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A muscle jerked in his cheek. “You mean actually for coffee?”
Her blush deepened. “No, I’m propositioning you,” she rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what every girl wants after having
a gun drawn on her? To have a little romp with a random stranger?” She crossed her arms, shivering into the night air. “I meant a coffee. Or a hot chocolate. As a thank you. And to warm you up before you get back into central.”
He laughed at her quick disparagement of his misunderstanding. “Good. Because I have to tell you, I would have found it hard to say no to the other invitation.” He winked. “Coffee sounds great, though.”
The statement confused her, perhaps as he’d meant it to. She covered it with a wobbly smile. “Come on up.”
The door groaned as she pushed it inwards then scooped down to lift a pile of mail – mostly junk – from the carpeted floor. “There are only four flats in the building. It was a really beautiful old house until the war and then the owners sold it off. Mrs Walters, my neighbour, was born right at the end of the war. She’s eighty seven now and has lived in the flat her whole life.”
She pulled a small bunch of keys from her bag and sent him an apologetic look. “Sorry. I babble when I’m …” The keys dropped to her feet and she swore softly under her breath.
“Nervous?” He prompted, picking the keys up and handing them to her, his direct stare looked to hers.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
She was beyond charming. A strange sense of awareness settled heavily in his gut. Alarm bells were screaming at him. It was definitely not the time in his journey to be getting hooked on a woman.
She pushed the door inwards and reached around, flicking a switch. The apartment bloomed to life with a golden glow.
And Ra’if lost just about any hope of not wanting to get to know Melinda better.
“Did I miss something?” He murmured, stepping inside and looking around in dismay.
“Like what?” She frowned, trying to see the apartment as he must.
“Like the signpost to the north pole?” He laughed, a throaty sound she could get addicted to.
“Oh!” Her eyes were enormous as she studied the tree, glistening with decorations, the tinsel that had been strung from one side of the apartment to the other, the hand-carved Christmas villages she’d set up on the mantel above the fireplace and the six foot high inflatable Santa that was standing beside the tree. “I like Christmas.”
A loud noise cracked from upstairs and she winced, hoping Jordan hadn’t been involved in whatever had dropped. She could hear Tara’s voice through the floorboards, a muffled sound of exclamation and then a laugh.
She filled the kettle and flicked it on then reached into the cupboard for two cups. “What would you like to drink?” She lifted a spoon out of the drawer. “I’ve got coffee. Tea. Herbal tea. Hot chocolate. Wine.”
He arched a brow, moving through the apartment, careful not to knock a reindeer cushion that was balanced precariously on the edge of the sofa. “Whatever you’re having.”
“Hot chocolate with two marshmallows?”
He grinned. “Sure.”
She laughed. “Somehow I saw you more as a black coffee kind of guy.”
“Really?” He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Why’s that?”
“Oh, you know.” She pulled one of her matching glass canisters from beside the stove and opened the lid. She spooned chocolate powder into the two mugs then poured some milk into a saucepan and laid it onto the stove. “It’s that imposing, sensible businessman vibe you give off. You’re corporate. I think if I met you in different circumstances I’d be way too intimidated to speak to you. Let alone offer you an eight year old’s choice of beverage in the middle of an apartment that Santa and all the reindeer might as well have spat out.”
He laughed, shaking his head ruefully from side to side. “That almost makes me glad we met as we did.” He remembered the way he’d felt when he’d seen her with that gun angled at her forehead and shook his head. “No. I could never feel anything but revulsion for how we met.” He propped his elbows on the bench, fixing her with his curious gaze. “Are you feeling okay?”
A frown tugged at her lips. “Strangely enough, I am.”
“Good.” He pushed up from the bench, walking to the nearest window. He attempted to lift it, but it was locked.
“If you’re too warm, there’s always a draft near by bedroom.”
He sent her a teasing look. “I’m not too warm. I was just assuring myself that your windows have adequate locks.”
“Oh.” Something like pleasure and surprise spread through her. “You don’t have to do that. I mean, I have all that stuff under control.”
