Her mouth firmed into a frown while she crossed her arms and considered his information. Would she march inside and make a fuss or accept the situation gracefully?
“Fine. Whatever.”
Graceful acceptance…sort of.
She turned on her heel and sent an over-the-shoulder smile to the older men. “Back in a flash, fellows.”
“We’ll be here,” Ed replied.
Roxy started down the steps, and he lost a moment appreciating what she did for a plain white button-down and a pair of black pants—easily the most understated ensemble he’d ever seen her wear. The androgynous outfit turned into a sexy proposition on her. As usual for work, she’d edited her abundance of jewelry down to small silver heart earrings and tamed her hair into a thick, loose braid that trailed over her shoulder and made her look like a Scandinavian princess. He imagined twisting the length around his fist and using it to guide her head precisely where he wanted it.
Fuck. His jacket felt too hot, his tie too tight, and his blood too heavy. Despite all that, he buttoned his jacket to conceal the battering ram in his pants. This quick favor might just kill him.
Or she might, he corrected, when she aimed an impatient look at him. “Where?”
He hit a button on his key, and his truck beeped from its parking slot a few yards down in the crowded lot. She took off toward the vehicle, but his longer strides gave him the advantage. While he held the passenger door open and helped her into the truck, he tried not to get caught up in her honeysuckle scent. He was already redefining the term “suit porn” beneath his jacket, which meant as much as he longed to tear the sweltering thing off before he climbed behind the wheel, he couldn’t.
Her thank-you should have chilled his temperature a few degrees, but his perverted mind replayed the two little words in a throaty whisper over a soundtrack of groaning bedsprings. He tugged the knot in his tie to loosen it and put the air on full blast.
Even so, the short drive to their house reminded him the path to hell was paved with good intentions. She needed a ride, and he was the obvious choice, but stepping up with the assist brought self-torture to a new level. Having her beside him in the truck reminded him of the last time they’d occupied this particular space. He never took his eyes off the road, but every shift of her legs, every restless fidget, claimed his attention until he was so fucking attuned to her, he accidentally scraped his tires on the curb while pulling up in front of the house.
“I’ll wait.” That would be the smart move.
“Don’t be crazy. It’s a million degrees out here, and it’s going to take me a few minutes to change. Come inside. Your virtue’s safe. I promise not to jump you again. Ever.” With that guarantee issued, she got out of the truck and headed toward the house.
He got out as well, and followed, because she had a point. It was hotter than Kentucky-fried hell, as Junior would say, and he couldn’t sit there for ten minutes with the engine idling and the air on full blast. Going upstairs to his place to wait only wasted more time. He slowed as they approached her door, expecting her to dig out her keys and unlock it, but she simply shoved her way through, putting her shoulder into the effort because the humidity-swollen wood stuck.
By the time he reconnected the blown wire between his brain and his mouth, she was halfway to her bedroom, blithely unaware she’d violated one of the most fundamental rules of personal safety.
“Are you kidding me?”
Now she paused and glanced back at him. “About what?”
“You leave your door unlocked?”
Her eye roll had him praying for patience. “I guess I did.” A careless toss sent her purse onto the compact sofa. “Is that a crime, officer?”
“It’s a sure-fire way of letting me know you’re completely insane.”
“Yeah. I’m the crazy one, living like I don’t expect old Mr. Cranston across the street to break in and clean me out. Or, no, wait. Maybe Jimmy the mailman wants to lie in wait and murder me in my sleep. What with the rampant crime in Bluelick, you can never relax your guard. Take a load off, West.” She turned and continued down the hall, her fingers busy on her blouse buttons before she disappeared from view.
“Don’t invite trouble.” He pulled the front door shut then walked over to the sofa and sat. And tried not to visualize her stripping in the next room.
“I have a built-in crime deterrent,” she called from the bedroom. “Turns out a cop lives upstairs.”
“And he doesn’t appreciate having a security issue on the premises. Lock your door, Reckless.” All he heard in response was the rasp of a zipper. Immediately, the only thing he could think about were ordinary black pants sliding down extraordinary legs. Desperate for a distraction, he took in his surroundings, which were…chaotic. For a woman who’d arrived in town with all her belongings stuffed into a duffel bag, she’d certainly expanded to fill the apartment. A zebra-striped shoulder bag slouched on the kitchen counter, belching out sunglasses, a pack of gum, and a scatter of change. A small pile of bracelets decorated the coffee table in front of him, next to a collection of nail polish. Her red and gold robe draped the arm of the sofa. A new vision filled his mind, of Roxy sitting in the exact spot he currently occupied, wearing nothing but the robe and an expression of concentration as she painted her toenails. Dammit. He unbuttoned his jacket and carefully adjusted himself. No relief. Sighing, he let his head sink back against the cushion and closed his eyes.
She muttered something he didn’t catch and banged around in her room. He pictured her digging through a closet. Naked. “Yes,
