I pulledinto the parking spot in front of my building with a sigh and cut the engine. In my rearview mirror, I watched Garrett’s black SUV park in one of the visitors’ spaces across the one-way road that looped the building complex. The way he unfolded from the vehicle made my brain stutter. Even from this distance, he radiated a raw, unmistakable power that was both terrifying and ridiculously sexy.
But he’d been so angry at Tristan’s this morning, which was also a little terrifying and not at all sexy. Why did he care so much if I called him or someone else? We’d only just met. Calling him would have been too... intimate? Too presumptuous? I barely knew the man, and he was acting as if he were personally responsible for my safety.
Izzy had given me hugs. Lots of them. Tristan had even given me a couple. But Galahad? Garrett? He was clearly not the hugging type, which had been the kind of safety I’d needed.
I got out of my car and pointed to my balcony, the first one on the left, on the second floor. “That one’s mine.”
He was beside me in an instant, pulling my arm down. “Never do that.”
“Do what?” Obviously I wasn’t supposed to tell him where my apartment was, but why not?
He absorbed the building, the parking lot, and the trees separating the apartments from the houses in the neighborhood. “Do you live alone?”
“Yeah.”
He pulled the outer door open, following close behind me. “Pets?”
“No.” I moved through the vestibule, keenly aware of him inspecting everything—the camera in the corner, the mailboxes, the interior door I opened with a swipe from my keycard.
The foyer opened up before us, two stories high, with the staircase on the right. I headed for the stairs, my mind racing ahead to the state of my apartment. I’d left in such a hurry yesterday morning, it was definitely a disaster. This was not going to be a positive first impression. Well, third impression? The first impression at the café was fairly good, the second impression at Tristan’s wasn’t so much, but this one? What would he think of me after seeing my home?Does that matter?
“Do you have an alarm?”
“No. There’s security on the building doors.” I waved vaguely behind me toward the main doors and hung a right at the top of the stairs, then dug in my purse for my keys.
“What about your balcony door? The one you just pointed out to me, for all the world to see?”
I couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped, more nerves than humor. “You served with Tristan, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” His hand covered mine as I inserted the key, so big and warm, causing me to tense. “Let me go in first.”
I snapped my hand back, despite—or because of—the clench in my belly at his touch. “There’s no one in there.”
Even as I said it, memories from yesterday invaded my thoughts. Of the stranger pounding on the glass and himknowing about my trip. Of the tears I couldn’t stop when I arrived at Izzy’s. Of the wild dreams I’d had of my grandmother, the Russian man, and rivers of gold.
Before I could protest further, Garrett eased the door open, his body language shifting subtly. One second he was simply an overly serious, hunky guy; the next, he was clearly a trained assaulter.
He put out one arm, silently instructing me to stay put. With his other hand, he reached toward his hip, lifting his shirt slightly to pull a gun from a holster at his waistband.
My breath caught. Agun?What had he and Tristan talked about this morning? Did they genuinely think someone might be inside my apartment?
“Stay here,” he whispered.
“What?” My voice pitched higher than I’d intended. “Why?”
He motioned for me to be quiet and crept through the entryway with silent, precise steps, sweeping the gun down the wall, then around the corner. This man knew what he was doing, and the confidence in his movements was mesmerizing.
But completely uncalled for. There was no way someone had been here. Neither of the strangers from yesterday was hiding inside.
Surely?
“Garrett?” I said from the doorway, unable to keep the shake from my voice. “Is everything okay?”
Without facing me, he said, “This place is a disaster.”
“What?” I took an unsteady step forward, glancing into my open kitchen and to where he stood in the small dining area.
He gestured toward some clothes scattered on the floor, then at a dozen or so paperbacks, strewn about the room. “Is this what it normally looks like?”
