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When he could hear her coming down the stairs, he realized he’d forgotten everything he’d planned on saying, and scrambled to remember. Then it was too late, and she was standing there in a nightshirt, wearing floppy socks, and with her hair up in a sloppy bun. Her eyes went wide.
She opened the door, but not all the way. Just enough to talk without seeming too rude. “Atlas, what are you doing here?”
“I came to apologize.”
“I—” She brushed her hair back self-consciously. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” There was a hint of panic in her eyes. She was probably afraid he was going to want to come up.
He advanced, and she backed up, allowing him to enter the building at least. “I’m sorry I was so rude the other day. I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that—especially after what I’d done to you.”
Her eyes darted around and she slapped a hand over his mouth. “Not here.”
“You can either invite me up, or we can discuss it here. Your call.”
She bit her lip. “My place is a mess.”
“I’ll stay in the kitchen. Scout’s honor.”
“The kitchen?” she whispered, smirking. “That’s not usually where we hang out.”
“I’m not here to fuck you,” he whispered back. “I’m here to make you cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes?” Her gaze dropped to the shopping bag in his hand. “Aren’t you a little too macho for cupcakes?”
“If anyone ever tells you they’re too macho for cupcakes, they’re a liar.”
“Hmm . . . And for all your many faults, you’re not a liar.”
The words were like a shot to the guts. It was worse that she honestly seemed to believe it was true.
He tried to think of a witty comeback to end the standoff, but finally she shrugged. “Fine. Kitchen only, and you have to behave.”
“I always behave,” he objected, splaying a hand over his heart as though she’d wounded him.
“Yeah.” She snorted. “Badly.”
“Well I didn’t say I was well behaved.” He turned to follow her up the stairwell and was treated to an intimate view of her bare legs. The nightshirt skimmed midthigh, and he had a damned hard time not touching. It wasn’t the time to be wondering if she was wearing panties, and yet he was wondering exactly that. He also wanted to see whether any of the marks he’d left on her ass had stayed.
She turned and caught him ogling her legs. Her brow arched. “I wouldn’t like you much if you were well behaved anyway,” she said slyly.
“I’m only here to bake cupcakes. I won’t allow you to give me impure thoughts.”
She stopped and opened the door to number five. “You’re already having impure thoughts,” she observed. “I saw them.” They entered the apartment, which conveniently led from the entry hall into the small, spotless kitchen. She scanned around quickly, but relaxed a moment later.
He pretended not to notice. Did she usually leave her gun and badge lying around?
“No, what you saw was concern. Do you always answer the door half naked?”
“This nightshirt is just as long as the dress I wore to the shop the other day.”
“We both know how that turned out.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You made me feel dirty.”
“I know. I meant to make you feel that way at the time, but I never should have let you walk out without making sure you were okay. It was shitty and immature of me, and unfair to you as a submissive.”
She frowned and punched him in the arm hard enough that he knew it would bruise later.
“You made me cry.”
