“Why are you so certain they’ll come?” His head tilted as he studied her. “You don’t think Sheriff Tooni will find the guy? You don’t think I will track the bastard?”
“Can we, uh, have this conversation when I’m fully dressed?” Then she blinked. “I don’t have clothes.” Oh, crap. “All of my clothes are at the inn.” She rattled off the name. A swanky inn on the edge of a small lake. The only place that had been available. The last time she’d left the inn, Sloane had been certain she’d return within a few hours, so she’d left everything behind. Her clothes. Her laptop. Her calendar and planner. Oh, no. “I have to get my gear. I-I wasn’t even thinking about all of that when I agreed to come stay here.”
“I’ll have everything delivered for you in the morning. Until then, you can sleep in the robe. Or you can have one of my shirts to wear. Or you can sleep in the nude. Whatever makes you happy.”
She was not sleeping naked in his house.
Preston crossed his arms over his chest. “How in the hell am I supposed to repay you?”
“Excuse me?” They really needed to get back to the him-not-killing portion of their talk. That was very, very important. A discussion was needed. Because she didn’t want him following in his father’s footsteps. Also… “I don’t need you going to the inn.” Nope, she did not. Because Preston might find things in her room that he should not see. “I’ll just call Lily. Lily can pick up everything for me and bring the items over in the morning.” Wait, she didn’t have a phone. Sloane had no idea what had happened to her phone. Had the perp taken it? It had been in her car when she’d pulled up at Preston’s before the attack. She’d passed the car when they arrived back at his house earlier, but they hadn’t stopped. She needed to see her car and find out?—
“I’ll make sure your stuff is retrieved. No sense calling your friend at 3 a.m.”
Was it seriously 3 a.m.? That might explain why her eyelids hurt. Or it could just be all the dirt that had gotten in them. Whatever.
“You should sleep.” Gruff.
Yes. Probably. Hitting the bed was an option. But… “Adrenaline,” she whispered again.
His eyes narrowed. The man had some seriously dark, thick lashes. And that bold emerald gaze kept unsettling her. So focused. Sharp.
“Adrenaline is still spiking in me,” she explained quickly. “Making my hands feel shaky. Making my muscles tight. Making me want to grab you and kiss you. Making me want you probably far more than is normal. Lust this strong can’t be normal, am I right?”
A blink. That was his response. A slow blink.
“Adrenaline,” she said again. “I’m sure that, ah, if we’d met under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be thinking about ripping your shirt off right now.” Wait. Wait. Had she just said those words? Out loud? Dear God, why?
His hands fell to his sides. He took a step toward her.
Yes, she had said them out loud. She’d always had a problem oversharing when she was stressed, and it had been one very, very stressful night. “Primal response.” Oh, but she could get primal with him.
Stop it, Sloane.
A shake of her head, hard. “Fight or flight. It’s from the brain’s amygdala.”
He took another step forward. Okay, now they were nearly touching once again.
“The adrenal glands basically shove as much adrenaline into your bloodstream as possible.” She sure had plenty of it pumping through her. “Your body gets all ready for a life-or-death fight or it gets ready to run like hell. Your heart races. Your blood pressure jumps. Your brain zips into this big, completely survival-focused state.”
“I know about adrenaline.”
Sure, right. “It’s just that…most people don’t get just how closely tied together adrenaline and an individual’s sex drive really are. The whole racing heart and surging blood flow situation? They spike arousal. They lead you to be more attracted to the person with you. Studies have even been conducted to show that if you go see a scary movie with a potential partner—just seeing that scary movie, being there, in the dark, with your racing heart and your fear and your adrenaline surging—it will make you feel more attracted to the person with you than you normally would be.” She licked her lips. “I’ve told my students before that’s a first date manipulation hack.”
His gaze had locked on her mouth. “Your students?”
“I…teach some college classes.”
“Subject?”
“Psychology.”
His stare rose to pin hers.
“I have a PhD in psychology. With a focus on abnormal behavior.” Okay, technically, her PhD was in psychopathology and experimental psychology but really, hadn’t she already said enough? She was basically right on the edge of telling him…
Serial killers are my primary focus. Serial killers like…
Your dad. Her lips pressed together.
