Viggo looked up when the cd stopped. He and Monica had been dancing, sort of, for more than an hour. ‘Hey, angel. . .’ he whispered. ‘We need to go to bed. Well, I do, anyhow. It’s almost 2.’

Monica yawned. ‘Yeah, I guess I need to go to bed too. What time do you leave in the morning?’

‘For a five am set call, four.’

‘Is there any point in going to bed now?’

Viggo thought about that. ‘Not really,’ he laughed.

Just then, Monica’s cell phone rang, joined almost immediately by Viggo’s phone. ‘What the . . .?’ Monica wondered. Viggo grinned.

‘I bet they're cancelling us for today’s set call,’ Viggo predicted as they both answered their phones.

‘Hey Monica,’ the operator for her employer’s answering service said. ‘Just got a call from Rick, the AP on your set. The filming schedule for today changed, and they only need Shaohannah on set.’

‘Great, thanks MaryBeth!’ Monica replied. ‘Hey, how’d your daughter’s first dance go? . . . Oh that’s terrific! I’m glad Ana had fun! Tell her I said so. Ok, bye.’

When she looked up she saw Viggo watching her with that enigmatic smile again. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘You’re so sweet; you even ask about the families of “the little people”’ he said, indicating the quotes around the last phrase. ‘That’s rare in this area, even if both people are “nobodies.”’

‘“Happy bees make sweeter honey,”’ Monica replied. ‘If the lower level employees are happy, everyone’s life goes easier.’

‘It goes beyond that. It’s not just being polite; it’s genuine. You really do care, and people can tell. It’s a rare trait, and a good one to have.’ Once again Monica blushed. ‘I have never seen a woman blush so much,’ he teased. ‘I think it’s adorable,’ he added, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose.

‘So, I'm not needed on set today, and I'm guessing you aren't either,’ Viggo said, and Monica confirmed this. ‘So sleep seems like a good idea. Unless you want to talk more, or dance more, or watch a movie?’

Monica shook her head. ‘Sleep sounds good,’ she said, her words confirmed by a yawn.

‘’K. Bedrooms are on the third floor; I’ll show you the way,’ he said, taking her hand again. He showed her to the guest bedroom that he kept made up, and said, ‘I’m going to change. I’ll come back in a minute if you want? Tuck you in,’ he teased.

Monica smiled. ‘You can if you want,’ she teased back. He stepped out, shutting the door behind him. She changed into a pair of gym shorts and a tank top she kept in an overnight bag in her truck, along with a change of clothes for varying weather scenarios and some extra toiletries.

Once she changed, she opened the sliding door leading to a small veranda and stepped out. Viggo had a terrific view from this house, looking out toward the Pacific. There wasn’t much between his house and the Ocean, and she could see some lights bobbing in the distance, ships probably. She could also make out a beacon from the lighthouse on Palos Verdes Point.

‘I see you find the view as beautiful as I do,’ Viggo said from the doorway. Monica turned, startled. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I knocked, and when you didn’t answer I figured you either fell asleep or had found the veranda. So I peeked,’ he said, giving her a boyish grin. Unable to resist the impish smile, Monica smiled back before turning back toward the Ocean.

‘It’s beautiful, this view,’ she said. ‘My apartment gives me a view of a brick wall. I've been tempted to graffiti it, so that I have something to look at. But it’s the police station, so I figured I’d best not,’ she added morosely.

‘You live next to the police station? How do you sleep?’ Viggo couldn’t imagine trying to sleep anywhere near a police station, even in a fairly decent area like Glendale.

‘Practice. When I was 18, I lived in the third worst neighbourhood, in the third worst city in eastern Massachusetts. Sirens were so common I seldom noticed them unless I was outside and they were coming toward me. So were loud arguments among drunk people, gunshots, and other assorted inner-city sounds.’

Viggo stared. Even in New York it hadn't been that bad. Monica saw his look and laughed. ‘It wasn’t that bad Vig,’ she said. ‘It was a helluva shock, having to get used to walking past drug deals, and hookers, and the like, but you learn to ignore those things unless, of course, you’re a cop.’

Viggo put his arms around Monica, standing behind her, and pulled her back against him. She rested her hands on his arms, relaxing within his embrace. Viggo felt her relax and smiled, knowing she was starting to trust him.

‘Monica,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t want to let you go.’

Summoning her courage, Monica took a chance and whispered back, ‘Then don’t.’

‘Stay with me tonight?’ he replied. She turned to face him, her expression vulnerable. He added, ‘Just sleep, if that’s what you want. I want you to be comfortable, but, God, I want to hold you. Please?’

Trapped within his gaze, Monica nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said, soundlessly.

Gently, he took her hand and led her out of the guest room, to his bedroom, down the hall. The covers were already turned down on one side, the right side as she faced the bed, she noted. Viggo moved to turn down the other side as well.

‘Any preference for side?’ he asked. Wordlessly she shook her head no. He walked over to her, cupping her face with both hands, tipping her face up to look at him. ‘Don’t be nervous,’ he whispered. ‘I'm not going to hurt you. I want you to trust me, angel, but I know that I have to earn that trust. I'm not going to do anything to hurt my chances of that.’ She searched his eyes, seeing only the same concern and sincerity that his voice conveyed.

At last she relaxed, if only a bit. ‘Okay,’ she whispered. It was only one word, but Viggo knew that it had taken a lot for her to say it. He pulled her into a gentle hug, a poor substitute for the kiss he wanted to share with her, but it would have to do. He'd meant what he'd said, and he wasn’t going to chance blowing anything with Monica for a simple kiss.

Viggo stepped away to turn out the light. ‘Go ahead and get into bed angel,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right there.’

Monica climbed onto the bed—a waterbed—and pulled up the covers before turning on her side. She noted, wordlessly, how odd it was that sleeping in someone’s arms, in their bed, could be more intimate than sex itself. When Viggo turned out the overhead light, Monica noticed the room was backlit, faintly, by the moon.

The mattress dipped when Viggo lay down, and the water moved, gently, as he pulled the covers on his side of the bed up, and again when he turned to face her. ‘Come here angel,’ he whispered.

Monica moved over, resting her head on his shoulder, and draping her right arm over his chest. Viggo encircled her in his arms, and turned his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. ‘God nat, angel,’ he whispered, in Danish, closing his eyes.

‘Shaohannah!’

Shaoey, who’d been headed for the car park after that long first day, turned, wondering who was calling. No one called her by her full first name. She spotted a brunette Brit jogging toward her. ‘Hey, Orlando,’ she said, stopping.

‘I hate to bother you, but my car battery seems dead. Do you have jumper cables?’

Shao shook her head. ‘Sorry, Lando, I don’t. I can give you a lift though.’

He paused for a moment, thinking. ‘That’ll work,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem. Where are you staying? You’re welcome to crash at my place tonight if you want, I can bring you back in the morning. I have a five am set call.’

‘Me too. If you're sure that I won’t be imposing. . .’

‘Nah, it’s cool. My cats miss having company. Monica was staying with me for a while, so now they don’t know what to do with themselves, since I can't give them enough attention anymore, at least in their eyes!’ she laughed, with an eye roll.

‘So you two already know each other then. That’s cool. She seems like an awesome girl. I know Viggo’s quite taken with her. Dom too.’

‘Yeah. She's actually staying at Viggo’s tonight, she said.’ At Orlando’s raised eyebrow, she added, ‘Not like that. Viggo asked her out after we were cut loose for the night, but she lives over 50 miles away, in Glendale. She has a five am call, too—they both do I guess. So he offered her his guest room.’

‘Hmmm, so is my staying over tonight “like that” or not?’ Orlando asked, more serious than teasing.

Shao regarded him carefully, her heart fluttering. ‘Do you want it to be?’ she asked. She got her answer when Orlando’s lips met hers, in a blindingly hot kiss. ‘Well,’ she said, after he pulled back, ‘that answers that question.’

When they reached her car, a Kia Rio, she unlocked the doors and put her medical bags in the back. Orlando, who'd helped her carry the equipment, much of it the same as Monica’s, followed suit.

Shao wasted no time in starting the car and heading to her apartment in Rolling Hills, less than ten miles away. Traffic was heavy, despite the late hour, and it took half an hour to reach her apartment.

The second Shao’s apartment door shut, Orlando pinned her against it and kissed her again. Shao moaned into his mouth, and grabbed his hips and pulled him against her. She could feel the bulge of his manhood through the fabric of his slacks. Keeping their lips together, she led them through her apartment to her bedroom. She wasted no time in undressing him, tugging his shirt off as soon as they entered the bedroom. Rejoining their lips, she unbuckled his belt, and rid him of his pants. She groaned when she discovered he was commando.

It was Orlando’s turn to break their kiss, as he pulled her shirt off. Impatiently he unhooked her lacy bra, and bent to capture one of her swollen nipples in his mouth. Shao threw her head back, crying out with pleasure.

Orlando shifted his attention to her other nipple and set his hands to unfastening her shorts. Sliding them, and her panties, down her slim hips, he kissed his way down her tummy.

‘Lay down, baby,’ he ordered, breathing raggedly. Shao quickly complied, and was soon writhing below him, as his lips and tongue found and manipulated her clit. He slid one finger into her, groaning when he realised how tight and wet she was. He slid another finger in with the first, then added a third. He sucked on her clit, firmly running the broad flatness of his tongue over it.

‘Oh, shit! Fuck, Orlando!’ she cried out, hips bucking wildly.

‘Come on baby . . . come for me. I wanna hear you scream, Shao.’ Orlando’s voice had deepened and was rough with lust. His fingers curled til he found what he was looking for—her g-spot. Stroking it, he ran his tongue over her sensitive nub once again.

‘Oh, Omigod, ORLANDO!! Fuck! ORLANDO!!’ she screamed.

‘Good girl,’ he praised, moving up to kiss her. She tasted herself on his lips and tongue, tangy and sweet. ‘D’you have a condom, love?’ he asked. She opened a drawer nearby and pulled one out. Wasting no time, he unrolled the rubber, sheathing his thick cock.

Shao felt the tip of him pressing against her opening, and moaned with need. ‘Yes, please god yes,’ she moaned, arching her hips to take him inside her.

Orlando grinned and pulled back just a little. ‘Uh, uh, uh, love. I want you crazy with need for me.’ He sat up, shifting his weight just enough to pin her hips down. Slowly, he entered her, just a little, and pulled out again. He repeated this several times, entering her a little further each time. Finally, he was buried to the hilt, and Shao cried out with pleasure.

‘Oh, fuck, Shaoey,’ Orlando groaned. ‘So tight, so hot. God, love, I don’t know how long I’ll last.’

‘Please, Orlando, just fuck me!’ Shao cried.

That broke Orlando’s reserve. With a guttural cry, he pulled back, and thrust in again. He bent and kissed her, hot, wet, and deep. Just a few thrusts more and he threw his head back, climaxing.

‘Shao! Oh God, Shaohannah!! Fuck! Oh! Oh god!’ he cried out. Totally spent, he collapsed, rolling her with him so that they were on their sides. He took a moment to dispose of the condom, and returned to her side, pulling her close. He kissed her gently and closed his eyes. Soon they were both sleeping.

When Monica woke up later that morning, she found herself looking into a pair of blue eyes. ‘Morning, baby,’ he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. He reached up and brushed a tendril of hair from her face.

‘Mmmmm, g’mornin,’ she replied, before closing her eyes and burying her face against his chest. She felt, rather than heard, his rumble of laughter.

‘Not a morning person, are you?’

‘Gads, no. If I were President my first act would be making mornings illegal,’ she groaned.

‘Hmmm, I’d vote for you with that platform,’ he answered, grinning. ‘Do you drink coffee?’

‘Not that horrid stuff Americans drink,’ groaned Monica. ‘D’you have orange juice?’

‘That I do. Stay here, I’ll bring some up.’

‘Wasn’t planning on moving,’ Monica moaned, closing her eyes again, drawing a laugh from Viggo. He kissed the top of her head and extricated himself from the tangle of her embrace and the sheets.

When he returned a few minutes later with the orange juice and his tea, he found her sprawled out, clutching his pillow, sound asleep again. He grinned.

Setting the drinks down on his bedside table, he sat down and gently shook Monica awake. When she opened her eyes again, he smiled at her. ‘Orange juice is here, hon,’ he said. She struggled to sit up, groggy.

‘Time’s it,’ she muttered, hoarsely.

‘Just past 10.’

‘Ick. Thank god we don’t have set call today.’

He laughed, ‘Tell me about it. The only other time I’ve gotten less than three hours of sleep before filming was the night of the camp out in New Zealand, to film a sunrise shot.’

‘I remember that. It was your idea, wasn’t it?’ He nodded. ‘Sounds like you all had fun.’

‘And how!’ he answered, laughing. ‘No one got drunk, well, no one that had to work the next day, but there was plenty of wine going around. I was pretty well tipsy, I must admit. Didn’t help with the filming that morning.’

‘No, I imagine not. Get tipsy before a shoot . . . and weren’t your toes broken then too?’

He nodded, ‘Broke ‘em a couple days before. Me, elf-boy, and Brett were going through the aspirin that day!’

Monica grinned, ‘I bet! So, we don’t have to be anywhere today, why the hell are we awake now?’

Viggo grinned impishly, ‘You trying to get me back into bed, woman?’

Monica looked at him, semi-seriously, ‘Maybe,’ she teased.

He smiled at her, cupping her cheek with one hand, warm from the tea. ‘Monica,’ he started, quietly, ‘will you let me kiss you?’

She looked up at him from under her dark eyelashes, her gaze far less wary than it had been before they’d gone to sleep, but still achingly vulnerable. When she nodded, he let out the breath he didn’t realise he'd been holding.

Slowly, so as not to frighten her, he leant forward. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and gently pressed his lips to hers. She shifted, bringing their bodies closer together, and put her arms around his waist.

He allowed her to control the kiss, not wanting to take more than she’d give willingly. After a moment, her lips parted, and she ran her tongue across his lips. He moaned, lips parting, tongue darting out to meet hers.

If the first touch of their lips had sent a tingle throughout his body, the touch of their tongues sent a shockwave coursing though him. He pulled back, breathing raggedly, afraid of his own reaction. Looking into her eyes, he saw that she’d been similarly affected. She looked stunned.

Monica looked up into Viggo’s eyes, her breathing harsh, pulse quickened. That kiss had the power to kill, she thought to herself. She wasn’t sure how long they sat there, looking at each other, before he spoke:

‘I want you to know,’ he started, quietly, ‘that I didn’t pull away because I wanted to. But I don’t know what I’d have done if I didn’t. I won’t push you into anything you don’t want or aren't ready for sweetheart; that’s why I pulled away.’

Monica nodded, understanding. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, hugging him. He replied by pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Monica cleared her throat, and spoke, quietly—so softly that he had to strain to hear—‘I want to tell you about my family—and why I became a medic.’ He started to speak, to tell her she didn’t have to tell him, but stopped himself, afraid if he stopped her she’d lose her nerve.

‘Do you have any tissues?’ she asked. ‘I'm going to need them.’ Wordlessly, he got up and grabbed a box of Kleenex from the dresser, bringing it back to her. He sat down behind her, and pulled her up against him.

‘It’s kind of a long story. . . I guess,’ she started. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the story. ‘My parents divorced before I was two. My mum remarried a few years later. He was okay at first, but only til he went to prison for going AWOL from the army. When he came back he was abusive—physically, sexually, but especially mentally. When I was eight, my little brother was born. Raymond—the light of my life. I went to live with my dad shortly after, because of the abuse.

‘Anyway, a few years later, Mum left her husband, who was back in prison. She moved back to New York, from Missouri where she’d moved with him. Not long after she came back she was diagnosed with cancer. She was treated successfully with chemotherapy. In 1997, she relapsed. Stage four—the last stage before terminal. It means they can treat her to prolong her life, but she’d never go into remission again, and would never be cured—it had spread too much or become too aggressive.

‘She outlived the doctors’ expectations, surviving til she was 46. Just after the holidays, she gave up the fight. I was just finishing my associate’s degree in criminal justice—hence the juvenile delinquency book you saw last night—when she died. After she passed, I had no reason to stay in New York any longer, and so, when I graduated, I transferred to UNLV, in Las Vegas. I took my Bachelors in CJ there, with minors in family services and victims’ issues. I wanted to help kids who'd been abused, like me.

‘I took a position with the LA County DA’s Office, in their victims’ services department. They allowed me to specialise in domestic issues—domestic abuse and child abuse mainly—which is what I’d wanted.

‘My brother moved to California to be with me shortly after he and his girlfriend broke up and also to go to UCLA for video game design. One night, he got lost, and somehow ended up in South Central,’ she stopped, her voice breaking. Viggo braced himself for what he knew was coming.

‘He was wearing a blue hoodie—a hooded sweatshirt—and managed to wander into a Blood neighbourhood. Blue is the colour the Crips—the Blood’s main rivals—wear and despite being white, and obviously not a gang member, he was assaulted and beaten to. . .’ she stopped again, fighting a sob. ‘. . . To death. Shaoey was the ER doc that treated him, and the one who had to tell me, her best friend, that my baby brother was dead.

‘I had an emotional breakdown. I wound up in hospital for a bit, after Shaoey found me walking through her neighbourhood barefoot on a 40-something degree day. I’d apparently walked more than ten miles. My feet were bleeding and I was mostly incoherent.

‘After they discharged me, I stayed with Shaoey, and went back to school for my paramedic degree. I already had taken my emt-basic, when I lived in Maine, but blood put me off, so I dropped it. After Ray-Ray died, though, well, putting humpty dumpty together again became almost an obsession. And I got a lot of humpty dumptys to try to fix.

‘After a near-breakdown, when I had an eighteen year old DOA, Shaoey made me quit, and got me hired at the agency I work for now, doing set medic work. She had left the ER, after Ray died. She actually gave notice the night he died. It was too much for her.

‘I just started doing set work a few months ago. I like it except for days like today when some idiot with something to prove puts another person in danger.’

She stopped talking, drained from having revealed so much. Viggo hugged her close, rocking gently.

‘I'm so sorry, honey,’ he whispered. ‘I can't even imagine going through all that, much less going through it and coming out alive.’ Monica tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a sob. ‘Let it out baby,’ he whispered. ‘It’s okay to grieve.’ Monica turned, clutching his shoulders and burying her face in his chest, sobbing. Viggo held her close, rubbing her back, while she cried, releasing emotions she kept locked up.

She didn’t move when she’d finished crying, resting her head on Viggo’s chest instead. He rubbed her backed gently, soothing her until she looked up.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘For what, sweetheart?’

‘Caring,’ she said, simply.

He hugged her close, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. Her soft lips yielded to his; this time it was he who sought access to her mouth. She moaned softly, and tightened her grip on his shoulders, pulling him down as she lay down.

He pulled back and looked her in the eye. ‘Angel, if this continues. . . I can't promise where it will, or won’t, go.’

‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I trust you, completely. I’ll stop you if it goes further than I’m ready for.’ With that, she lifted her head and kissed him.

Viggo moaned, low in his throat. God in heaven kissing her was addicting! When he sucked on her tongue, her fingers clutched at his shoulders, as though he were a life raft and she was drowning. And she was drowning—in his kisses, in the feelings his kisses evoked.

He pulled his lips from hers, and kissed his way down her neck—nipping, licking, and sucking. When she moaned, he could feel it in her throat, beneath his lips.

He sat up, straddling her, and ran his hands down her sides. Watching her eyes for any sign of fear or discomfort, he slid his hands up under her tank top. Feeling his hands on her bare skin, Monica arched her back, eyes closed, and sucked in a breath. He lightly ran his fingers down her ribs, grinning as she squirmed—she was very ticklish.

He slid her shirt up part way, just past her belly button, and leant forward. He pressed his lips to her tummy, gently kissing the bare skin there. She put her hands over his, preventing him from moving her shirt any further, and silently keeping her promise—she was stopping him at her comfort level.

He sat up again, and pulled her up to him, allowing her shirt to drop back down. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he said, punctuating each word with a kiss further up her neck, ending up at her lips.

He pressed another gentle kiss to her lips, and pulled back, smiling at her gently. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for trusting me. And for stopping me at your comfort level.’

She smiled back, before leaning forward to hug him. Pulling back she yawned.

‘You should take a nap, sweetheart. You must be drained, from talking about your family. I’ll stay with you if you want me to.’ Monica nodded, lying down.

Viggo lay down beside her, lying on his side facing her. ‘Turn over, my love,’ he whispered, kissing her gently. She complied, and he pulled her to him, spooning her. He wrapped his arms around her, and drifted off to sleep.

Shaoey opened her eyes and smiled, seeing the handsome man in her bed. She stretched languorously and turned over, lightly kissing Orlando’s forehead. She laughed when he protested sleepily and brushed his hand as though shooing a fly.

She suspected he was a coffee grouch, so she put a pot on before waking him. When she returned, he was semi-conscious and not looking happy about it. ‘Hmmmm, bet I can change that!’ she thought to herself.

She crawled back into bed and leant over to kiss Orlando. His eyes opened all the way then, and the glint in them was most definitely NOT fatigue. He rolled her on her back returning her kisses hotly.

Breaking away momentarily he gasped, ‘How much time do we have?’

Shaoey looked at the clock 3:03. ‘About half an hour.’

‘Plenty of time.’ He resumed kissing her, trailing his tongue down her throat, which caused her to shiver and moan. His left hand slid down her belly, finding her wetness, and his right hand thumbed her nipple.

She felt him grow long and hard, pressed up against her thigh. She groaned and bucked her hips, desperate to have him filling her. ‘Orlando, god, please, I need you!’

He sheathed himself with a condom, needing her too. As soon as he was covered, he slid into her, in one long slow thrust. Both cried out with pleasure at the sensation. Orlando sat back on his haunches, pulling Shao up with him, so that they were both upright. Shao cried out as he penetrated even more deeply in this new position.

‘Orlando! Fuck, oh god! Fuck me, please!!’

Turned on further by her words, Orlando complied, thrusting into her, gasping and moaning with each thrust. Shao clutched his shoulders and tipped her head to kiss him deeply while impaled on his hard shaft. After a few minutes, he felt her body tense, readying itself for an orgasm.

‘Oh! My! God! Orrlaaaaaaaaandooooooooo!’ she screamed, panting.

The feeling of her walls clenching against him as she came was too much, and he soon was crying his release. The lovers collapsed, arms and legs entwined, breathing hard.

As her heart rate returned to normal Shao looked at the clock. 3.48. Shit! ‘Orlando, if we’re both gonna shower, we have to shower together, fast, and NOW!’

‘Oh fuck,’ he groaned looking at the clock. He sat up and shook his head. ‘I hate morning set calls almost as much as overnight ones.’

‘Ditto that,’ Shao said, tossing him a towel and grabbing one for herself.

Quickly, the two showered, washing each other’s back but not taking the time to tease that they would have had they not been so rushed. Shao wrapped her hair up in a towel and poured two tall travel mugs full of coffee. She covered hers, no cream or sugar, and left his, heading to the bedroom to get dressed and dry her hair.

‘There’s a mug of coffee on the counter. Well, two. The one without the lid is for you, cream in the icebox, sugar on the counter.’

‘Great, thanks love.’ Orlando, too, was rushing about trying to get ready.

Finally they were on the road. Traffic was relatively light, as most of Shao’s neighbours worked more civilised hours. Twenty minutes later, she was pulling into the car park. Orlando hopped out and grabbed a couple of her medical bags for her. Smiling gratefully, she grabbed the others. The two checked in with the guard, Randy again, and headed to the staging area.

Shao was surprised that Monica wasn’t here yet. Rick, the AP, saw her looking. ‘She’s not coming. We only needed you today, so she has the day off. Viggo was cancelled too since Dom’s still recovering from yesterday.’ Shaoey nodded; glad her friend had a day off.

It was early afternoon before Monica woke up again. Viggo was still holding her close, watching her sleep. ‘You could’ve left me and gone and done something,’ she whispered.

Viggo smiled. ‘I know I could've. But I didn’t want to. There was nothing I’d rather have done today than hold you, and watch you sleep. So I did; though I did take a shower.’

Monica smiled, lowering her gaze; she wasn’t used to men like Viggo. He noticed the way she dropped her eyes when he complimented her or said something like he just did.

She looked up and noticed him studying her, his handsome face serious. ‘Does that bother you?’ he asked quietly. At her quizzical look he added, ‘when I compliment you or say something like I just did. You tend to look down after I say something like that.’

‘Sorry,’ she whispered, mortified.

‘Don’t apologise baby. I wasn’t saying it to hurt or embarrass you. It was an observation borne of curiosity.’ He sat her up and pulled her into his arms, so that she was seated sideways on his lap, head resting on his shoulder. She was biting her lip, something she only did when nervous or scared.

He held her close. ‘Why do you look away, angel?’ She mumbled something so quietly he couldn’t make out her words. ‘What was that hon?’

She jumped up, off his lap, exploding in a fit of anger and tears. ‘Because all my fucking life I get told how fat, ugly, stupid, and lazy I am, that I still hear that voice in my head when someone says something nice.’

She was pacing the room, Viggo sitting where he had been, shocked, but also sensing this was something important, something that she needed to say, not for him, rather not only for him, but for herself, for healing.

‘And I come out here and see all these plastic perky perfect women and I pretend I don’t care that they're prettier than me, but I DO care. I am so fucking tired of pretending that I don’t give a fuck, when I DO! I DO care, and it hurts!’ With that she collapsed on the floor sobbing.

Viggo went over and sat down next to her. Putting his arms around her, he held her close, rocking her gently, smoothing his hand up and down her back. ‘Let it out, baby girl,’ he whispered. ‘Go ahead and cry; it helps the pain.’

When she finished, easily a half hour later, she wiped her eyes and looked down and her hands. ‘I can't believe I just did that.’

‘I can't believe you never did it before this, baby. That’s a lot of emotional weight to carry around. Do you feel better?’

‘Kinda. I'm embarrassed now.’

‘Don’t be. And for the record angel, I hate perfect perky plastic women. I hate women who look like skeletons. You are beautiful. Perhaps not by Hollywood’s standards, but their standards are abnormal by any measure. I find you not only beautiful, but sexy as hell.

‘Physical beauty is only a small part of sex appeal. You're smart—I don’t know who said you were stupid, but you aren't, by any means—caring, and fun. If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t have asked you out. Ask Orlando or Dom. They’ll tell you I'm rather picky.’ He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. ‘Would you like to know something?’

‘What?’

‘I was going to ask you, and am asking now, if you would consider dating me. I know we just met, but not only am I undeniably attracted to you, I find that I am revising my theory on love at first sight.’

Monica stared, unsure what to think. She wasn’t used to men talking to her like this unless they were teasing or trying to get her into bed. But he didn’t seem to be; there was no teasing in his eyes, and his voice—Lord that voice!—was definitely not teasing. She looked down uncertainly.

Viggo could see the war raging within herself, in her eyes. He had never met a girl so badly hurt as she was. The doubt, uncertainty, and even fear in her eyes pissed him off. He wasn’t pissed at her, but rather the so-called men who had treated her so poorly, so cruelly, that she could no longer trust men. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but sat with her and waited patiently for her to speak.

Monica drew a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. She looked up, gathering her courage. ‘Are there rules about dating someone you work with?’ Viggo shook his head no, silently, eyes on hers. ‘Okay,’ she whispered.

Viggo smiled gently, and, leaning forward, pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you for giving me a chance, when I know it scares you to death.’

She smiled shakily. He stood, putting his hands out to help her up. ‘Let’s go out for lunch and touristy stuff. I bet you’ve never done that have you?’ She shook her head. ‘Neither have I. We’re both remiss in our duties as transplanted New Yorkers,’ he teased.

She smiled then laughed. ‘We have duties as transplanted New Yorkers?’

He nodded solemnly. ‘Absolutely. One requirement is of course Disneyland, then there’s the LA County Museum of Art, and—oooohhhh—maybe we can get a map of stars’ homes and stalk Brad Pitt!’

Monica laughed at the silly, mock star struck, expression on his face, and tapped him on the head. ‘There’s only one star I care about,’ she said, half joking.

‘Oh yeah, who’s that? Maybe his house is on the map.’

Monica growled making him laugh. ‘I hope not, or we’ll be ambushed on the way out of here,’ she laughed.

‘Nope, I'm not on any star maps. Thank God,’ he added with a shudder, causing Monica to smile.

‘Hmmm, can I turn that smile into a laugh?’ he wondered out loud, reaching over to tickle her sides. She squealed, and started squirming, laughing hysterically. She was backing up trying to escape his merciless fingers when her legs hit the bed. Startled, she fell over backwards, dragging him down with her.

When she felt his weight atop her, she stopped laughing. Staring into his eyes, she saw that he was no longer laughing either. Instead of humour in his eyes, she saw desire. The next thing she saw was his head dipping down. She instinctively closed her eyes; he whispered, ‘Open them, baby, please. I want to look into your eyes when I kiss you.’

She moaned softly, opening her eyes and looking up into his. Their lips met, drawing a moan from both. Not wanting to scare her, Viggo went no further than kissing. Not that it was just any kiss. Their earlier kisses, while hot, had still been cautious. This one was reckless, hot, and demanding. They broke apart for air, gasping. Shifting further up the bed, Viggo never took his eyes from hers. The next kiss however, was achingly sweet, incredibly gentle. Somehow, Monica found that kiss as erotic, if not more so, than the one before it.

Her hands splayed across his back, his rested under her shoulder blades. Viggo broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. Monica could feel his erection pressing against her. ‘Baby, we need to stop, or this is going to go further than you're ready for. I need to get you out in public where we can't do more than kiss.’

Monica nodded, and sat up. Viggo hugged her and got up. ‘Go ahead and get ready, baby. You know where the bathroom is; I showered while you were sleeping earlier.’

Monica’s shower was a brief, and cool, one. Half an hour later she was dressed, hair pulled back, and ready to go. When she walked into Viggo’s room, she stopped and stared.

‘What?’ he asked puzzled.

‘I have never seen you in shorts before, except for movies. I've seen a ton of pictures of you, and have never seen you in shorts.’

Viggo laughed. I don’t wear ‘em much. Henry always picks on me about it. Thing is, paparazzi don’t see me in shorts much either, so that with some glasses and a hat or change of hairstyle and they don’t know me.’

Monica muttered something under her breath.

Viggo laughed. ‘Did you just call me a chameleon?’

‘Yep. Been calling you that for a couple years. There are some pictures, and one movie, where even though I know it’s you, I still can't believe it.’

‘GI Jane,’ he said. When she looked at him he said, ‘The movie where you can't believe it’s me—GI Jane?’

She nodded. ‘How did you guess?’

‘Everyone tells me that. Even my son.’ He grinned. ‘It’s a useful trait to have, being a chameleon,’ he teased. ‘It’s the scar that gives it away.’

Monica nodded, ‘Yeah, that’s what I look for if I have a hard time believing it’s you.’

They were in the car park by this time. Viggo stopped, ‘You want to drive, or you want me to?’

She tossed him the keys. ‘Have at it; I hate driving. Never wanted to learn.’

‘Why did you then?’

‘Necessity. Can't be a victims’ advocate and not be able to drive. The job entails meeting the victim at the hospital if they're there, the police station, court, their home, wherever they can meet. Sometimes they come to the office, but most victims are, to be blunt, poor, overworked, no child care, no car, and everyone they know is in the same boat.’

Viggo nodded. ‘Never thought about that. Victims just tend to be a faceless entity to me, I guess.’

‘They are to most people. Unless someone has been victimised, or goes into my line of work, or becomes an attorney, they don’t think about the victim. Even cops don’t. They can talk for hours about criminals’ backgrounds, but know little about victims. Even colleges—there are hundreds of schools that teach at least one criminology course, and a handful that teach forensic psychology—getting into the criminal’s mind. There are very few that teach any victims’ studies and only one that has a full degree in victimology. But how can you prevent crimes, if you can't say who the victims are?’

Having reached their destination, Viggo cut the engine. Unbuckling, he slid over to Monica and hugged her. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. Monica put her arms around him and hugged back. When she looked up, she laughed. Viggo had driven them to The Disney Store.

‘You’re just a big kid at heart, aren't you?’ she teased.

Viggo nodded and said very solemnly, ‘Absolutely. My son accuses me of being a bigger kid than him sometimes.’

‘I can see that. And your response is a wrestling match isn't it.’

‘Who told?!’ he joked back.

‘You just did,’ she said, with a grin, sticking her tongue out.

He smiled, and caught her face in his hands, cupping her cheeks. He dipped his head and lightly kissed her lips. He pulled back though, before either of them could deepen the kiss.

‘Sorry baby,’ he whispered. ‘You make me crazy— I think I’m addicted to the taste of you—but what I have in my mind right now isn’t fit for the public to watch.’

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. He lightly rubbed her back, and she sighed. ‘Let’s go in, honey,’ he murmured.

She opened the door and climbed out, and he followed her. He took her hand and they walked into the three-story store.

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