Picture Dermot Mulroney meets James McAvoy. Obviously.

After hearing a laundry list of instructions about the main house, Debbie finally excused herself to "get home to the mister." Cass pictured Mr. Debbie to be a pert, thin man with wire-rimmed glasses who was painfully shy in high school. And Debbie was probably the soft pudgy cheerleader who anchored the pyramid and was saving herself for marriage. Theirs was a romance made for an after-school special.

Debbie honked her horn – shave and a haircut, two bits obviously – with a promise to return tomorrow with some of Cass's boxes. Cass was happy to see her go, but even happier to break in to the official welcome basket Debbie had left for her. The large bottle of wine peeking through the boxes of crackers, spa slippers and roadmaps was calling her name.

After a long hot shower, Cass tucked herself into bed in the master suite, TV flicker in hand, with the wine. A couple of glasses and multiple episodes of Friends later, Cass drifted off into a sleep only capable of a woman who had just driven east until she hit a new life.

The clock ticked away peacefully, the tide breaking on the shore methodically, ensuring Cass slept soundly. She didn't hear the key in the lock and she certainly didn't notice the squeaking on the stairs. She might have been less terrified when the stranger jumped into the room, fireplace poker in hand, screaming "aha!" if she had heard anything.

Cass screamed in response to this intruder and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She had been too tired to get her suitcase from the car and so not only was she scared to death but she couldn't make a naked escape. The stranger turned the lights on, poker still posed, and demanded answers.

"Who the hell are?"

"Who the hell are YOU?"

"I live here!"

"No, you don’t! The people who live here are in Florida!"

"How do you know that?"

"Debbie!"

"Debbie told you? She's your accomplice?"

"No, my real estate agent."

"So shouldn't she be finding you your own house?"

"She did…but wait, you didn't answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine. Who are you?"

"My name is Cassidy Pearce. I bought the guest house at the back. Now, tell me who you are or I'm calling the police."

"Oh, you're telepathic? You don't need a telephone?"

"I have my cell phone."

"In bed with you?"

"Yes, in bed with me. So who are you?"

"I'm Christian McKenzie. This is my parents's house. I'm house-sitting."

"No, you're not. Debbie said your mother gave permission for me to stay here. She knew the house was empty."

"Well, I look after the house when they're gone and if you must know, my furnace is broken so I've been staying here."

"And you didn't tell your mommy?" she mocked.

"No, I didn't want her to worry."

Cass rolled her eyes and Christian gave her a look that was nothing close to mama's boy. He took a step toward her and said "Listen, lady…" and she recoiled, pulling the sheets up higher. His look softened and he said "Get dressed. If you're going to stay here, you're sleeping in the guest room downstairs. This is my room."

"This is your parent's room."

"And by extension, my room."

"Whatever. I'll move but if you don't mind, I'd like to get dressed."

"Two minutes," Christian said, leaving the room.

Cass muttered to herself as she pulled on her jeans and t-shirt, stuffing her bra and panties into her pockets. She crossed her arms and stalked into the hallway and down the stairs, Christian following on her heels.

The guest room turned out to be the old servant's quarters and was about as big as a broom closet. Christian threw an extra blanket and pillow on to the bed when he left the room, chuckling as he said "Sweet dreams."

"I wouldn't be too smug, if I were you. You don't know me or my sordid criminal past," Cass said.

Christian started to snicker but the comment must have registered because his facial expression turned cold and he said nothing more.

Cass lay awake, listening to Christian get ready for bed, loathing the very thought of him with her bottle of wine and the sound of the ocean. She could hear the tap dripping in the kitchen now and nothing more. She scowled to herself as she drifted off to sleep, but Christian's chocolate brown eyes swam in her mind's eye infiltrating the deep, new-life sleep.