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I would have likedto confront him right then and there, but I was feeling a little vulnerable without any pants.
Instead, I drove back home, got a few fitful hours of sleep, pulled on jeans and a clean shirt, then sped back to pound on his door.
Dane answers, looking rumpled and extremely annoyed.
“You’re twelve hours early.” He runs a hand through his thick, streaky hair, which only makes it spring up more. He’s wearing the same robe, no shirt, loose trousers, bare feet. I smell the warm, spicy scent of his sleeping and can’t help imagining what it would be like to climb under his sheets.
Somehow he’s even better looking fresh out of bed. It might be because he looks a little more human with his hair wild and his face slightly flushed. His skin looks softer, but his stomach is harder before he’s had anything to eat.
He’s beautiful in a terrifying way, like a glacier or a sword, those golden eyes cruel as a bird of prey. It’s all extremely distracting, and if that makes me shallow, then yes, I must be. Because it’s hard to make a sentence, and not only from the three hours’ sleep…
I blurt, “Were you in my house last night?”
Dane gives me a long look I can’t read. “Did you see me in your house?”
“That’s a weird way to answer that question…”
“Not as weird as you pounding on my door at seven o’clock in the morning. Which is a terrible way to ingratiate yourself with me, in case you were wondering.”
“I’m not sure I’m trying to ingratiate myself.” I squint at him. “Kind of depends on if you broke in.”
“Why would I do that? I’ve got my own house right here.”
He isn’t smiling, but something in his tone makes me think that was his version of a joke. It’s certainly a reminder that the house behind him is massive, beautiful, and in excellent shape, while mine is a hunk of junk. Even a ghost would have better taste than to haunt me while this is an option.
“I heard someone downstairs,” I say rather lamely. “Playing the piano.”
“What song?”
That trips me up again. He’s so…infuriating.
“They weren’t playingMy Heart Will Go On,”I snap. “It was a couple of notes.”
“Maybe a mouse ran across the keys.” Dane looks bored and like he’d prefer to head back into the house for coffee or more sleep. From the shadows under his eyes, I’d guess it’s the latter.
“It wasn’t a mouse,” I say, though I’m not quite so certain anymore. In the garish light of morning, the idea of someone breaking into my house to play the piano sounds about as stupid as ghosts.
“It also wasn’t me.” Dane yawns and doesn’t bother to cover it up.
“Why were you awake then?”
His eyes sharpen and the yawn disappears. “How do you know I was awake?”
“I drove over here. I saw your light.”
His mouth quirks slightly. “Now who’s stalking whom?”
He leans against the doorframe, which makes his robe fall open and exposes more of his long, lean body. He has the kind of muscle definition I’ve only seen in magazines, not on an actual human person two feet away. It’s a lot more intense in 3D. 4D, actually—every time he moves, I get a draft of his warm bed scent and my face flushes hotter.
“I wasn’tstalking.”I’m staring at his bare feet, which are actually really nice for a man’s feet—clean and smooth like the rest of him. I force myself to look at his face instead, which is especially intimidating when he’s leaning so close. “I thought maybe Ernie gave you a key.”
“Do you give your doctor a key to your house?”
His calmness makes me feel idiotic. How does this guy manage to maintain the upper hand when I’ve never seen him out of pajamas?
“I thought you might have been friends.”
