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it all happened or was it some weird dream? If it were real, she’d be sore but she felt great, rested. Arms over her head and toes pointed, she stretched. She stilled partway through a deep breath. Had she slept in her dirty, torn up clothes? Her eyes popped open as she sat straight up and scanned the room.
    The huge four-poster bed she occupied sat between two large floor-to-ceiling windows. Beautiful mahogany dressers and nightstands matched the carved bedposts. The entire room was bright and airy despite the slow drizzle of rain outside. The mattress beneath her was soft as a cloud, and the embroidered sheets glided over her like satin. Everything in the room screamed of luxury. The only thing out of place was her. Looking down at her filthy rumpled clothes, she scooted off the bed. Not that it mattered. She’d slept in the bed. Whatever dirt or grime she’d had on her, was undoubtedly on the sheets already.
    Her feet sank into a thick, plush carpet as she padded over to peer out of one of the enormous windows. Off to her right, sailboats and cargo ships dotted the waters of the Hudson River, and to her left, the Statue of Liberty stood tall and proud in the distance. The sight took her breath away. She’d lived in New York City for four months, and up until now, hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing Lady Liberty on anything but a postcard. “We’re not in Kansas anymore Toto. Manhattan maybe, but definitely not Kansas.” Stepping to the first of three doors, she grasped the handle and took a deep breath. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”
    It swung open, silent on well-oiled hinges, to reveal a fully stocked library. Rows upon rows of books lined the shelves. A neat little seating area was set up in a corner by another large window.
    How long had she been sleeping? A small distressed moan rose from her throat when she found her wrist naked. The battery in her watch had died and she hadn’t replaced it yet. Shit. Closing her eyes, she took a couple of long, steadying breaths, before returning to the bedroom. Unless that thing at her apartment had destroyed it, her watch would still be sitting on her bathroom vanity, along with one of the few things in the whole world that mattered to her, her necklace. Shit, shit, shit. What had she been thinking? She never took it off—ever.
    The clock on one of the nightstands showed it was just before ten. Wow, she really had been tired. She never slept in so late.
    It had to have been after midnight by the time she had left the Hospice last night. She didn’t remember anything after climbing the fire escape—nothing. How had she gotten here? Maybe she was losing it. Maybe this was just one of her weird Mr. Hottie dreams, and she’d wake up soon. Would Drake mind if she kept calling him Mr. Hottie? She snickered to herself. Where was he, anyway?
    The second door led to a bathroom so big she could fit her entire apartment inside.
    “Drake?” She waited for his response, but when she didn’t get one, she tried again, this time, using her mind.
    She concentrated on the image of his face, the depth of his eyes. “ Drake?”
    “Yes?” His voice sounded drowsy and oh-so sexy as it slid into her mind.
    “Where am I, and where are you? You’re not standing here staring at me are you?” She tried to find anything out of the ordinary in the room, anything off, but came back empty.
    Deep, masculine laughter drifted to her from another room, followed by a short one-two knock at the third door.
    Her heart sped as she turned towards the sound. “Come in.”
    His hair was sticking up and his eyes were still half-asleep when he entered. The t-shirt she’d admired yesterday was wrinkled but still hugged his torso. He’d left the top button of his jeans undone, letting them hang at his hips. She could get used to waking up to all that male yumminess in the morning.
    “Good morning, Rhiannon. To answer your question, no, I wasn’t standing there staring at you.”