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She blinked.
“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say. “You were locked in safely while I stepped out. Plus, I had eyes on your bedroom door through the security app.”
She sputtered. “You have eyes on my bedroom? Why would I need such a thing?”
He abandoned the ladder and stepped toward her. Waving a hand at the sofa, he said, “Have a seat. It’s time we have a discussion.”
Slowly, she turned toward the sofa. Was it her imagination or did she feel his hot gaze boring into her back? Well, he certainly wasn’t looking at her the same way she’d been looking at him a minute ago. Not in her ratty bathrobe with her hair a mess. She hadn’t even brushed her teeth and wasnotadequately caffeinated for this conversation.
He sat in the adjacent chair and met her stare. “How are you feeling this morning?”
She straightened at his question. She wasn’t expecting to start there. “I’m fine. Headache’s gone. I need to get to the office soon. I’m going to be late, but I don’t have any way to call. I guess I’ll have to shoot Kimmy an email.”
“You’re going to beverylate, Bronte. Now listen to me. What happened yesterday with the driver—that sort of stuff doesn’t happen unless it’s planned. And it was.”
“What does that mean?” She wet her dry lips by sliding her tongue across the bottom one. Jace tracked the action.
“Your usual driver was found unconscious in the garage where the car is housed.”
“Oh my god! Is he all right?”
He nodded. “The driver who died…they still don’t know his identity, but his prints are being run through the police database. So until we know whether this was a direct shot aimed at you or coincidence, I’m staying right here to protect you. Starting with this.”
He pushed out of his seat and landed beside her on the sofa. Seeing his firm, muscled thighs clad in black denim against her baby pink faux leather sofa was totally out of place.
And manly as hell.
He held a phone in his palm. She directed her attention to the screen.
“This is the app that runs your security system.” A callused thumb with a neat, trim nail brushed across the screen. “These are your settings.”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you think I am? I’m a millennial. I know how to operate technology.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Dang. His thigh was almost touching hers. Why hadn’t she realized how close he was sitting? She nervously smoothed the robe over her leg.
Jace opened a setting. “Humor me in setting this up. First, your name.”
“Bronte Burns. No diaeresis on theE.”
“Dia-what now?”
She swallowed a complaint. “The mark placed over a vowel to make it into a separate syllable. Like naïve. Or Brontë. Mine doesn’t have the symbol.”
“Okay, is there a reason for that?” He thumbed in the letters of her name.
“My parents are very eccentric. They love all the arts, from music to art and literature. My mother’s favorite poet is Emily Brontë, but they didn’t want to make it harder on me by saddling me with an even more pretentious name. So they left off the diaeresis.”
“Okay…” he drawled. “Bronte with no dot thingies.”
“How very educated of you. I’m glad I wasted my breath explaining.”
She started to expel a noisy sigh of exasperation but stopped.
Why did he smell so good? Shouldn’t he be all sweaty and gross after installing an entire security system in her condo while she slept like the dead?
Awareness washed over her, caused by his close proximity coupled with how rugged he looked in that toolbelt and how he still smelled like the woods.
She had to get a grip. She had real problems in her world, such as the not-so-small issue of her former partner committing corporate espionage and the fact that she’d witnessed a man’s death the previous evening while trying to get Jace to the airport so he couldleave.
