The question is whether he's dangerous to me, to Maya, or to both of us.
Maya finally emerges from the bedroom, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep.
"You're up early," she says, padding over to the counter.
"Couldn't sleep."
She accepts the mug I hand her and takes a long sip, studying me over the rim. "Still thinking about Pavel?"
"Among other things."
"Such as?"
I gesture toward the north window. "That lock is a joke. A child could break in through there."
She sets down her coffee and crosses her arms, which does interesting things to her breasts under the thick fabric of her shirt. "Good morning to you, too, Mr. Home Security."
"I'm serious, Maya. This place has more weak points than a house of cards in a windstorm."
"That's a terrible analogy."
"The point stands."
She sighs, but there's amusement in her eyes. "Okay, what do you want to do about it?"
"Reinforce the windows. Fix the back door. Check the camera angles and add sensors where we need them."
"We?"
"Unless you'd rather I do it alone while you watch and critique my technique."
A smile tugs at her lips. "I wouldn't dream of missing the chance to watch you do manual labor. You're very attractive when you're being paranoid and handy."
"I'm not paranoid."
"You absolutely are. But it's kind of hot, so I'll allow it." She drains her coffee and sets the mug down with a decisive clink as my eyes widen in surprise over her flirting. "Let me get dressed, and we'll tackle your security concerns together."
Twenty minutes later, we're standing in front of the north window with a toolbox between us. Maya's bundled in her wintercoat, layers of thermal clothing underneath, but somehow, the fitted jeans she's wearing still manage to showcase the curve of her ass in a way that makes concentration difficult. Her cheeks are already flushed from the cold, making her eyes look even bluer, and when she bends over to hand me a tool, I have to force myself to focus on the work instead of how competent and sexy she looks handling a wrench.
"You're staring," she says without looking up, her breath misting in the frigid air.
"Can you blame me?"
"Focus, Sasha. You're supposed to be fixing my window, not mentally undressing me. Which would be counterproductive in this weather, anyway."
"I can multitask. And I'd keep you warm."
She laughs, the sound bright and genuine, and hands me the screwdriver I need. "Here. Make yourself useful."
We work in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the scrape of metal on wood and the occasional grunt of effort. I remove the old lock mechanism and examine it, shaking my head at how flimsy it is.
"This wouldn't stop a determined squirrel," I mutter.
"Good thing squirrels aren't usually breaking and entering."
"You know what I mean."
"I do." Her voice softens. "And I appreciate your caring about keeping us safe."
