Page 37 of In Her Sights
Seeing her sister’s sleepy face instantly drained all of Molly’s adrenaline, her utter exhaustion waiting to take its place. “Ugh. Sorry. C’mon, let’s go in.” She directed her words to both John and Cara.
Cara took a step back, swinging the door open wide to allow them room to enter, but John gestured for Molly to go in first. His expression was mostly wiped clear, but she could tell there were storm clouds hiding behind his neutral visage. He didn’t immediately follow her in, and Molly turned around to look at him. Their gazes snagged and held, making her pause as she tried to read his thoughts. She was a little overwhelmed by the knowledge that he’d been trailing after her this whole time with the intent of keeping her safe, rather than—well, in addition to—wanting to steal her skips. Her expression must’ve shown her remorse because, with a sigh that she couldn’t interpret any more than she could read his expression, he lost more of his tension and stepped inside.
Molly found herself exhaling a relieved breath, not knowing exactly what had just happened, but glad that it had ended the way it had. If he’d stomped off into the night, she would’ve felt unsettled and antsy and, she admitted grudgingly, she would’ve worried about him until she’d heard that he’d gotten home safely. Even though he was a grown man with a cell phone and a brain who was perfectly capable of getting from one side of their small town to the other, she still would’ve been concerned.
As a fill-in mom, she couldn’t help it. Worrying was what she did. Besides, now that he was neck-deep in the mess her mom had created, he was in as much danger as she and her sisters were. Even though John had willingly helped out, fully knowing what he was getting himself into, Molly couldn’t help but feel guilty—and grateful—that he’d made that sacrifice.
As they entered the living room, her gaze was caught by the rumpled blanket on the couch. “Were you sleeping down here?”
“I was,” Cara confirmed mid-yawn. “I sleep like the dead, but I figured if I was down here, I’d wake up if Stuart came back and tried breaking in again. Now that you’re here, I’m going up to my bed. That couch is the worst. It feels like a bunch of rocks covered in upholstery.”
Carefully avoiding John’s gaze, Molly made a hmm sound. “Once all of this is over and we have some spare cash again, we’re getting an alarm system.” She very deliberately didn’t mention that they might not be living in that house after everything was said and done.
Cara offered a good-night wave and climbed the stairs as John turned toward Molly. Reluctantly, knowing he was about to complain about sleeping on the couch made of rocks, she met his gaze.
“You need that alarm system sooner rather than later,” he said, proving that she hadn’t actually known what he was going to say after all. “I know someone who’ll do it at cost.”
“You know a lot of someones,” she said absently, staring at the couch as her conscience fought with her caution. “It’s handy.” Her conscience won, and she waved him past the sofa and toward the stairs. “Come on upstairs. No sense in you sleeping on a rock mattress when there’s a free bed.”
He didn’t protest. As he climbed the stairs behind her, he said, “I do know a lot of someones. You should take advantage of that. Unless you think I’m offering just so that I have another chance to search for the necklace.”
She tried unsuccessfully to hold back a laugh, and her attempt to restrain herself turned it into a snort.
“What?” he asked, sounding torn between huffiness and reluctant amusement.
“You’re…” She almost told him that he was cute when he pouted, but she swallowed the words at the last minute. Instead, she cleared her throat and scrambled to think of replacement words, ones that wouldn’t sound so much like flirting. “Nothing. Don’t mind me. I think I’m so tired I’m getting delirious.”
“Bed, then.” His huge hand touched her back ever so lightly, as if to help support her as she walked, and her skin instantly warmed. She knew she should pull away rather than soak up the contact, but it felt too good. Besides, she still felt a residual smidgen of guilt for so quickly assuming his motives were selfish when he’d saved her life at least once that night.
When she reached the bedroom, her hand hesitated on the doorknob for a moment before she turned it. It felt strange inviting John Carmondy into her room when she’d never thought about him except with irritation—and perhaps the tiniest bit of objective lust—until a few days ago. Now, she was trusting him to watch her back…well, mostly trusting him.
As her thoughts tumbled around, trying to figure out how she felt about her changing relationship with John, he stepped into her room, instantly shrinking it to dollhouse size.
Desperately trying to get her thoughts back in order, Molly cleared her throat as she worked out the best arrangement. She didn’t feel right about offering up Felicity’s bed to a random guy—not that John was acting like a random anything these days. “You can have mine.” She waved toward the right side of the room, relieved that she at least had a full-size bed. It would’ve been mortifying if she and Felicity had kid-sized bunkbeds or something. Besides, there was no way that John’s height and muscular bulk would’ve fit in a twin. Shaking away that slightly ridiculous mental picture, she forced herself to focus on what needed doing. “Hang on. Let me get you some clean sheets.”
His eyebrow and the corner of his mouth rose at the same time, giving him that familiar devilish look that signaled he was about to tease her. “Yours are…dirty, then?” The emphasis he put on dirty gave a whole new meaning to the word.
“No.” She was too tired to not get flustered, and that annoyed her. Normally, she prided herself on coolly volleying back whatever John served to her, but it had been a long day—several long days, in fact—and she could feel her face heat with a flush. “Not dirty dirty. I changed them a few days ago. Just, you know, sluffed skin cells and a few stray hairs, that sort of thing.” Okay, she needed to stop talking immediately. Unfortunately, her mouth wasn’t getting the message. “Nights have been cool recently, so I haven’t been sweating, but the sheets probably still smell like me.”
His smirk slowly grew until it was a full grin as he eyed her bed with more lasciviousness than it really deserved. “I’ll use these sheets.”
“But—” She took a step toward her bed, suddenly feeling all sorts of weird about John spending the night wrapped in sheets that she’d rolled around in. It was strangely hot, and that made her squirm.
Before she could strip the bed or finish her objection, he’d maneuvered himself in front of her, blocking her access. If she took even a half step closer, they would be touching. “I’ll be fine,” he said. Although the words were reassuring, there was a deeper timbre to his voice that definitely was not. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“All the way down the hall,” she answered automatically, her brain caught up in the overwhelming proximity of him. “Last door on the left. Why do you smell like bubble gum?”
He blinked. “I do not.”
“You do.”
“I do not smell like bubble gum. I’m not a sticky six-year-old.”
Suddenly realizing the ridiculousness of their argument, she shifted back and mentally changed gears. “Fine. You don’t smell like bubble gum, even though you really do. Hurry up in the bathroom. As soon as you’re done, I want to take a shower. Dutch’s and that empty warehouse left a film of grossness on me.”
He scowled at her, looking like he was dying to continue their discussion, but he clamped his mouth closed with a tight nod and moved to the door instead. At the last second before he disappeared down the hall, he turned back toward her. “Leave those sheets on,” he said, a trace of his usual smirk back in place.
He waited, so she held her hands up in the universal I won’t do anything gesture. “Fine. If you want to sleep in my stink, I’m not going to stop you.”
