Oh God. Heat flushed into her face. Had she just said that?
His chin lowered just a bit, giving him almost a predatory look, although amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Is that an invitation?”
* * *
The bright pink blush across the woman’s high cheekbones made her seem even more delicate somehow. She had shoulder-length brown hair and deep ocean-blue eyes. Even if fear didn’t seem to hover around her, there was a fragility to her that brought out an awareness in him he sure as hell didn’t need. “Why do I scare you?” he asked before he could stop his damn mouth from working.
She withdrew her soft hand. “Who says you scare me?”
It was so obvious he couldn’t even respond. So he let his gaze drop to her neck and the vein pulsing there.
The desire to dive right into her head, into her secrets, slashed into him with a too-familiar feeling. There was a reason he’d been a cop. But that reason was gone. “Is it me or all men?” Why was he still asking questions?
Thunder rolled in the distance, and she angled her head to better see the gathering cloud cover. “Why was there a man at your house who you told to never return?”
Well. Apparently, he wasn’t the only nosy one. “I was a cop, things went bad, and that guy wants me to be a cop again.”
Her gaze snapped back to him, the movement like a startled bird. Her mouth formed a smallo.
Ah, hell. “Is there some reason you don’t like cops?” This shivering woman couldn’t be a threat to anybody. Angus Force had been full of crap. Without question. “Pippa?” Her name was pert. Cute. But she was deeper than that. He could already tell.
She slowly shook her head. “No. I’m not afraid of police officers.”
Lie. Surprisingly, she wasn’t bad at lying. Not great, though. He was still breathing because of his ability to play a part and detect deceit. So he decided to play along. “So, men.”
Her head tilted just enough to be intriguing. She sighed. “No. People.” Her face scrunched up, making her look younger than what had to be late twenties.
Ah. “You’re agoraphobic.” How odd to be having this conversation on a porch with rain about to arrive. But he didn’t want to move. If he moved, she’d go back inside. He’d never met a mystery he didn’t want to unravel.
Maybe some things never changed.
She shook her head, sending that long mass of hair tumbling. “No. Not agoraphobic.” She sighed. “Close enough, though. When you don’t do something for a long time, then it’s hard to do it again, you know?”
Not really. But at least she was talking.
He opened his mouth to speak, and the scent of sweetness caught him. He turned his head to her slightly open door. “What in the world is that?” He lifted his nose and sniffed. That was better than anything he’d smelled in ages.
She stiffened, as if brought back into the real world. Then she scrambled, using the door to reach her feet. “I, ah, bake sometimes.” The flush intensified as she looked down at him from not much height. “A lot. I bake a lot.”
It smelled like what heaven should smell like. He’d probably never know. Was it rude to beg? It probably was. Would she let him buy whatever it was that smelled so good? It was probably also rude to offer money to a new neighbor for baked goods. He’d never learned much in the manners department. Manipulation, hell yeah. But something in him, something he definitely didn’t want to examine, balked at manipulating her. “I can microwave,” he offered. “Good noodles.”
“Oh.” She slid the door open and edged halfway inside. Indecision crossed her face; she looked almost pained. She probably had great manners and was now fighting them.
He rolled to his feet and shook out his left leg, which had cramped. The ache from his thigh was a constant companion, but at least the bullet had missed an artery. When he could, he took several steps back to give her space.
The skies opened, and rain began to drop.
“Um, I could give you a couple of cookies, if you’d like.” Her knuckles were white as she clutched the door.
Damn, he wanted those cookies. But her body language, even if he wasn’t an expert, showed she didn’t want him inside. In fact, she was barring the way. “My boots are dirty,” he lied easily. “I’d love a couple of cookies, but do you mind if I stay on the porch? My socks have holes, and I’d rather not remove my boots. Too much ego, you know.”
She blinked, self-derision mixing with relief in her stunning eyes. They were clearer than a July sky in Montana. He’d been on a case there years ago. “Sure. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared.
He didn’t move. Not an inch. With her hyperawareness, she’d hear the creak of a porch board, and she’d be scared again. So he barely breathed. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for a homemade cookie that smelled like it’d melt the second you tasted it.
She reappeared again with a large basket in her hands. “Here.” She thrust it over.
He took it, leaning down. The fragrance nearly dropped him to his knees. “What is all of this?”
