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Authors: Jill Shalvis
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came over to him, sniffing at the can. Without breaking his concentration, Hunter reached out and stroked the cat’s back.
Trisha stared at him, watching carefully for any sign that it was all an act. That he couldn’t possibly be pleased to be on his knees in her kitchen wasting away a Sunday because of her stupid mistake, that he couldn’t possibly enjoy having her cat crawl all over him.
But he wasn’t acting, he was just being . And it confused the hell out of her. Even when he was speaking to her in the low, dry tone that said he was annoyed—she knew he wasn’t really, but just naturally quiet. And the way he looked at her, his eyes all dark and serious and ... hot. It took her breath away.
So why did he keep up the pretense of wanting his distance? He did have a sense of humor, a great one. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, he liked being with her.
And dammit, she wanted him to kiss her again. Setting down her drink, she asked, “What does your family think of your profession?”
“They try not to.”
“Not to what?”
“They try not to think about me or what I do.”
She caught a flash of pain rising up from deep within him, but it disappeared so fast she couldn’t be sure. He was reading again. “I’d think they’d be proud.”
“Think again.”
She wasn’t getting anywhere along that road. “I bet your job makes you seem attractive to a lot of women.”
He kept his gaze on the can of glue, but she could tell by the stiffness of his shoulders, he was no longer trying to read. “Yeah, that’s why I took it.”
She was getting used to this by now, his dry but deliberately provocative answers. But since she herself was the master of defense by sarcasm, he was out of his league. “So I can expect a lot of traffic coming in and out downstairs?”
Now he dropped his head between his shoulders and studied Duff, who had settled on his legs. “Awfully curious about someone you don’t like much, aren’t you?” he asked finally.
“I never said I didn’t like you,” she said cheerfully. But she was going to learn something about this close-mouthed, private man if it killed her. “Why would you move in here when you could probably afford to buy your own place, one that’s already fixed up?”
“Are you going to ask me questions all day long?”
“Probably.”
He sighed. “You haven’t stopped talking since I woke you up this morning.”
“Well, you woke me up.”
“Don’t remind me,” he said.
“Then you gave me caffeine,” she added.
“You’d talk nonstop with or without caffeine.”
True enough, but she resented the observation anyway. “I just want to know more about you.”
Sighing again, he rolled to his feet with ease. “All right, obviously you’re not going to leave me alone until we resolve this. What is it exactly that you want to know?”
Everything. “Why aren’t your parents happy about what you do?”
Again, that flash of emotion in his gaze, the one that made her want to hug him. “My parents wanted me to follow in their footsteps.”
“Which are?”
“They’re creative,” he said carefully. “An actress and an artist.”
The very opposite of him and his technical kind of intelligence. “So they don’t necessarily disapprove, they just don’t understand what you do.”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
It caused him anguish. How well she could sympathize with not being understood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, dazed by this unexpected discovery of common ground. “I would think they’d be very proud of you.”
He took a step toward her; Trisha couldn’t look away. The music rocked softly. Duff, in the background, meowed for dinner. Down below, on the street, a car honked. None of those sounds registered.
The moment spun out as the intimacy between them grew, enveloping them in a private cocoon. Hunter took another step, stopping a breath away.
Trisha tipped her head back, her pulse already ragged. In anticipation, her
Trisha stared at him, watching carefully for any sign that it was all an act. That he couldn’t possibly be pleased to be on his knees in her kitchen wasting away a Sunday because of her stupid mistake, that he couldn’t possibly enjoy having her cat crawl all over him.
But he wasn’t acting, he was just being . And it confused the hell out of her. Even when he was speaking to her in the low, dry tone that said he was annoyed—she knew he wasn’t really, but just naturally quiet. And the way he looked at her, his eyes all dark and serious and ... hot. It took her breath away.
So why did he keep up the pretense of wanting his distance? He did have a sense of humor, a great one. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, he liked being with her.
And dammit, she wanted him to kiss her again. Setting down her drink, she asked, “What does your family think of your profession?”
“They try not to.”
“Not to what?”
“They try not to think about me or what I do.”
She caught a flash of pain rising up from deep within him, but it disappeared so fast she couldn’t be sure. He was reading again. “I’d think they’d be proud.”
“Think again.”
She wasn’t getting anywhere along that road. “I bet your job makes you seem attractive to a lot of women.”
He kept his gaze on the can of glue, but she could tell by the stiffness of his shoulders, he was no longer trying to read. “Yeah, that’s why I took it.”
She was getting used to this by now, his dry but deliberately provocative answers. But since she herself was the master of defense by sarcasm, he was out of his league. “So I can expect a lot of traffic coming in and out downstairs?”
Now he dropped his head between his shoulders and studied Duff, who had settled on his legs. “Awfully curious about someone you don’t like much, aren’t you?” he asked finally.
“I never said I didn’t like you,” she said cheerfully. But she was going to learn something about this close-mouthed, private man if it killed her. “Why would you move in here when you could probably afford to buy your own place, one that’s already fixed up?”
“Are you going to ask me questions all day long?”
“Probably.”
He sighed. “You haven’t stopped talking since I woke you up this morning.”
“Well, you woke me up.”
“Don’t remind me,” he said.
“Then you gave me caffeine,” she added.
“You’d talk nonstop with or without caffeine.”
True enough, but she resented the observation anyway. “I just want to know more about you.”
Sighing again, he rolled to his feet with ease. “All right, obviously you’re not going to leave me alone until we resolve this. What is it exactly that you want to know?”
Everything. “Why aren’t your parents happy about what you do?”
Again, that flash of emotion in his gaze, the one that made her want to hug him. “My parents wanted me to follow in their footsteps.”
“Which are?”
“They’re creative,” he said carefully. “An actress and an artist.”
The very opposite of him and his technical kind of intelligence. “So they don’t necessarily disapprove, they just don’t understand what you do.”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
It caused him anguish. How well she could sympathize with not being understood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, dazed by this unexpected discovery of common ground. “I would think they’d be very proud of you.”
He took a step toward her; Trisha couldn’t look away. The music rocked softly. Duff, in the background, meowed for dinner. Down below, on the street, a car honked. None of those sounds registered.
The moment spun out as the intimacy between them grew, enveloping them in a private cocoon. Hunter took another step, stopping a breath away.
Trisha tipped her head back, her pulse already ragged. In anticipation, her
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