“Did you run a background check on Freddy?”
“No. He’s a guest of Miss Carol’s.”
“He’s living here at the moment.”
“Did being in the army make you this cynical?”
“I’m not cynical. Unlike Freddy, my job is security.”
I lift my eyebrows in a gesture that conveys I know something messed him up. No one is this jaded or cut off from emotion without reason. But his issues aren’t my problem. “Take your concerns somewhere else, Jasper. None of my tenants or Freddy did this. I’m telling you it was vandals.”
“I might accept that theory for just a broken window. But a slashed tire sounds personal. And you said your door lock had been broken.”
“I said it broke, not that it was intentionally broken.”
“That’s still quite a coincidence. Three separate incidents all directed at your property—yourhouse,yourcar. It doesn’t seem random.”
“There weren’t three incidents; there were two. Shit luck that they got me both times.”
“Assuming I’m right and you’rewrong,” he intones with annoying emphasis, “is there anyone you think might have a motive?”
“You mean, have I pissed somebody off?”
“I imagine you piss off a lot of people.”
“Should we add you to the list, Jasper?” I flash him a thousand-watt smile that he, of course, doesn’t return.
“Who might have a beef with you?”
“No one lately, except for a co-worker I beat out for a plum role. And before you even go there, trust me, it’s not him. He was in a snit and acted like a whiny baby. But Talon wouldn’t get his manicured nails dirty by slashing my tire or breaking my window.”
“Talon who?”
“Hunt.”
“Does he know where you live?”
“Yes, he drove me home once after an event. But it’s not him,” I insist.
“What about a past tenant?”
“My tenants have been with me since the beginning, except for a prior tenant who moved out of state for a job. Freddy’s mother replaced her four months ago.”
“How about a current or former boyfriend?”
“I don’t have boyfriends.” I drop my feet to the floor and slide off the couch, stalking the short distance to him. “I have sex with men until I’m done with them.”
“Were any of them angry when it ended?”
“Well, I’m gooood, so I’m sure they were disappointed,” I say, reaching him and having to tilt my head back to look up into his unyielding face. “But you missed that boat.”
“If I could offer you some advice, Ms. Sinclair. It’s not safe to proposition men in bars. Picking up strangers could land you in a terrible situation.”
He’s the first man I’ve ever propositioned in a bar, and I wouldn’t call him a stranger, but I don’t have to explain myself. “Thanks, Daddy.” I rise up on my toes, slink my arms up his chest, and smooth my hands over his shoulders. “You’re so sweet to worry about me.”
For a moment, he stands as immobile as a statue. Then with a whispered curse, he lowers his head and kisses me. And just like the last time, my thinking processes short-circuit. His hunger is as palpable as before, his lips as divine as I remember, simultaneously forceful and soft against my own, sending a rush of undiluted arousal zigzagging through me. I tighten my grip, sinking my fingers into muscle, reveling in the heated press of his long, hard body and the feel of his big hands sifting through the sides of my cropped hair, holding me in place to take what he wants.
Then suddenly, abruptly, he’s gone. If not in actual distance, in the immeasurable gulf that he puts between us when his hands lift mine away, and he takes a step back. There’s a remoteness that makes his eyes a dark void, and his face is once more a stony mask.
