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“Why are you here, Bella?” I demand softly.

“Because I knew you’d get dressed to go to the memorial but never leave your apartment.”

I narrow my eyes on her. “And how would you know that?”

“I learned the art of observation from the best,” she says, adding without hesitation, “you. I know you better than you obviously think I do.” She indicates the bag in her hand. “Ice cream. My favorite way to cope with every bad thing life throws my way and often the good things, too. And yes, I can eat a whole pint and I don’t mind if you watch.” She moves forward as if to enter the apartment.

I step left and block her entry, the bag in her hand colliding with my body. Her bright, baby blue eyes go wide, shock registering with a soft whoosh of air from her lips. “This isn’t a good idea,Bella.”

“Ice cream is always a good idea,Tyler.”

She’s one of the only people at the office who dares to call me Tyler, which I blame on her brother. Maybe those lines he drew between us are not that wide after all. “This is not a good idea,” I repeat.

She laughs, a soft, amused laugh, that should surprise me but does not. This is Bella, after all. She knows how to handle big egos, big wallets, and impossible financial negotiations, and rather than a jaded mentality that often comes with experience, she manages a demureness that feels as genuine as the day I met her. “What?” she challenges. “Are you going to bite?”

“Among other things, if you’re not careful,” I assure her. “I am not in the right state of mind for you to play the sweet little girl rescuing me.”

Her lashes lower, dark half circles against her ivory skin, before her eyes are once again fixed on me. “I’m far more complicated than that description and we both know it.”

“Bella—”

“I can handle you, and your grief, Tyler, probably better than you can right now.”

“Like Allison handled me?” I challenge.

“You didn’t kill her.”

“I drove her into the arms of her killer. She worked for me. I had no business touching her.”

“As do I. Which is why we both know you’re safe to let me in.”

“But areyousafe?”

“Yes,” she assures me, and she pushes on the bag that still rests between us as if that little bit of nudging will force me to step aside and allow her entry. It doesn’t, and yet I find myself easing away from the door, allowing her to enter my apartment. She’s inside in a flash, and the familiar, sweet scent of jasmine perfume ignites a burn of desire in my body, a problem she simply doesn’t seem to understand. She buries her troubles in apint of ice cream. I’d rather bury mine in her. I shut the door and flip the lock into place.

Chapter Two

Tyler

By the time I’ve turned back around, the only sign of Bella is her purse and the bag of ice cream sitting on the coffee table.

The sound of riffling about draws my attention toward the archway to my right, which is also my kitchen. Apparently, Bella has made herself right at home, when the only time she was here before was the day after my father died and that was with her brother for all of fifteen minutes.

I follow the sweet scent of her perfume and step into the doorway, bringing her into view as she shuts the silverware drawer. Clearly aware of my presence, she rotates to face me, holding up two spoons. Already I’m thinking of her on the counter, her skirt to her waist, and my cock buried inside her.

Which really does make me my father’s son, and I don’t like it any more than Bella would me if she knew where my head was at right now.

I catch my hands on the curved archway on either side of me and will my blood to cool.

“Bingo,” she announces, waving the spoons around. “I found what I was looking for. You’re very organized, which doesn’t surprise me. You’re ridiculously anal. This kind of perfection would drive me crazy. I need a little disorder to feel at home. Good thing I just work for you.” She walks toward me and stops in front of me. “Please tell me you don’t have a problem eating right out of the pint, because somehow that feels like something someonethisanal would not do.”

“I’m not anal. I hire a housekeeper who is.”

“Of course, you do,” she replies, a smirk on her pretty lips before she ducks under my arm.

I fight the urge to reach for her and pull her to me, and that one-second beat that I lose to that internal battle is enough to allow her to escape. In her absence I am left with her words,of course, you do. I’m not sure if that is her way of saying the maid explains nothing, or perhaps, a jab at me for not cleaning my own house. It shouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t with anyone else.

I amnotin the right state of mind for her to be here right now.

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