Chapter 1

　　The alarm clock never rang.

　　Emma Harper woke up earlier, sitting up abruptly in bed, her breath ragged and the sheets tangled around her legs. The room was still dark, the air conditioner hummed softly, and yet her skin felt as if she had just escaped a fire.

　　The same dream again.

　　Once again, an unfamiliar mouth trailing down her neck. Once again, firm hands holding her, a deep voice murmuring things she would never dare repeat while awake. And once again, the cruel end: her body on the verge of pleasure, reality abruptly pulling her away before she reached the abyss.

　　"Great," she muttered, burying her face in the pillow. "I'm officially losing my mind."

　　She was twenty-one, had a stable job at Parker & Grant Publishing, her own apartment in Brooklyn Heights, and a life so orderly it was sometimes embarrassing. She also had a huge problem: ever since she started proofreading erotic novels, her mind had decided to wage war against her.

　　At first it was professional curiosity. Then, scenes that kept replaying in her mind. Later, dreams. Dreams so intense that she would wake up sweating, embarrassed, and with a frustration that haunted her all day.

　　Emma wasn't like that. Or at least that's what people kept saying.

　　She was the shy girl who apologized when someone stepped on her shoe. The one who never knew what to say when an attractive man smiled at her. The one who'd had two boyfriends and barely survived a few decent kisses. None of that fit with the brazen woman who appeared in her dreams.

　　She got up before the guilt could overwhelm her. She went to the bathroom, took a lukewarm shower, and forced herself to breathe. Today was her day off. She could have breakfast, tidy up the boxes that still cluttered her living room, and pretend she hadn't woken up imagining indecent things with a faceless man.

　　The problem was that her body didn't want to fake it.

　　In the kitchen, she prepared yogurt with chocolate cereal. She had barely taken the first bite when the landline phone started ringing. Emma looked at it as if it were a bomb.

　　She didn't answer.

　　Three rings later, his mother's voice filled the apartment through the answering machine.

　　"Emma, darling! Your poor mother is still alive, thanks for asking. You haven't called in a week. Your father sends his regards and wants to know if you're eating well. I want to know if you've met a handsome boy yet. Call me, Miss Independent.

　　Emma smiled despite herself. She loved her parents, but escaping home had been necessary. Her father, Richard Harper, treated her as if the whole world was waiting to devour her. Her mother, Laura, did the opposite: she wanted to see her married, in love, and with a social life that Emma didn't even know where to begin.

　　Her move had been her first big victory.

　　However, seeing the room full of boxes, poorly placed furniture, and a lamp trapped behind the sofa, perhaps the victory was still under construction.

　　The cell phone vibrated on the bar. An email from Madison Parker, her boss.

　　Emma opened the message and read quickly: congratulations on the latest proofread, meeting tomorrow, Caleb Morgan's return after his accident, and other important changes at the publishing house.

　　Changes.

　　That word made her stomach clench.

　　Emma worked best in silence, behind a screen, with manuscripts and coffee. Changes almost always meant new people, new pressure, and new responsibilities.

　　She left the cell phone face down.

　　"No. I'm not going to panic today.

　　She decided to tidy the apartment to stop thinking. She moved boxes, folded clothes, wrestled with a bookshelf, and nearly killed herself trying to drag a piece of furniture that was too heavy for someone her size. At three in the afternoon, hungry and defeated, she crossed the street to the diner on the corner.

　　When she returned, George, the concierge at The Hudson Residences, stopped her with a smile.

　　"Miss Harper, another box has arrived for you.

　　Emma looked at the huge package next to the counter.

　　It was big. Heavy. Ridiculously big.

　　"Of course," she whispered. "Because my day needed a final boss."

　　She was calculating whether she could push it with her foot to the elevator when a male voice sounded behind her.

　　"Do you need help with that, sweetheart?

　　Emma turned around.

　　And she was speechless.

　　The man in front of her was tall, blond, with green eyes and an easy smile. Very easy. The kind that made a shy girl forget how to form complete sentences.

　　He tilted his head, amused.

　　"It was a simple question.

　　Emma opened her mouth, but only managed to turn red.

　　And then she understood something terrible: her dreams were not her only problem.

　　Now the problem was standing right in front of her.

　　And he smiled as if he had just found her.

　　"Yes," Emma finally said. "I need help. A lot, probably."

　　The stranger let out a low, warm, non-invasive laugh.

　　"I can fix that. I'm Ethan Miller. I live next door.

　　"Next to where?

　　"From you.

　　Emma blinked.

　　Perfect. Her attractive neighbor had existed for months and she'd never even noticed him because her main talent was sneaking in and out of the building like a socially anxious thief.

　　"Emma Harper," he said, extending his hand.

　　Ethan held her hand gently. Not with the absurd pressure of some men who seemed to want to demonstrate their superiority, but with a calm firmness. Even so, Emma felt his touch all the way to her shoulders.

　　He carried the box as if it weighed nothing and followed her to the elevator. During the ride, Emma stared intently at the numbers on the panel. Ethan, on the other hand, seemed comfortable with the silence.

　　When they entered the apartment, he remained still.

　　-Oh.

　　Emma tensed up.

　　"I know. It seems a move and a tornado had a baby.

　　"I was going to say that he has personality.

　　"You don't have to lie out of politeness.

　　"Then I'll tell the truth: this is a deadly labyrinth.

　　Emma laughed before she could stop herself. Ethan put the box on the floor and took off his jacket.

　　"I'm not going to leave knowing that you're trying to move all this by yourself.

　　"There's no need to...

　　"Emma"he interrupted, with unexpected seriousness". A person your size shouldn't be fighting against furniture twice your weight.

　　There was tenderness in her tone, but also something more. A brief shadow crossed her green eyes and disappeared too quickly.

　　Emma didn't ask. Not yet.

　　For the next three hours, Ethan reorganized the apartment as if it were a military mission. He moved the sofa, assembled a bookshelf, unpacked books, and laughed when Emma confessed that she had used a box as a nightstand for a week.

　　They talked between pieces of furniture.

　　Ethan was studying veterinary medicine. He had come to New York from Maple Creek, Vermont. He had been living alone for a year. And he had a younger sister, Lily, who died of cancer.

　　The confession fell gently between them, but it left a different atmosphere.

　　"You're a bit like her," Ethan said, looking at a photo Emma had just placed on a shelf. "Not physically. More like... in that way you apologize for taking up space."

　　Emma didn't know what to answer.