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Keeping a hand on her, Miles looked around. “I don’t see it anywhere else, and there are no tracks.” But good Lord, the house... Now that she was okay, he really saw it. “You actually live here?”
She shot him a deadly glare. “Yes.” And then, as if a dare, she asked, “Why?”
He wasn’t touching that. “Just doesn’t look like you.” Hell, it looked like a grandma’s place—from maybe a century ago. “I’m guessing everything is original?”
“Pretty much.” She started to stand, slipped to her butt again, and Miles stayed her.
“Wait.” He got to his feet first, saw a roll of paper towels on the counter and grabbed them. He ripped off several, giving them to her so she could clean her hands. Then, being sure to keep out of the oil, he caught her under her arms and lifted her upright. “Hold on to my shoulders and I’ll help you out of those boots.”
Grumbling, she said, “My feet are probably sweaty now. This sucks so badly.”
Trying to hide his smile, he promised, “I’ll hold my breath.”
“I’m going to ruin your shirt.”
“It’s a black T-shirt. You can’t ruin it.”
“Suit yourself.” Her small hands settled on him—and that put her breasts far too close to his face.
Forcing himself to look down, he tugged off first one boot, waiting as she put that foot to the side of the mess, then he removed the other. Her feet were small and narrow, yes, a little sweaty, and incredibly cute.
He glanced up the length of her long slim legs, pausing at the denim zipper in her soft, worn, body-hugging cutoffs. A drop of oil rolled down the outside of her left leg. “Your shorts are dripping.”
Letting out a tiny, shaky breath, she shifted her feet. “Yeah.”
Absurd the way lust bit into him. Hell, someone had terrorized her last night, they’d returned to a million hungry cats and another prank in her house, and all he could think about was leaning forward and pressing his face to her belly, going lower, breathing her in, tasting her.
He loved the sounds Maxi made while her climax built.
When he felt her hands tightening on his shoulders, he murmured, “Maybe you should drop them, too?” Somehow, he’d keep it together.
“Yeah.” But she didn’t move.
Up to him, then. Damn. “Let’s see if we can do this without getting the oil anywhere else.” He reached for the snap to her shorts.
Maxi drew in her breath and held it.
Trying to remember that he had a plan, he said as he slid down her zipper, “Maybe that shower should come first?” It wasn’t deliberate, but his knuckles grazed her.
“First?” she croaked.
He glanced up and got caught in her dark-eyed gaze. “Before we grab something to eat.”
“Oh. Eat. Right.”
What had she thought? That he meant sex? Hell of an idea, but the timing was all wrong.
And why was she thinking that anyway? He could understand how he got distracted, but she was terrified, and that should damn well keep her focused.
It was enough that he had to fight himself; he couldn’t fight her, too.
Tamping down natural urges, Miles worked the snug shorts over her hips.
Her fingers dug into his muscles as he bent to help her step out—and then she stood there in her panties.
The lady had a killer body, no doubt about it.
But he’d known other sexy women. There was just something special about Maxi.
Maybe the fact that she’d walked away from him so easily.
With that reminder in mind, Miles straightened back to his feet. “Stay put while I look around. I don’t see or hear anyone, but I want to make sure whoever dumped the oil isn’t still here.”
“No one is.” She clutched at his arm. “Every inch of this old house creaks if someone moves, even in the basement.”
Miles gently pried her hands away. “I’m going to look anyway.” He wouldn’t take chances, and it’d give him a minute to get his urges under control. “Don’t move.”
She swallowed hard and nodded, already glancing back at the front door.
Would she do as he asked, or would he find her in the SUV, in her panties, ready to go?
Staying alert to any other booby traps, Miles went into the kitchen. That room was the biggest time warp, with a white cast-iron sink top, a stove that had to be antique and a small refrigerator...on legs. He’d never seen anything like it.
An old ruffled curtain hung under the sink instead of a door, and the yellow linoleum floor was a bit bright, especially since it ran into yellow tile that came halfway up the wall.
Directly to the left was an equally dated bathroom. A row of open shelving divided the kitchen from the dining room, which opened into a small living room. The front door, locked, led to a trellis-enclosed covered porch.
He briefly went through each room, not surprised to find them very tidy, but shocked all the same that Maxi Nevar now called this place home. Nothing he knew about her fit in the setting. Then again, seeing her with chipped nails, rubber ducky boots and tangled hair didn’t fit either.
As he passed back through, he saw a book and wineglass on the end table next to the puffy floral couch. The glass was empty, the book closed.
Well, hell.
He returned to where he’d left her, standing there wearing an oversize flannel shirt, pink panties and a load of uncertainty. More than anything, he wanted to draw her close, hug her, reassure her.
Then do nasty, hot, sweaty things with her.
He shook his head and, indicting the door next to the stairs, asked, “Basement?”
“Yes. But it should be locked.”
He tried it. “You’re right.” There was even a dead bolt on it.
“Cat food is stored down there, but otherwise, I don’t use the basement.”
“I can see that.” She had it locked up tight. Later, he’d explore down there. “I’ll look upstairs now.”
“Sure, why not.” She turned to go.
Much as he’d enjoy trailing behind her, getting a great view of her ass on the stairs, he had to put safety first. “You wait here.”
“I hired you for a reason. I go where you go.”
He saw she was serious, and probably with good reason, so he nodded. “Stay behind me, then.”
“Not a problem.”
He had to duck to get under the lowered ceiling at the base of the narrow stairs. He suspected someone had converted the attic to living space years ago. “Are these the stairs where your grandmother fell?”
“Yes.”
She said nothing else, so he didn’t press her. God knew she’d been through enough for one day.
The stairs turned a sharp corner and then opened into a small study with a desk, chair and file cabinet. The only window in that room was a skylight overhead.
From there he went into a more updated bathroom, which meant it wasn’t more than a few decades old, yet no one would call it modern either. Her bedroom was next, a rectangular room barely big enough for a bed and nightstand. The lure would be the double doors that opened to a balcony above the porch below.
“Where do you keep your clothes?”
“In here.” She slid back a pocket door to show a big walk-in closet nearly the same size as the bedroom.
“I take it you put this in?”
“First thing.”
She’d spared no expense. Bright lights showed off detailed shelving, multiple wardrobes and niches for things like shoes and scarves, with a dressing table in the middle. She’d filled every inch except for a mirrored door in the back of the room that, Miles discovered, opened into yet another room.
Ducking down again, he stepped through to a clichéd attic space. Bare rafters loomed overhead, plywood flooring squeaked under his weight and air whistled through a single skinny window in the center of the back wall. Boxes, trunks and random pieces of old furniture cast long shadows over the cluttered floor. A single bare bulb swung from the ceiling, but when he pulled the long string, it didn’t work.
Miles didn’t say it, but given everything that had happened, it was creepy as hell.
Soon as they were back in the main room, he asked, “Why do you sleep up here?”
“The bedroom downstairs was my grandmother’s. It didn’t feel right, taking it over.”
But she wanted him to sleep there?
“Don’t worry,” she said, maybe reading his thoughts. “Everything has been packed away and the bedding is freshly washed.”
Great. It was still Granny’s. “Should I look under the bed?”
Her smile didn’t hide her exhaustion. “If you want, but I’ve got so many storage bins under there, nothing more than a mouse could fit, and mice aren’t brave enough to come around with so many cats.”
Unable to help himself, he touched her cheek. Her eyes were heavy and smudged with fatigue. “You need a nap.”
“I need a shower.” Glancing over her shoulder at her own butt, she wiggled. “That oil soaked through.”
A dozen inappropriate comments came to mind, but Miles banked them all. “I can either go down and get food started—” although how he’d find his way around that kitchen, he didn’t know “—or I can wait right here while you get cleaned up.”
“You won’t mind giving me ten minutes?”
“You’re the boss.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. He’d meant it to be teasing, but damn it, she looked wounded.
Maxi being Maxi, she rallied and said, “Don’t you forget it.” She gestured to the bed. “Get comfortable if you want. I’ll hurry.”
Settle on her bed? Breathe her scent in the pillows? Not a good idea. “You can take your time.”
“If you heard my stomach grumbling, you’d know I can’t.”
He stood in the doorway while she went through the closet and pulled faded jeans from a shelf, a peachy bra and panties from a drawer, and a white tank top off a hanger.
Crazy that seeing her like this hit him so hard. She kept the flannel pulled down in back to hide her rounded behind, but she had beautiful legs, and her long dark blond hair, even uncombed, looked sexy as hell.
He moved as she stepped out again and started for the bathroom.
At the door, she paused. “If anything happens, I want you to be able to come in, so I won’t lock it.”
It took him a second to find his voice, then he went for teasing again. “Planning on screaming?”
She held the pile of clothes close to her chest. “Someone was in my house again. How, I don’t know. But the oil wasn’t there when I left or I would have stepped in it.”
He nodded, acknowledging that. “We’ll buy new locks today, too.” Going one further, he whispered, “I promise it’s going to be okay.” Somehow, he’d make it so.
She managed a strained smile. “In case I haven’t said it yet...thank you for being here with me.”
Before he could answer, she closed the door. Seconds later, he heard the creaking of pipes.
With nothing else to do, his gaze went to her bed. In no time at all, his thoughts were out of control, focused on things they shouldn’t be—like how much he wanted her.
Again.
Still.
And here he’d started to think that working at Body Armor would be a piece of cake.
* * *
“THIS,” MAXI SAID, licking her lips with a groan, “was a much better idea than food at home.”
Miles smiled while sinking his white teeth into a loaded burger. “Quicker, for sure.”
They sat in his roomy SUV, him half-turned to face her, one arm loosely draped over the steering wheel, a bag of fast food between them. He’d found a recreation area near the store they were going to and parked beneath a shade tree to keep the sun from reflecting off the black exterior. From their position, they could see kids playing on swings, people walking dogs and couples holding hands. With the windows down, a summer breeze kept it from being too hot.
Maxi felt much better now that she was clean and dressed, her hair braided down her back. Before they’d left the house, she’d cleaned up the mess and put her clothes in the wash, but she didn’t have hopes of the oil coming out. The shorts would no doubt join her growing pile of “work” clothes, meaning they’d be appropriate for the farm, but nowhere else.
Miles had been silent as she’d put her book back on the shelf and washed her wineglass. She didn’t know if he believed her about what had happened, and she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to know. He was with her, and for now, that was more than enough.
When she glanced at him, she found him watching her in that intense, very intimate way of his that made her breath catch in her chest.
