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glasses. He yanked them off and massaged his eyes.
What the hell was he doing? There was something seriously wrong with her. The
best thing to do was call the shelter and fight to secure a space for her. He’d
been wrong to bring her here. He couldn’t start harboring the homeless in his
apartment.
    Sure you don’t need her to leave because you want her,
Niles?
    His body hummed at the sight of her curves. In fact, every
long glance and touch he’d exchanged with her loomed up in his mind, as sweet
and soft as a day in the country. Wiping her tears and holding her as she cried
did things to his insides he hadn’t felt…well, ever.
    He stared at her again without his glasses. Besides the
facts that she wasn’t from this country and was searching for something, he
knew little about her. When he’d gotten her into the apartment, she’d fallen
instantly asleep and had awakened only to drink or to stumble to the bathroom.
    Reaching down, he brushed a glossy raven lock from her
velvety cheek. A lone wave pooled in the hollow of her collarbone and he longed
to follow the length and learn the feel of her flesh. In fact, he fought to
keep from gathering up that glossy lock and dipping his tongue into the
delicious depression at the base of her throat.
    Get a grip, man. Find out where she’s come from and what
she needs, then turn her loose on the world.
    Bold thoughts for a man who collected down-and-outs as if
they were stray kittens.
    He jammed his glasses back on his face and spun toward the
kitchen. The tile floor cooled his bare feet but he was still hot. The
inadequate air-conditioning in his apartment didn’t help his already
impassioned state.
    Reaching into a high cupboard, he pulled down a glass and
filled it with iced tea. His apartment was his refuge from the sometimes
depressing outside world, and now he’d brought one of the sad situations home
with him. For two days, he’d been passing the bulk of his caseload off on
Brady. Except for Mischa. In her delicate state, Niles couldn’t afford to upset
the balance of their relationship. Their talks might mean the difference
between life and death for this special young girl.
    But he had to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding
the sleeping woman on his sofa before he broke down and touched her the way he
longed to.
    For the fiftieth time, his mind raced with questions. Who
was she? Where had she come from? What did she need help finding, and how was
he going to get any information from her? Between their obvious communication
problems and her heavy sleep, he wasn’t likely to learn what she needed soon.
    He braced his feet wide and sipped the cold brew, wishing
she was awake so he could talk to her. The faster he figured out how to help
her, the faster he’d be able to return to his life. Tiptoeing around a
heart-stopping woman asleep on his sofa and keeping his racing thoughts in
check was putting enormous pressure on him. In the two days she’d been there,
he’d done little more than gaze at her. He’d even missed his boxing practices.
    She needs help finding something. What? A person?
    A sliver of dread sliced through his chest as he realized
she might have followed someone to this country. Someone she may be in love
with.
    Not your business, guy. Focus. She didn’t shed all those
tears because she’s all right. It was his job to uncover her troubles and
help her solve them.
    Just like he should be doing with Mischa right now.
    He flipped his wrist and checked the time. She’d be arriving
at the office in half an hour. A street kid with little love in her raw
existence, it was no wonder she’d given in to her debilitating depression and
bipolar tendencies and tried to take her life.
    But it gutted him that she had. If only she’d called him.
    A quiet noise in the other room yanked him from his
melancholy thoughts. He set down his glass and strode to the door. Peeking into
the living area, he fixed his gaze on the stunning beauty on the sofa.