“Oh, so you’re a body language expert now?”
His gaze caresses every inch of my face and neck. Why does he look at me that way?
And why do I like it?
This isReed. His attractiveness should be tempered by how big a D-bag he is. And he’s the biggest one of those in the state.
Second, if you count Silas’ D-baggery.
“Some bodies are easier to read than others,” he grits out, sounding pained.
His throat bobs with a tight swallow.
“Talk to the wall—at your own house—because you and I have nothing to say to each other.” I brush past him, steaming toward my bedroom. “Lock the door on your way out.”
Once I’m in my room, I close the door and drag my palm down my face. As if I could wipe away the lust.
After a dozen or so cleansing breaths, I toss my clothes in the hamper, throw on my pajamas, and get ready for bed.
He better be gone when I get back out there, or Iwillcall the cops. Not sure it will help, though. Knowing him, he’ll play the wholeI am the lawroutine.
With a washed face and minty fresh breath, I cautiously open my bedroom door. It’s silent out there, which gives me hope that he may have left.
However, it was also silent when I first walked into the living room to find him there. So the odds aren’t great.
But a girl can dream.
Padding quietly down the hall, I peek around the corner at the couch. “Excellent,” I say to the empty room.
Ignoring the blend of disappointment and relief in my gut, I enter the kitchen.
And scream at the top of my lungs.Again.
Maybe I’m finally turning into a rooster with all this screeching.
This time, I don’t have anything to throw at him other than my fists, which I’m not ruling out.
“Argh! Reed!” Pointing a stiff arm toward the front door, I huff and stamp my foot. “Get out of my house.”
He doesn’t even flinch, just trails his gaze up and down my body. His eyes linger on my chest. And I don’t even give a hoot.
All I want is him gone.
“You need to leave,” I restate in a calmer tone, hoping it conveys how done I am with this.
Leaning against the counter with his legs crossed at the ankles, he flatly asks, “Where is Kenzie?”
I’m certainly not answering that, so I resort to random distraction. “I’m beginning to suspect Humpty Dumpty was pushed. Do you have an alibi for that night?”
He groans, shoulders drooping with his exhale. “Where is Kenzie?”
“I recently fell in love with doors. Especially those slammed in your face.”
“Where is Kenzie?”
Here’s to hoping I can get through this interaction without lying to a federal agent.
“She’s not here.”
