Her mouth went dry. Completely.
His chest was broad and muscled, and this was the first time she’d been this close to it. Wow. Even his bare feet looked tough somehow.
“I made you a casserole,” she blurted out, shoving the holder toward him. “As a thank-you. For the tree. You were in the shower. I’m sorry.”
He took the food, his green gaze inscrutable. “I’m out of the shower now. Come on in.”
She blinked. Was he going to put on a shirt? Even though she’d yanked on boots with two-inch heels, he towered over her. “How tall are you, anyway?”
He shrugged a very bare shoulder and moved aside to let her in. “Six-four, last time I checked.”
Yeah. That’s what she thought. This close, she could make out the tattoo. It was a black and windy series of symbols that combined into something both beautiful and oddly dangerous, as if meant as a warning.
He glanced down. “Got it at eighteen while drunk on a beach in the middle of nowhere. Means ‘always survive.’” He smiled. “Come on in.”
Taking a deep breath of his masculine soap, she moved past him into the living room. The floral sofa, chairs, and end tables remained, but Mrs. Maloni had taken all her knickknacks, paintings, and decorations. “You need a picture or two on the wall.”
“Yeah.” He shut the door, heat from his body washing over her back. “It was nice of you to bring me food.”
Her body started to tingle, so she launched herself at the kitchen through the archway. “It was nice of you to take care of that tree I should’ve dealt with months ago.” The boxes were gone. He’d put everything away the previous night. Maybe he didn’t sleep much either. She turned around. “How was work today?”
“Illuminating,” he said, setting the food on the counter.
She tilted her head. “How so?”
His gaze ran over her bold red sweater, dark jeans, new brown boots and then back up. “You look pretty.”
Heat climbed into her face. “Thank you.” He looked ... hungry. Very. “Um, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just wanted to bring over the food.” She should probably leave. There was something off about him. An alertness, or even a hint of anger. What was going on?
“You can’t let me eat it alone.” He opened a cupboard and brought out plain white plates. New ones with no chips. “Will you join me?” The muscles in his back moved nicely, but those scars showed so much violence.
He set everything on the table.
Her knees felt a little weak, so she took a seat and accepted the big spoon he handed over. “You seem tense. Was it a bad day?” She had no right to ask.
“No.” He drew a bottle of Chardonnay out of the fridge. It was already open. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Sure.” The casserole was beef and cheese, and it did smell delicious. When he returned with two full glasses of the deep golden liquid, she forced a smile. “You seem more like a beer man. Were you expecting somebody else?”
“I was expecting you.” He set his bulk into the chair across from her.
She blinked. Was her little crush that obvious? She pushed the plate away. “I’m sorry. I should really—”
He grasped her arm. “No, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I’m being a dick, and there’s no reason. Please sit back down.” His eyes lightened to the color of a spring meadow. “Work was weird, and I don’t like being unsettled.”
She sat back down, and he released her. Even when he’d stopped her, his touch had been gentle. There was something so careful about him. As if he was afraid he’d scare or hurt her. “What’s weird about requisitions? Isn’t it a bunch of paperwork?”
He took a long swallow of his wine. “Yeah, but I also have to go interview a jackass who we think took a bunch of official request forms. I have to go tomorrow, which is a freaking Saturday.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Sounds like a dangerous animal.” Her lips twitched.
He met her gaze and finally smiled. “Exactly. I’ve gone from fighting the mob to dealing with a nerd with a form fetish.” Mal dug into the casserole, sighing with pleasure as he chewed.
Her shoulders relaxed and she reached for her wine. “That’s funny.” She took a sip, letting the crisp flavor cool down her throat.
They ate in silence for a while, and she continued drinking wine, not really caring when he refilled her glass. Finally, she was stuffed. “Do you miss your old job?” It had to be difficult to go from being a hero to pushing paper. Didn’t it?
He paused. “No. It was hard pretending to be somebody I wasn’t.” His gaze returned to her face. “Know what I mean?”
