want to hear about the Luke thing tomorrow too. Ally called my cell, said something happened between you guys. She said he carried you through the reception area!”

Oh crap.

“Ally,” Sissy laughed. “She’s so full of shit.”

Oh crap!

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I told her.

“Ava?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. You’re the bestest best friend a girl could have.”

I smiled into the phone. That was worth getting shot at for.

“Later,” I said.

“Later,” and I heard her disconnect.

I looked at the phone and realized I didn’t know how to turn it off.

I didn’t have to wonder long, it was pulled out of my hand because Luke, again silent as a cat, was right beside me. He beeped it off as I stared at him and saw he was wearing nothing but a pair of dark (probably black) shorts that rode low on his h*ps but were long on his thighs.

I swallowed as he walked away and put the phone on the kitchen counter. Then he turned and started back to me.

Now what?

I looked from his shorts to his face. “Do you have a blanket?” I asked.

“Why?” he asked back, stopping close.

“So I can sleep on your couch.”

“You aren’t sleeping on the couch.”

I looked around, confused then asked, “Why not?”

“You’re sleeping in the bed.”

“So, you’re sleeping on the couch?”

“No.”

“Are you sleeping on the floor?” I asked, surprised, but figured it was maybe some Zen, macho guy thing, roughing it on a plank wood floor.

“No.”

Uh-oh.

“Where are you sleeping?” I asked.

His hand shot out and, too late, I saw the blurry glint of steel and heard the clanking right before the bracelet was slapped on my wrist.

I pulled back. “Oh no,” I said, my heart thumping in my chest and my blood pumping through my veins.

He slapped the other bracelet on his own wrist.

“No!” I shouted, yanking back, viciously this time, but it was like he didn’t feel the pull. He just leaned in, shoulder to my belly, picked me up, his free arm around my thighs, his other wrist bound to mine and he started to the bed.

“What the hell are you doing?” I shouted, feet kicking, pushing at his waist with my free hand.

This was too much. Too f**king much.

“Going to bed,” he said calmly.

“Handcuffed to me?”

“Damn straight.”

“You’re nuts.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” he said, tossing me on the bed and coming down with me.

I tried to scramble away. He pulled me back with a jerk on the cuff.

I stopped scrambling and stared at his fuzzy face in the dark. “Not taking any chances with what?”

“You taking off in the middle of the night, getting shot at again, kidnapped, car bombed, any of it.”

I was right, he was nuts. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning, after you tell me about your little bit of trouble.”

Eek!

I decided to ignore the second part of that. “Tell me now.”