“You’re not worried about DNA or anything like that?”
“It’s not like in the movies, Kat,” he says without looking at me. “We’ll run this through a private company because we have the resources in place, but it’s more complicated than just getting a genetic profile and hoping that matches someone.”
I want to snap at him thatI know that,but the words die on my tongue when he pulls my very first novel from the envelope, the word SINNER carved into the cover in capital letters. Anger and sadness and a healthy dose of fear flood through my veins. I’d published that book just for me, something different from the simple text and bright illustrations I was used to.
There’d been no marketing plan, no big social media launch, and zero preorder frenzy. But absolutely none of that stopped readers from finding my debut anddemandingbook after book in a world that has given me so much joy and filled my cup in a way that’s completely different from my children’s books.
“How many days were you at that rental before the fire started?”
Tom’s question pulls me from my thoughts, his dark eyes burning into mine, desire heating my blood and scrambling my brain as I try to think back over the last week.
“Um…” I look around, turning away so I can focus on anything other thanhim.“I got there on Saturday. Check-in was at four but I left here pretty early so I could find a coffee shop and get some groceries. The fire was Wednesday night into Thursday morning.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I talked to Bailey earlier in the night because our show was on. We watch it every Wednesday. I was up writing after the show was over.”
Tom’s expression is impossible to read, a slight tic to his jaw the only thing that indicates he’s not as relaxed as he wants me to believe.
No matter how put together I feel, I’m never as poised as he is right now. I know it’s a façade but I’m jealous. Pretending to be someone I’m not is exhausting.
“It’s getting late. Why don’t you take a bath or shower or whatever it is you do to relax? I’ll make dinner and then a few phone calls so we can regroup.”
“You can cook?” I ask, surprised, unable to think about being naked in a bath while this man is in my kitchen with his sleeves rolled up his forearms andcooking.
Be still, my smut-filled heart.
“If that surprises you then you have definitely been surrounding yourself with the wrong men.”
“I think I’m supposed to be offended by that.”
“Or you could raise your standards,” he says pointedly, rooting around in the drawers until he finds a large resealable bag and puts the book and envelope inside.
“I’m just surprised you know how to make more than chicken, rice, and broccoli.” I let my gaze sweep over him for emphasis, and because I deserve it after today.
It’s unfair how hot he is.
He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever dated, and maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to him right now. I’m like a classic damsel in distress.
Well, I may be in distress, but I’m no damsel.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.” Stripping the gloves from his hands, he locates the garbage and throws them inside before crossing his arms over his expansive chest. “Today has been a long day,” he says, looking out the window at the setting sun. “None of this is going to be resolved tonight, so you need to take care of yourself.”
“Okay.” I dip my head slowly, that feeling of being seen on such a deeper level creeping back into my psyche and making my cheeks heat.
But it’s justniceto have someone else take an interest in me for a change.
The real me.
And now I need to go.
Turning on my heel, I make a break for the stairs before I throw myself at the man who is here to do ajob.He’s here for my brother,notfor me.
And he’s being paid to care.
God, what is wrong with me?
I don’t write heroines that can’t tell the difference between interest and someone beingnicefor the sake of being nice.
