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I don’t even look. I can’t turn away from him.
“Ainsley, you need to know this.”
Shaking my head, I turn to the panel. My hand is still against his and it should feel weird, but it feels too good being in his hold.
“You see?” he asks.
I really do not see what’s going on here, but the alarm makes sense.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my eyes falling to his lips. What would they feel like against mine?
Abruptly, he steps back and drops my hand. “Arm it while I’m out.”
I turn as he leaves my house as if it’s on fire. Gasping, I take a step back and wonder what the hell happened.
He slams the house door harder than I slammed his car’s.
Mind. Fuck.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
In a daze, I go to the kitchen to make us a coffee… assuming he’s coming back. My belly is full of burrito, churros, and nerves. It shouldn’t take him long to grab some things, and I have no idea what version of him is going to walk back through my door.
He moves from angry to friendly to flirty in a heartbeat.
When you get angry like that, I really want to bend you over the table and fuck you hard.
I mean,damn. I might pick another fight.
I’ve always found him attractive, but he was so awful that it never went beyond finding his face pretty. I certainly never wanted to get naked with him before now, but that one hit mehard.
I want a stronger drink again, but I need a clear head around him. If he’s staying here the night, I can’t be drunk. Who knows what I’d end up doing. Maybe that’s the plan: turn me on and turn me down. It would be the perfect payback.
Ugh.
Why couldn’t he just point to the icon on the alarm? There was no need to touch me at all.
I still feel the ghost of his skin on my palm. Whatever is happening between us could literally go any way at this point, and I’m tied up in knots over it. I’m a big fan of control but I have little of that around him.
The kettle shakes as it boils, and I understand exactly how it feels.
I make two coffees, breathing in through my nose for four and out through my mouth for eight. It takes the edge off the queasiness in my stomach.
Casper knocks at the same time as I chuck the teaspoon in the sink.
“Open the door!” he shouts, knocking again after giving me all of two seconds to get there.
Impatient arsehole.
I storm through the house, turn the lock, and open the door.
“Where’s the fire?” I snap.
He pushes past me with a leather holdall slung over his shoulder.
“You woke me up in the early hours saying there’s someone in the house. If you don’t answer within ten seconds, I’m bashing the door in,” he says, dropping the bag to the floor.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit OTT?”
