I tipped Jun’s head back by tugging on his hair. He looked up at me, breathing fast.
Fuck.
I leaned down to kiss him, to have that talented tongue in my mouth, to feel the rasp of his stubble against my own soft skin—
My phone rang obnoxiously from the coffee table, shattering the silence and whispered breaths between us. Jun leaned back against the couch cushion. He let go of my ass and looked up at me, not angry or annoyed, just… like he had all the time and patience in the world.
“Don’t lose that train of thought,” I said as I scrambled off his lap, tugging my T-shirt down and half-tripping into the table. I heard him laugh quietly as I grabbed the phone and swiped to accept the incoming call. “Hello?”
“Mr. Grant?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Joe Hernandez with Island Security.”
“Oh no,” I said with a sigh.
“Afraid so.”
I looked over my shoulder at Jun. “You’ve gotta be kidding,” I muttered. “What sensor went off this time?”
“First floor,” Joe answered. “I know it’s after-hours. I can send a police cruiser by the home, if you’d prefer.”
“No, no,” I said, heaving myself to my feet. “They hate wasting their time doing drive-bys. I’ll go check.”
“Very good. Give us a call back if you need further assistance.”
I said goodbye, hung up, and looked back at Jun. “Will you hate me if I said our fun has to wait?”
He got to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
“The motion sensors at the Smith Home are going off.”
“IT’S REALLYnothing to worry about,” I told Jun for, like, the hundredth time as I unlocked the gate outside the property.
Jun had insisted on coming, maybe because it sounded suspicious or dangerous to him, but the security company and I had been playing this game for a while. I’d had the old detectors uninstalled shortly after accepting the job, because they seemed to always be malfunctioning, and had Island Security take over. Lo and behold, the same thing happened with their equipment. The motion sensors inside went off at random. Sometimes not for months at a time, and other times like once a week. Once, last October, they went off three times in the same night. That had been a real pain.
The police had been called to check the historic property every time, but it was like a running joke on the island. Everyone knew the house was secure. When I became property manager, I took the responsibility of confirming everything was safe, no matter the hour. I’d regretted how much I’d insisted upon the duty once I realized the new gear didn’t function any better than the old.
But hey—life, right? Take it in stride.
The one thing I could really do without were the rumors that spread because of this. One technological oopsie and the Conchs—island locals—waved their finger at me, saying, “See, I told you the place is haunted!”
Itwasn’t. Perhaps it was faulty wiring. Or….
I went up the porch steps, stopped to fish out my house keys, and unlocked the hurricane door. “This happens all the time.”
“This is really a job for the police, Aubrey,” Jun said firmly.
“I know, but things work differently down here.” I stood and glanced up to offer a smile. “Relax.”
He frowned.
I pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the pitch-black house. I turned on the little desk lamp beside the door to illuminate the security panel before punching in my code and silencing the chirping alarm.
I will admit, at night the Smith Home was… different. Duval was only a block away, and even with the bands playing and loud drunks hanging out in the bars, inside the home it was like nothing could penetrate the walls. A little bit creepy—like,itty bitty. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.
“Now what?” Jun asked.
