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Instead, he frowned and strained to figure out what the noise was that he could barely make out.
Then it hit him.
A smoke alarm was going off in the unit next to his.
Sarah’s apartment.
CHAPTER FOUR
HOW COULD AN intelligent woman who could save lives not cook a simple piece of toast without burning it?
Okay, Sarah didn’t usually burn her food, but this wasn’t the first time. But she didn’t recall ever doing so to the point that her alarm went crazy.
How did she get the thing to go off?
Pulling the plug on the toaster oven, she closed the door, rushed to where the alarm blared over the doorway. The baggy sleeve of her way oversized sweatshirt flopped as she fanned a dishtowel back and forth, hoping it would clear the smoke and shut the thing up.
“Stop that,” she ordered the shrill bell, dancing around beneath it as she waved the towel with gusto and thought about how much she detested cooking. Almost as much as she detested this horrible alarm. “Stop. Stop. Stop.”
Was she going to have to call Maintenance? Or maybe they just automatically showed up when one of the apartment’s smoke alarms went off?
A loud knock pounded at her apartment door.
Well, that answered that. Maintenance had just shown up.
Which was a good thing since her fanning wasn’t working.
Only when, flustered, she flung her front door open, Maintenance wasn’t who stood there.
The man she’d been thinking about not thinking about stood there, wearing jeans, a plain white V-necked T-shirt, and nothing on his feet.
Good grief. He’d metamorphosed back into a sexy beast.
Not that he hadn’t been sexy at the hospital.
Clearly, he had, because he’d twitterpated her to the point of burning her toast and filling her kitchen with smoke.
His blue gaze raked over her, obviously satisfying any doubts as to whether or not she was okay, and then he grinned. “Miss me?”
Pretending all was fine, that there wasn’t a loud shrill screaming behind her, she wrinkled her nose at him, wishing she had on her glasses to shield herself from his probing gaze. “No.”
Why on earth would he think she had? Before that morning, they’d never even made eye contact, much less spoken to each other.
His eyes danced with humor. “You sure about that?”
Wishing the stupid ear-piercing alarm would go silent so it would quit rattling her brain, she lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes, thinking it very unfair that a man had his stunning eyes and long lashes. “Positive. Go away.”
He laughed. “That’s not the sound of your smoke alarm beckoning your friendly neighborhood firefighter your way?”
Oh. That’s what he’d meant?
“No.” If she looked sure enough, haughty enough, despite the obvious alarm blasting in the background, he’d take the hint and leave, right?
Nope.
Looking way too comfortable in his perfectly fitting jeans and just right chest-hugging T-shirt, he arched a thick masculine brow.
“Yes,” she corrected, because, really, it wasn’t as if he didn’t recognize that annoying sound. Pretending otherwise just made her look foolish. “It is my smoke alarm, but it’s not supposed to beckon you. Go home.”
