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He opened his mouth to point out the mess in her room, then closed it. He had no business passing judgement. But it was probably in self-defense, if he was honest with himself. Despite his claim, her smile had packed a punch. He’d needed to throw up some quickie barricades. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”
“Is hair care new to you? Don’t you have any sisters?” The flush on her cheeks told him he’d gotten under her skin.
He backed away a step so she could brush past him. The edge of her cloak touched his bare hand, and for some reason, that contact sent a brief thrill through him. “A half-sister and two foster sisters I’m still in touch with,” he told her. “My half-sister’s in the Navy. I guarantee she doesn’t have a case full of hair products.” Then he thought about it further. “Correction. She might. She gets her hair from the black side of her family. Her hair takes a lot of work. She roped me into braiding it more than once.”
“I like her already.”
He wondered if there was an unspoken “more than you” part of that sentence. “Hair solidarity?”
“Absolutely.” She paused near the door of the suite and tucked her hair under her hood. The crystal beads in her hair caught the light and made her look like an Icelandic princess. She’d dropped the airhead act and weirdly, he kind of missed it. She gave it an ironic edge that amused him.
“Well, are you coming?” she asked impatiently.
“Right away, Blondie.”
That flush returned, two spots of color burning through the pale gold of her skin. “Are you trying to get on my nerves on purpose?”
He took the question seriously and thought it over for a moment as he pulled on his coat. A black wool overcoat, suitable for Boston, but out of place here in Lake Bittersweet.
He noticed her gaze flicking over him as he buttoned it up, but he couldn’t read her expression. Despite her barrage of smiles, she was good at keeping things to herself.
“Possibly,” he finally admitted. “Sorry. I’ll rein it in.”
She huffed out a snort, and pulled open the door. “Don’t rein anything in on my account. We’re only roommates for a few days. I’m sure we can survive it, right?”
“Define survive.”
She laughed. “Good point. We should probably figure out some ground rules for the next week.” In the hallway, the elevator was already waiting. She stepped into it, and he joined her just as the doors closed.
The enclosed space felt very private, almost uncomfortably so. It made him feel enormous next to her, even though she was quite tall, at least five feet ten according to his expert FBI observation skills.
“Ground rules are always helpful. Here’s one. If I’m going to play bodyguard, I need to know if there’s any chance of an actual threat coming your way.”
He’d surprised her. Good, because that had been his goal. He saw the answer in her eyes; yes, there was a chance ofsomething, but probably nothing serious. Then again, civilians weren’t good at estimating things like that. They either overreacted or underreacted. He had no idea which one she was doing.
The elevator whisked them to the ground floor as they stared at each other.
“You’re really good at your job, aren’t you?” she finally said.
“Most of my supervisors think so.”
“Most?”
“Some also think I’m obstinate and difficult.”
“Shocking,” she said dryly.
The door slid open on the ground floor. The two of them stepped out into the pine-scented lobby. A guest sat in one of the upholstered armchairs. His head swiveled toward them, and Granger thought the two of them must make quite a picture. Both tall, both wearing wool coats, both clearly from somewhere else. As if they belonged together, when they most emphatically did not. A hippie-chick model and an FBI agent had nothing in common.
And yet, as if they were completely in sync, they both tugged their hats and hoods over their heads and otherwise prepared themselves for the big step into the outdoors.
He went first. A gust of wind-driven snow blasted them as soon as he shouldered his way out the front door. He held it open while Bliss followed. It felt like a battle between him and a gale, a battle he barely won.
“It feels like a blizzard!” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the howl of the wind.
“It’s just your average winter day in Minnesota, or so they tell me.” He shrugged and moved closer to her, so they could take on the arctic blast together. She didn’t resist when he put his arm around her shoulder, as if he was shielding her from a crowd of paparazzi. They leaned into the wind and headed up Main Street. Overhead, strings of fairy lights danced and swung in wild patterns. He hoped a short circuit wouldn’t take out the town’s power grid. It was still mid-afternoon, but it would be dark soon enough.
She pointed up ahead at a silver Infiniti parked a block away. One moment it was hidden by a swirl of snow, the next it shone through the snowflakes.
