She stepped into the shower and let the hot water sluice over her. She stood there soaking for a few minutes, but the chill still clung to her. Maybe what she needed wasn’t heat. Maybe all she needed was Jordan and Nigel?
Knowing her fifteen minutes were probably already up, she made quick work of finishing her shower.
She toweled herself off, put on her robe, and tried to remember if she had any lemons in her fridge. Jordan always added a lemon wedge at Bowie’s. She thought of it more as a garnish, but now wondered if maybe it was a preference. Was Jordan a Coke and lemon kind of guy?
For some unknown reason, she wanted this to be the best damn Coke that Jordan had ever tasted.
As she headed back to her bedroom, her steps faltered. The door was shut. Had she closed it? Her heart kicked up, thudding in her chest.
With one hand on the key around her neck, she swallowed hard and used the other to push the door open.
The room was empty. She must have closed the door. Air rushed from her lungs in a relievedwoosh.
But as she entered the room, another cold draft swept across her. She scanned the corners, half expecting someone to leap from the shadows.
“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered under her breath. “Paranoia is not a good look.”
She forced herself to take another deep breath. Jordan would be over soon. And she no longer liked being alone. That’s all this was. She’d grown too dependent on him.
But when she reached the foot of the bed, her stomach dropped. Her lounge set lay neatly where she’d left it, but her panties were gone. The panties sheknewshe’d put there.
Her hands started to tremble first, a faint shake that spread up her arms and spine, until her knees shook like they might give out. Panic clawed at the edges of her mind as her brain scrambled for logical explanations.
Maybe shethoughtshe’d put her underwear out? A habit so ingrained that she assumed she’d done it. Like thinking you put on shoes before leaving the house, only to notice you’re wearing slippers at the grocery store. Or thinking you’d locked the house, only to arrive home to an unlocked door.
Her throat tightened. At least she was certain she’d locked the door.
Her hand shot up to the chain around her neck again. She never took it off, not even when she showered. It had become her security blanket.
“You’re fine. You’re fine. Calm down.” She gave herself a shaky pep talk, her voice cracking slightly as she went to grab another pair of underwear.
The second she opened the drawer, everything inside her went cold. Her heart slammed against her ribs as her breath hitched. She blinked, clearing the blur from her eyes, and focused on the small Polaroid sitting on top of her neatly folded underwear.
Her hands trembled so badly it took her a moment to liftthe photograph. Her stomach twisted in a tight knot as she stared at the image.Her. More specifically, hernaked, taken from behind, probably the exact moment before she’d reached for her robe.
The photographer had to have been standingright there.In the room. Behind her.
A cold fist of terror clamped down on her chest as she spun around. She stared at her closet, open a crack, barely wide enough to see through…but enough to snap the photo.
The Polaroid slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor. Then she turned and ran.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“You’re not coming.” Jordan glared at Nigel, who perched close to the edge of the couch, ears standing at attention. “I’m not falling for those beady eyes, dude. You’re staying here.”
Jordan shook his head at the oversized rodent. His brother and Ivy couldn’t return soon enough. The rabbit was getting a bit too comfortable hopping between this apartment and Vanessa’s, and he needed his owners to remind him where he belonged. Not that Jordan could see Ivy setting any kind of boundaries when it came to Bunny McFluff.
Nigel hopped closer to the edge of the couch, his whiskers twitching expectantly.
“No.” His growl was low and firm, the kind he reserved for rowdy drunks at the club or for Vanessa when she was really pushing his buttons. “You’re not a wingman. You’re a rabbit. There’s no way I’m bringing you on a date.”
Fuck.
He rubbed his palm over his skull. Not a date. Drinks.Celebratory non-alcoholic drinks after a successful night. It couldn’t be less like a date if he tried.
What the hell was wrong with him?
She was. Somehow, her high-maintenance ass had managed to worm its way under his skin and make itself at home. He couldn’t even say it was simply attraction anymore. An attachment had grown between them, a connection he definitely never expected.
