plumbing, and even manage a bit of finish carpentry? Of course not—he just wanted to know all the bad, stupid things about her.
Well, fine. The only bad, stupid thing she knew about him was that he was a royal bastard, and that was enough. As long as she kept away from him she’d be fine. There was only one problem with that plan. She didn’t want to.
It took her a moment to realize he’d already pulled up in front of the small house that was her pride and joy. He’d even turned off the car, and he was watching her out of hooded eyes. “You just going to sit there?” he said. “Or were you waiting for me to open your door for you? I thought we established I wasn’t a gentleman.”
“I never had any doubts,” she said, reaching for the door handle. To her horror he climbed out as well, slamming the door behind him, and she stared at him across the top of the Audi. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing you to your door.”
“Oh, good God,” she said crossly. “I’m home, I’m safe. Just go away—you’re making my headache worse.”
“My heart’s breaking for you,” he said, moving ahead of her up the front stairs that led to the narrow porch. New lumber gleamed from the places where she’d already replaced rotting floorboards, but he didn’t bother to look down and admire her work. Of course he didn’t. “I doubt that anyone was gunning for you today, but just in case, I intend to check over the place before we leave here.”
“For Christ’s sake,” she said, pushing ahead of him and opening the door. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not coming back to Super Spy Central?”
“You have any idea how annoying that is?” he said, shouldering past her, and she found herself shrinking away from him, skittish as always. He stalked down the center of her house, his eyes sweeping each room as he went. She waited a moment, and then followed him, nervous with him in her precious house. It was like having a tiger loose in a bedroom.
“I love shotgun cottages,” she said, knowing she was babbling. “The way one room leads into another makes it feel like my own hobbit home.” Hobbit home? What a stupid fucking thing to say!
Fortunately he seemed to be ignoring her, searching through her front parlor, looking behind the curtains she’d hung to shut out some of the midday sun, then the unfinished kitchen, the microwave and hot plate and dorm-size refrigerator the sum total of her current culinary abilities. He scouted around the functional bathroom, into the first bedroom, and on into the second, with her unmade bed, her clothes on the floor.
She needed him out of her half-renovated house. He was too big, too intense, too there . If she had any white sage she would have burned it after he left, because she had a sense she was going to feel his presence here long after he was gone.
“What’s out back?” He jerked his head toward the flimsy back door that she had yet to replace. “Because if you’re relying on that door to keep you safe from predators, you’re even more naïve than I thought.”
“I’m not the slightest bit naïve.” And that was a lie , she thought. “I was born in this city, remember? There’s a tall, locked fence all around the backyard. Besides, there are some advantages to being a Gauthier. People think twice about interfering with Fabrizio Gauthier’s only daughter.”
He surveyed her coolly. “I would guess they would. In that case I’ll let you get . . .” He froze midsentence, and all affect dropped away from him.
Her stomach clenched in sudden fear. It was like seeing a man turn into a machine, the look of a serial killer when he finally dropped his surface charm. Had he seen something that implicated her? “What’s wrong?”
He moved so fast he was a blur of energy, grabbing her and running toward the back door. She tried to shriek at him, to demand what the hell he was doing, when he pulled her into his arms and threw them both through
Well, fine. The only bad, stupid thing she knew about him was that he was a royal bastard, and that was enough. As long as she kept away from him she’d be fine. There was only one problem with that plan. She didn’t want to.
It took her a moment to realize he’d already pulled up in front of the small house that was her pride and joy. He’d even turned off the car, and he was watching her out of hooded eyes. “You just going to sit there?” he said. “Or were you waiting for me to open your door for you? I thought we established I wasn’t a gentleman.”
“I never had any doubts,” she said, reaching for the door handle. To her horror he climbed out as well, slamming the door behind him, and she stared at him across the top of the Audi. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing you to your door.”
“Oh, good God,” she said crossly. “I’m home, I’m safe. Just go away—you’re making my headache worse.”
“My heart’s breaking for you,” he said, moving ahead of her up the front stairs that led to the narrow porch. New lumber gleamed from the places where she’d already replaced rotting floorboards, but he didn’t bother to look down and admire her work. Of course he didn’t. “I doubt that anyone was gunning for you today, but just in case, I intend to check over the place before we leave here.”
“For Christ’s sake,” she said, pushing ahead of him and opening the door. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not coming back to Super Spy Central?”
“You have any idea how annoying that is?” he said, shouldering past her, and she found herself shrinking away from him, skittish as always. He stalked down the center of her house, his eyes sweeping each room as he went. She waited a moment, and then followed him, nervous with him in her precious house. It was like having a tiger loose in a bedroom.
“I love shotgun cottages,” she said, knowing she was babbling. “The way one room leads into another makes it feel like my own hobbit home.” Hobbit home? What a stupid fucking thing to say!
Fortunately he seemed to be ignoring her, searching through her front parlor, looking behind the curtains she’d hung to shut out some of the midday sun, then the unfinished kitchen, the microwave and hot plate and dorm-size refrigerator the sum total of her current culinary abilities. He scouted around the functional bathroom, into the first bedroom, and on into the second, with her unmade bed, her clothes on the floor.
She needed him out of her half-renovated house. He was too big, too intense, too there . If she had any white sage she would have burned it after he left, because she had a sense she was going to feel his presence here long after he was gone.
“What’s out back?” He jerked his head toward the flimsy back door that she had yet to replace. “Because if you’re relying on that door to keep you safe from predators, you’re even more naïve than I thought.”
“I’m not the slightest bit naïve.” And that was a lie , she thought. “I was born in this city, remember? There’s a tall, locked fence all around the backyard. Besides, there are some advantages to being a Gauthier. People think twice about interfering with Fabrizio Gauthier’s only daughter.”
He surveyed her coolly. “I would guess they would. In that case I’ll let you get . . .” He froze midsentence, and all affect dropped away from him.
Her stomach clenched in sudden fear. It was like seeing a man turn into a machine, the look of a serial killer when he finally dropped his surface charm. Had he seen something that implicated her? “What’s wrong?”
He moved so fast he was a blur of energy, grabbing her and running toward the back door. She tried to shriek at him, to demand what the hell he was doing, when he pulled her into his arms and threw them both through
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