Page 9 of The Mechanics of Lust

Because although Zach had been through a tough time the previous year, it definitely wasn’t sympathy I felt for the guy. Oh, no. It was something a whole lot less wholesome than that.

Leaving the hall light on, I headed for my bedroom, knowing one thing for sure: Zach Lane wasn’t going to be at his best in the morning, which pretty much guaranteed I’d be in the firing line.

Happy days.

* * *

The first reminder that Zach was in my house and up and about was the thud of a box hitting the hall floor, followed by a grunt of pain and a whispered string of curses.

My eyes sprang open to find weak grey light pouring through the poorly fitted curtains. It striped my bed and crossed the floor leading out into the hall. But the hush of night still hung heavy in the house so I figured it couldn’t be much after daybreak.

I lay still for a moment, wondering if it wouldn’t be less trouble for everyone if I just let Zach sneak out, as he was no doubt planning to do. Then again, where would be the fun in that?

I kicked off the sheets and tiptoed toward the door. The air was thick with residual heat from the day before and the stale odour that houses developed when they hadn’t been lived in for a while. I made a mental note to buy some scented oil and peeked around the doorjamb.

I had to quickly swallow a snort of laughter at the sight of Zach busily restacking my boxed linens while grumbling about the idiot who’d put them there.

Guess that was me.

“Going somewhere?”

He started and the box he was lifting slid from his grip. “Dammit.” He jerked around with some no doubt snarky rebuttal at the ready and then froze as his red-rimmed gaze moved slowly up and down my half-naked body. When he got to my face, his expression hardened. “Jesus, can you not put some clothes on?”

“What do you think these are?” I tugged at my boxers.

“Underwear.” His cheeks flared and his gaze shot away, but not before I’d caught a flare of heat in those eyes. “Please.”

I snorted. “Last time I looked, this was my house, but let me check again.” I peered up and down the hall. “Yep. Still is. But fine.” I slipped back into the bedroom and pulled on a loose singlet before returning to the hallway. “Better?”

“Marginally.” He righted the fallen box and set it by the wall, and then like he realised he couldn’t avoid it, he added, “Thanks... for the bed last night.”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to smile. I’d been right about his pissy morning mood. Didn’t make him any less cute, standing there with his rumpled clothes, bedhead, and sour face.

I made my way to his bedroom and peeked inside. “Any clean-up required?”

He flushed red again. “No. It’s... I was... No, it’s fine. Clean.”

I studied his dullish eyes and pained expression. “How’s the head?”

He winced and waggled his hand between us. “I could do without the marching band currently in residence, but it’s getting there. Thanks again... for the ibuprofen.” His flush deepened. “Just so you know, I don’t make a habit of drinking like...” He trailed off, clearly deciding he didn’t owe me an explanation.

Which he didn’t.

“Glad they helped. And don’t worry about the boxes.” I walked past him down the hall and toward the kitchen. “They only have linens and other unbreakables. Come on, I’ll rustle us up some breakfast.”

“Oh... no...” Footsteps followed me up the hall. “I need to get back to the station.”

I took a left into the tastefully refurbished kitchen—with its clean modern lines and up-to-date appliances—switched on the coffee maker, and headed for the fridge. “I thought Holden gave everyone the morning off.” I shot Zach a sideways glance, amused to see bright spots of pink flame on those lightly freckled cheeks.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got dogs to train,” he answered too quickly.

I stared out the window over the sink and counted to five. “Look, Zach. If you don’t want a coffee, I’m not going to hold you hostage and pour it down your throat. I just thought since I was already making one...” I trailed off, feeling his gaze hot on my back as I reached for the coffee pods and two mugs and put them on the countertop.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” he grumbled.

“Who says I’m nice?” I kept my smile hidden. “Pretty sure that wouldn’t be you.”

Zach huffed and dragged a barstool along the floor. “Fine, I’ll have a coffee then. Black. No sugar... please.”

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