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“I’ve never been up here.” Her stride slowed and she turned around, flashing those sparkling blue eyes his way. The shine dimmed slightly. “Did you have a party up here?”
“No,” he said, closing the door behind him while thinking more about being alone with her than the apartment. “Someone broke into the place between the time when my mother and Galen left and I arrived.” He wanted to bite off his tongue.
“Broke in? Goodness.” She started across the room, to the wall between two windows that overlooked the parking lot. “What did they take?”
Concerned she might see Ty pulling in to the parking lot, Forrest followed. “They damaged more than they took. The bathroom’s this way. That’s where the bandages are.”
She stopped before reaching the windows, but didn’t follow him to the bathroom, the only door that hadn’t been destroyed. Standing in the center of the room, with the colorful but worn Persian carpet beneath her feet, she asked, “What were they looking for?”
Forrest stomach dropped. Trust her to pick up on that immediately. Playing ignorant, he asked, “Looking for?”
Frowning while glancing around, she nodded.
Forrest wished he knew. It must have been something to do with printing money, or the printed money itself. He had yet to figure that out. He glanced around the large area that made up the all-in-one kitchen, dining and living room. Everything from the kitchen cupboards behind her had been tossed about helter-skelter and paintings had been torn down off the walls. He’d cleaned it all up and resurrected what could be saved. “Anything worth money, I suspect,” he said, hoping she’d believe that.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
He sighed, but then an eerie quiver coiled around his spine. “Why do you say that?”
“Because this rug I’m standing on, although it needs a good cleaning, is worth a goodly sum,” she said. “So are those two vases on the mantel.”
Leave it to Twyla to pinpoint the few things in the room that were original and worth money at one time. His grandfather had left several valuable items when he’d died, but they’d long ago been sold. Forrest stepped forward and held out one hand, which she readily took hold of. “The rug is heavy and bulky to carry, and the vases are cracked.”
The warmth of her fingers against his skin ran up his arm and down his legs. The gleam was back in her blue eyes and challenging him in a secret and exciting way. She’d mastered that teasing glimmer years ago, and he had no doubt she’d used it on plenty of men since then.
“What about that ashtray on the table?”
His mind was not on the ashtray—he was too captivated by how perfectly her lips moved when she spoke. How delicate the fine line surrounding them was, and remembering how sweet they’d tasted.
“What about it?” he asked, before he completely lost his mind and kissed her again.
“It’s jade, and I’d guess it’s also rather priceless.” Lifting one eyebrow, she added, “And not heavy or cracked.”
She licked her lips and nibbled slightly on the bottom one, knowing full well what she was doing. Forrest would have liked to say it wasn’t affecting him, but that was a lie. He was about to crack.
Stepping forward, Twyla used her free hand to tug at his collar. A fingertip slipped down to tap on one of the buttons of his shirt. “I could help you look for other valuables,” she whispered.
There was no question what she was doing. Forrest, however, was questioning how many men she’d practiced her wiles on. “Girls who play with fire can get burned, Twyla. You know that.”
“How could I?” she asked, saying far more with her eyes than her lips. “You never let me play with fire. Whenever we lit anything, even a candle, you were the only one to strike a match.”
She was driving him crazy. He’d never wanted to kiss a pair of lips so badly. “I don’t believe we’re referring to the same type of fire,” he said, close to her mouth, giving her back a bit of what she was dishing out.
She didn’t back away. “I think we are.”
Forrest drew in air, searching for a response that didn’t include kissing, but failed. The moment her lips met his, he lost all comprehension. He’d kissed plenty of women over the years, dated some for months to get to know them. At least that’s what he’d believed he’d been doing, whereas, in reality, he’d been comparing them all to her. To the way she’d made him feel way back when they’d been kids running barefoot through the grass and jumping off the rope swing hanging over the water.
