of a morning person.”
“Good guess.”
His big hand settled into the middle of her back, jolting her from lazy contentment into sharp awareness. She knew he must have felt her sudden rigidity by the tone of his next words. “What’s the matter?” he asked innocently. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
No, damn him. His deep green eyes and all the mysteries behind them had haunted her well into the night. She pressed the pillow tighter on her head. “I can’t believe you used the key I gave you to come in here like this. I’m changing my locks.”
“I like to be in control, remember?”
She offered him a not very polite suggestion about what he could do with that control and where he could take it.
Hunter made a noise that again sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But that couldn’t be, she thought from beneath her pillow, because he never laughed.
He tugged on the pillow. “Come on, get up. It’s not good for the body to lounge around in bed.”
In one fluid move, she jerked the pillow off her head and tried to smack him with it, but he easily warded off the blow, grabbed the pillow, and tossed it harmlessly to the floor. Then he grinned at her.
“My body is fine,” she grated.
His eyes darkened, and his mouth opened, but whatever he was going to say got smothered with her second pillow to his face.
He grunted at the impact.
“What if I hadn’t been alone in this bed?” she demanded.
With great care, he removed the pillow from his face and set it gently on her bed. She had no idea where the question had come from, but given the displeased look on his face, it was far too late to take it back.
What if she hadn’t been alone? The very idea was a joke—she was always alone. That’s how she wanted it, with only herself to answer to. No rules.
“If you hadn’t been alone,” Hunter said quietly, his face completely void of expression as he leaned over her, “then I guess I’d have two helpers—I mean co-workers—in fixing that floor.”
She snorted, sat up, and shoved him off the bed. “Next time, knock.”
With a natural agility, he caught his balance and rose. “I’m hoping there isn’t a next time.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if you’d stop destroying this place, I wouldn’t have to keep fixing it.”
Trisha hated being clumsy. She also hated doing stupid things, but she tended to being the one and doing the other because she often acted without thinking things through. Impulsive, she thought with disgust. And she had yet to learn how to curb her insatiable curiosity. It was what had caused her to fall out of the hole in the bathroom into Hunter’s very capable arms in the first place, and it was what had caused her to defrost her refrigerator in the middle of the night because she couldn’t sleep and didn’t feel like reading.
But as much as she hated her own faults, she hated having them pointed out to her even more. “Maybe you should think twice about moving in downstairs. I could be dangerous to your health.”
“No doubt. But you’re not that lucky.”
“You’re taking your chances,” she said a little desperately. “I could set the place on fire next.”
He ignored her. Silently, he headed to her bedroom door, his body gliding smoothly, easily. Apparently, the man did indeed own a pair of jeans, and they were something. Snug and faded, they fit him like a glove, hugging his lean hips, his powerful thighs, those long legs. So did the T-shirt he wore, the one that revealed the sculpted arms that swung with elegant confidence as he walked.
Not fair, she thought to herself, not fair that a man as annoying as he was could have been given such innate grace, such fluidity of movement.
Where the hell was her stuffy scientist?
More sleep was what she needed, she decided as her body tingled with a yearning she didn’t want. Lots more sleep.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
She cleared her throat, aware that she’d been staring at him walk away, her mouth
“Good guess.”
His big hand settled into the middle of her back, jolting her from lazy contentment into sharp awareness. She knew he must have felt her sudden rigidity by the tone of his next words. “What’s the matter?” he asked innocently. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
No, damn him. His deep green eyes and all the mysteries behind them had haunted her well into the night. She pressed the pillow tighter on her head. “I can’t believe you used the key I gave you to come in here like this. I’m changing my locks.”
“I like to be in control, remember?”
She offered him a not very polite suggestion about what he could do with that control and where he could take it.
Hunter made a noise that again sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But that couldn’t be, she thought from beneath her pillow, because he never laughed.
He tugged on the pillow. “Come on, get up. It’s not good for the body to lounge around in bed.”
In one fluid move, she jerked the pillow off her head and tried to smack him with it, but he easily warded off the blow, grabbed the pillow, and tossed it harmlessly to the floor. Then he grinned at her.
“My body is fine,” she grated.
His eyes darkened, and his mouth opened, but whatever he was going to say got smothered with her second pillow to his face.
He grunted at the impact.
“What if I hadn’t been alone in this bed?” she demanded.
With great care, he removed the pillow from his face and set it gently on her bed. She had no idea where the question had come from, but given the displeased look on his face, it was far too late to take it back.
What if she hadn’t been alone? The very idea was a joke—she was always alone. That’s how she wanted it, with only herself to answer to. No rules.
“If you hadn’t been alone,” Hunter said quietly, his face completely void of expression as he leaned over her, “then I guess I’d have two helpers—I mean co-workers—in fixing that floor.”
She snorted, sat up, and shoved him off the bed. “Next time, knock.”
With a natural agility, he caught his balance and rose. “I’m hoping there isn’t a next time.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if you’d stop destroying this place, I wouldn’t have to keep fixing it.”
Trisha hated being clumsy. She also hated doing stupid things, but she tended to being the one and doing the other because she often acted without thinking things through. Impulsive, she thought with disgust. And she had yet to learn how to curb her insatiable curiosity. It was what had caused her to fall out of the hole in the bathroom into Hunter’s very capable arms in the first place, and it was what had caused her to defrost her refrigerator in the middle of the night because she couldn’t sleep and didn’t feel like reading.
But as much as she hated her own faults, she hated having them pointed out to her even more. “Maybe you should think twice about moving in downstairs. I could be dangerous to your health.”
“No doubt. But you’re not that lucky.”
“You’re taking your chances,” she said a little desperately. “I could set the place on fire next.”
He ignored her. Silently, he headed to her bedroom door, his body gliding smoothly, easily. Apparently, the man did indeed own a pair of jeans, and they were something. Snug and faded, they fit him like a glove, hugging his lean hips, his powerful thighs, those long legs. So did the T-shirt he wore, the one that revealed the sculpted arms that swung with elegant confidence as he walked.
Not fair, she thought to herself, not fair that a man as annoying as he was could have been given such innate grace, such fluidity of movement.
Where the hell was her stuffy scientist?
More sleep was what she needed, she decided as her body tingled with a yearning she didn’t want. Lots more sleep.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
She cleared her throat, aware that she’d been staring at him walk away, her mouth
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