Iam jolted from sleep by pounding at my door. Stirring, I suck in a sharp breath and launch myself upward from my spot on the old leather chair. Somewhere in my planning and reconnaissance, I must have drifted off.
Shit. I hadn’t realized I was that tired.
Quickly, I fold up the piece of paper containing my neatly written notes, which included Josh’s full legal name, home address, and work schedule. Loud pounding sounds out once again from the front door.
Who the fuck is that?I don’t have any friends. And I don’t have any neighbors. Except for…
“OPEN UP—I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” Kat’s voice sounds through the heavy oak door.
Oh fuck.
Standing, I smooth out my rumpled flannel shirt and run a hand through my untidy hair. Rolling up the sleeves of my shirt to my forearms, I pocket my notes and move toward the front door. I disarm the keypad system, unlock the deadbolts, andswing the door open. The breath momentarily leaves my lungs as I survey the vision before me.
Dr. Katherine Pearson stands there surrounded by the dark night. She looks absolutely stunning. She also looks fuckingpissed.
Her raven hair is loose and wild around her shoulders, her dark eyes blazing. Her black mini dress shows ample amounts of smooth, creamy thigh. The block heels of the black knee-high boots she dons are caked in mud—I’m guessing from the trek down from Pearson House. She must have finally remembered the old pathway that connected our two homes.
About time, I think.
My eyes trail down her body to that stretch of creamy leg peeking out over the top of her boots. I indulge a mad desire to drop to my knees and lick those thighs, all the way up to her…
“YOU! I knew it.I just knew it!Youarestill living out here!” she spits at me. Pulling my gaze from her thighs, I make eye contact with her and usher her into the house.
“Dr. Pearson. Would you care to come inside?” I ask, politely.
“No, I would not fucking care to come inside,” she bites back. “Have you been stalking me?”
Taking in the fury in her expression, I decide that honesty is definitely the best policy right now.
“Well,” I begin, “that’s a bit of a complicated question, Katherine?—”
She cuts me off, her voice rising shrilly, “It’s not complicated. It’s not. Have you been stalking me or not? How did you know where I was last night if youweren’tstalking me? Huh? Simple coincidence?”
“I…” I start, but she cuts me off again.
“And I know you’ve been inside Pearson House. Someone has been fucking with me in there and I know it’s you.”
She pins me with a furious glare, the late-night breeze softly whipping a tendril of her long dark hair across her neck.
I exhale, looking at her squarely in the eye and launch in. “Okay. You probably weren’t aware, but Mr. Pearson named me as the new groundskeeper after my father died. It wasn’t anything official. He just asked that I continue to look after the place. And before he died, he asked me to continue looking after it—no matter what. He even paid my salary two years in advance. He made me promise him. And so, I did. When you moved into the house, I considered you to be a part of the place.” I take a breath before I add on, “So yes, I have been continuing to tend to Pearson House since you moved in.”
She stares at me incredulously, a deep furrow forming between her brows. “And you didn’t think you should fucking INFORM me of that fact? What the hell, Zayn?”
God, my name on her lips is fucking intoxicating. Even in her rage.
“You’re right,” I respond simply, “I should have informed you that I still had keys to the house and that I would be around, keeping an eye on you.”
“‘Keeping an eye on me!’” She charges, chest heaving. “Is that what you call it? You broke in and left me a glass of wine for Christ’s sake! That is psycho behavior, Zayn!”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to call people psycho, are you, Doc?” I query, just a hint of humor in my voice.
She fixes with me with a heated glare that tells me I should probably shut the fuck up.
Despite her boiling anger, I spot a little shiver pass over her body. Apparently, she hadn’t bothered to put on a coat before deciding to march her ass down here. Little goosebumps pop up along her slender arms.
“Look—why don’t you come inside, Doc. It’s cold out,” I offer, gesturing to the entryway of the cottage.
She eyes me warily for a moment, as if deciding whether or not I will attack her if she steps over the threshold.
