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Well, perhaps troll-like was exaggerating a little.
But that’s what it felt like sometimes.
Especially right now.
I was nauseous as hell. My hair was in a knotted ponytail on the top of my head. My eyes had deep bags under them.
And he was everything I was not.
“Ummm,” I said. “I don’t…”
See, here’s the problem. I didn’t really know how to say ‘no.’
Never had.
Which was why I ended up selling my house when my every intention had been to say ‘no.’
However, the money had spoken to me, and here I was.
Which was why I said, “Sure.”
He grinned and backed up, allowing me to step into the hallway.
I turned and locked the doors with my keys before dropping them into the top of my bag and zipping it up.
“Where’s the house you’re working from?” he asked.
I blinked.
“I told you about my house?” I asked in confusion.
I didn’t tell anybody that I worked in a house. In fact, I know I didn’t tell him.
I was already somewhat nervous around him. There was no way I would’ve told him where I worked.
“Last night,” he said swiftly. “You were talking about it when you came up the stairs.”
My mouth dropped open slightly in relief. I had been talking about the house when I’d rounded the stairs.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “It’s on the South Side.”
He blinked.
“Why’d you want to have a studio over there?” he asked curiously, offering me his hand when he started going down the stairs.
I ignored it, and instead grabbed the rickety banister that ran the length of the stairs.
Mainly because I wasn’t sure if I grabbed a hold of his hand if I’d be able to let it go.
There was something about this man that affected me, and I didn’t even know him.
I’d seen him a total of two times, and the first time had been under less than ideal circumstances.
Speaking of which.
“So, how did last night go?” I asked softly. “I tried to come back and see what was going on, but the cop told me to stay inside my apartment until they could clear the crime scene. I fell asleep about an hour later with all of them still stomping around in the hall.”
“They found the man who did it in the apartment across the hall from yours. He was trying to burn his clothes in the kitchen sink,” the man mumbled. “Apparently, he did it because she scorned him. I didn’t get much before I was told to leave, too.”
“What’s your name?” I asked suddenly, stopping next to my old truck.
His eyes seemed to be alight with some inner fire.
“Ian. Liam Ian McHugh.”
I blinked.
That was a powerful name.
“That’s a cool name,” I said demurely, turning my back on him to open my truck’s door.
He crowded me close, and my heart started hammering.
Not because I was afraid, though, but because of his nearness.
I wanted to lean into his body about as badly as I wanted to take my next breath. Press my breasts against his solid chest.
Did I, though?
No. I managed to just barely bring my heart under control and turned my back on him, sliding into the seat of my Dually.
I was about to give Liam directions when he pushed me over, sliding my body across the seat as he moved into the driver’s seat, and my ass was planted in the passenger seat for the first time in my life.
“Wait!” I said. “You can’t drive my truck!”
“Why not?” he asked, taking the keys from me and finding the right one before starting it up.
“Because I don’t have you on my insurance,” I mumbled. “And I don’t know you!”
His hand went up to his neck as he ran his fingers underneath the scarf he was wearing.
“Yet,” he murmured. “You don’t know me, yet.”
I didn’t bother replying.
“Where to?” he asked.
I bit my lip.
He sighed and reached for the GPS, tapping a few buttons before he made a triumphant sound and backed out of the parking spot.
“Never mind,” he said, putting it into drive and pulling out into traffic. “I found it without your help.”
I cursed myself.
I should know better than to leave that kind of information in the GPS. But I relied on it way too much. I was one of those directionally challenged people who rarely, if ever, was able to find her way from point A to point B without getting lost.
“Ian,” I said. “I don’t really know you that well. I think we should maybe start with dinner later, and go from there.”
The words that left my mouth were the right ones, but what I was feeling on the inside was anything but.
“Breakfast,” Ian said, mostly ignoring me and what I had to say.
“What?” I asked in confusion.
“You said dinner. And we’re having breakfast,” he answered distractedly. “Your truck needs to be aligned.”
I blinked.
“No it doesn’t. I just took it in to get aligned and had the tires rotated,” I said smartly.
