Page 41 of Under His Skin

“The website is just fine, Waverley.”

“Sure, it’s fine, Reynolds. But why can’t it be better? Maybe we could add a Q and A section where you can answer some of the most basic questions we get every day when someone calls in. It will save you time and your potential customers, who will appreciate your knowledge and willingness to help.”

It wasn’t the worst idea he’d heard. “I’ll think about it,” he said, not ready to fully commit to the idea.

She smiled, pleased. “So why did you leave the police force? I understand you were shot, but you seem pretty healthy now.”

“I probably wouldn’t have. But I also didn’t want to work a desk job for the twelve to sixteen months the doctors were saying it would take me to get approved for release to full duty.”

Waverley seemed to sense his reluctance to talk more about the injury, which was a relief. Instead she moved on and asked him questions about his brothers and Poppy and what it had been like to live with so many siblings until he pulled up to the curb in front of her place.

This was it. The end of their day together. Something that should fill him with relief. Ordinarily, he was a solitary guy who enjoyed a day of peace and quiet with minimal human interaction.

Today had been anything but.

So why was he feeling a pang of regret to see her go?

Hell. They’d spent the entire day together sharing more with each other than he probably had in the entire two years he’d been with Rachel.

“Thanks for today, Reynolds,” she said, her hand on the door. “You definitely went above and beyond what I could have expected. I even had fun.”

“Glad to help.” There. He could keep things short and sweet. He waited until she opened the car door, counting the seconds until he could put some distance between them so he could think clearly again.

“See you tomorrow,” she said and turned, heading up the walkway.

She was just reaching the door of the complex when there was a loud scream followed by shouting and crashing sounds from above her.

“Holy…” he muttered under his breath as he unstrapped his seat belt and jumped out, his instinct for danger on high alert. “Wait, Waverley,” he called and jogged over to her, taking a step to separate her from the entrance.

She looked at him quizzically. “It’s just Mrs. Archuleta and her new boyfriend, Arnie.”

There was another crash and the sound of breaking glass. “That’s not any more reassuring.”

She smiled. “Believe me when I say you do not want to go up there to investigate,” she said, nodding up to the second floor where the shouts were coming from. “I made the mistake of doing that my second night only to learn that the screaming is what some might call…foreplay. So unless you want an eyeful of seventy-two-year-old whip-wielding Doris Archuleta wearing leather pants and little else, then I suggest you let it go.”

He looked at Waverley, then up to the second floor, where the yelling had abated.

“Let me at least walk you to the door. For my own peace of mind.”

She shrugged and slipped past him. She stopped when she reached the bottom of the stairs, taking a moment to lean down and pull off a shoe. She glanced up at him. “You try and walk up three flights of stairs in three-inch heels and tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

He held his hands up. “I didn’t say a thing.”

Nor would he, since she probably didn’t realize that she was giving him a healthy view of the top of her breasts as she leaned forward to slip off the other shoe. Then she gathered the straps in one hand and continued up the stairs.

Now he had another view of something just as appealing and undeniably sexy.

He was so caught up in watching the graceful sway of her hips that he didn’t notice another figure coming down the stairs, muttering unintelligible words under his breath.

“Hello, Frank,” Waverley said brightly and moved to the side to let him pass.

Other than giving them both the side-eye as he passed, Frank didn’t look up or slow his mumbling.

“Nice guy,” Reynolds said as they reached her landing and he was sure the guy was out of range. “Seems totally sane.”

“Who, Frank? I’ve run into him a couple times and he is completely harmless. According to my neighbor Dolores, he just has some odd…foibles. And ultimately he keeps to himself, so who am I to judge?”

At her door, she pulled out a key and twisted it then bumped against the door, but it didn’t seem to give.

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