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He laughed and glanced in her fridge. “Cottage cheese and fruit or yogurt.” He closed the door. “Definitely think we should go to the barbecue.”
“Fine.” She didn’t give him a chance to say anything as she stalked into the bedroom and started to close the door.
“No!” she cried. The next thing she knew Landry was at her side, his weapon in hand.
“Wait.” Landry reached for her but she dodged his outstretched hand and rushed to her box of supplies.
“Oh, no,” she said again as she dropped to her knees and began going through the box of supplies.
“What is it?” Landry asked after he quickly searched the bedroom and bathroom.
“Someone’s gone through my things, only this time at least they didn’t take my painting.”
“Someone took a painting?” He sounded panicked.
From the floor, she looked up at him and mugged a face. “Not the painting you’re interested in. This was one I did yesterday.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you take it?”
“No, why would I?” He looked insulted.
“Maybe it was Alma then. I smelled gardenias.”
“Gardenias,” he repeated, looking lost.
Nothing appeared to be missing this time, but someone had definitely gone through her stuff and she had to wonder who else had a key to her apartment. She felt violated, which seemed crazy since she was already running for her life and now living with a possible killer. What could be worse than that? Having someone paw through her private things.
“What was the painting?” Landry asked, hunching down on the floor next to her. He seemed concerned by how upset she was. Or maybe he was just worried that the same thief had his painting.
“It was—” she hesitated, remembering the painting “—of the murder in front of the gallery.”
He winced. “Of me?”
She nodded, and he swore softly.
“Great,” he said.
She glanced toward the painting on the easel, wondering why whoever had taken the other painting hadn’t taken this one.
He shoved to his feet with a sigh. “Show me all of the paintings you have.”
She looked up at him. “I told you the one you want isn’t here.”
“Or I can look myself,” he said, his jaw muscle tightening.
She stood, copying his sigh. She crossed her arms. Her clothing had finally dried out some but she still felt half-naked around him. She couldn’t help but think of the kiss, of what it felt like being in his arms, or the look on his face when she’d rushed from those arms and fooled him, she thought with a smile.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Go ahead. I know you aren’t going to be happy until you’ve convinced yourself the painting you’re looking for isn’t here, so do it. Why don’t you start with the bathroom? Then I’d like to bathe and change into some other clothes.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with what you have on.” His gaze swept over her.
She looked down, not surprised to see that her nipples were hard in response to his look and now pressed against the thin material of her bra and shirt. She cursed her body for betraying her around him.
“I think I can dispense with searching the bathroom for a painting,” he said, smiling smugly at her
. He probably thought she enjoyed the kiss. Well, he was wrong. She was just playing along, letting him think he had her under his spell. No matter what her body thought, she was too smart to fall for anything Landry Jones was offering. But it did still annoy her the way he’d reacted when he thought she was a virgin.
She took some clothing from the chest of drawers—a pair of cropped pants, a shirt and some of the under-garments her mother had purchased for her back in South Dakota. She didn’t feel safe in the skimpy underthings she’d bought since being in Florida.
