Page 27 of Into the Fire: Before

Caine gave me a long blink, then another. “What?”

My eyelids fluttered as I rolled my eyes. “Never mind. I just mean I want to open the window, and it won’t open, and that seems like something a landlord is supposed to attend to.” A beat of silence. “So…if you could attend, that would be great.”

A low growl rumbled from the back of Caine’s throat just before he brushed past me and crossed to the other door on the landing. Moments later, he emerged with a toolbox, not waiting for me as he descended the stairs. He paused momentarily as he entered my apartment.

“Which?” he asked with curt nod toward the wall of windows.

I crossed my arms. “All.”

He scoffed. “Come on.”

“All.” Hell, I’d only wanted to open one, just wanted a bit of a breeze. But if he wanted to be a dick about it, then he could spend all afternoon fixing my unopenable windows for all I cared. So as Caine silently, sullenly, set to work on the first of the five windows, I stood at the end of the bed, watching, idly folding.

Within an hour, my clothes were folded—not the perfectly even folds Brea always produced, but certainly neater than the lumps they’d been—and I set about loading them into drawers. As I moved to scoot past Caine toward the dresser, he stiffened, swallowing hard and turning his face away from me.

Blood rushed to my cheeks in anger this time, not embarrassment. I'd tried to give him the benefit of the doubt about our first meeting, especially after Lin and Brooks vouched for him.Theywere awesome—how bad could Caine be if they were pack? Yet everything about every interaction we’d had thus far made that harder and harder to do.

I shoved my clothes into the drawer and slammed it closed. Hard enough, apparently, for Caine to actually look my way and note my anger for the first time. He clenched his jaw. “I’m doing the damn things, all right?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

I moved past him, holding my breath to avoid his stupid delectable citrusy scent as I fixed myself another glass of water. I leaned my hip against the counter, watching as Caine finally slid the first window up and open. He maneuvered it up and down a few times, sanding a spot to make it move silently, before moving to the second. He paused before starting it, turning to glance at me again, as though hoping I’d let him off the hook.

Fat chance, dick.

“All, please.”

Caine rolled his eyes, turning back toward the window and getting to work. And something about the tense set of hisshoulders and acidic edge to his scent—annoyed, impatient—broke through the wispy tendrils of my restraint. If he was going to be annoyed regardless, then he could feel the full power of how irritating I could be.

Twenty minutes later, I had three notebook pages scrawled in notes. I stood up from the counter, walking around the peninsula and calling out to him, “Pick a number.”

“What?” he replied without turning around.

“Pick. A. Number.”

“Why?”

“C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

“What will?”

I shrugged, all coy-like, and meandered closer to where he worked at the window. “Can’t tell ya unless you pick.”

“No.”

I kicked a spot clear on the couch and sat sideways on it, lounging like I didn’t have a care in the world. “Yes.”

A warning rumble from his chest only served to make me giddy.You only think you’re annoyed, Cranky Caine. Just wait.

“Let’s go, CC, we’re burning daylight here.”

“The hell’d you just call me?” he seethed, abandoning the window altogether.

I rolled my lips between my teeth, the look of innocence. “I called you Mr. Arceneaux, Esquire, Sir, yes, sir.” I finished off with a mock salute.

Caine crossed his arms, stormy visage unmoving. “Lie again, and I nail the windows shut.Allof them.”

Instead of answering, I settled back further into the cushions and propped the notebook on my bent knees. “Pick a number, Cranky Caine.”

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