Page 44 of Ruthless Creatures
“You said you’d put it on the market within a few weeks after you left.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
His voice drops. “You happened.”
Surely my gulp must be audible. I will my hands to stop shaking, but they ignore me.
He says, “You never called.”
“My roof never leaked.”
The ghost of a smile lifts the corners of his lips. It vanishes when he says, “What happened with Deputy Dipshit?”
“We haven’t talked since that day you nearly ripped off his head.” I pause. “Did I ever thank you for that?”
“No thanks were necessary. It’s a man’s job to protect—”
He cuts off abruptly and mutters, “Fuck.” Then he looks away and says gruffly, “I should go.”
He’s uncomfortable. I’ve never seen him uncomfortable.
It’s oddly appealing.
I say softly, “You can’t just show up out of the blue and leave ten seconds later. At least stay for a cookie.”
His gaze slides back to mine, and now it’s heated. “I don’t want to keep you.”
He says it like that’s exactly what he wants to do: keep me.
If my face gets any redder, he’ll think I’ve burst a vessel.
Then he backtracks. “You’re baking cookies?”
“Yes. Well, they’re probably hockey pucks by now because my oven’s a piece of junk, but I’ve got another batch ready to go.”
“Youbake?”
A prick of irritation makes me frown at him. “Why is that so surprising? Do I look like I’m incapable of operating a kitchen appliance?”
“I’ve never met a beautiful woman who bakes.”
I find that even more irritating. Because one, I don’t like backhanded compliments, two, skill with baking has absolutely nothing to do with a woman’s looks, and three, he makes it sound like beautiful women are draped all over him wherever he goes.
Which they probably are, but still. I don’t like the idea.
I say tartly, “And I’ve never met an eight-foot-tall debt collector who launders money through real estate and flies a plane into a closed airport during a snowstorm, so we’re even.”
He grins. It’s breathtaking. He says, “Six foot six. Are you the jealous type?”
I think about it. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a man do something to make me jealous. Are you the type who enjoys making your girlfriends crazy by flirting with other women?”
In his pause, I sense an ocean of darkness.
He says gruffly, “I don’t have girlfriends.”
How are we standing closer? I don’t remember moving, but my feet must have a mind of their own, because suddenly we’re only inches apart.
