Falling for the Grumpiest Protector
Page 83
And suddenly I understand. He actually wants the answer.
My smile softens. “Yes.”
Something eases in his face. “Seven.”
“Should I meet you back here?”
“No.”
I blink. “No?”
“My place.”
I stare at him. “You have a place?”
His eyebrow rises. “I generally sleep somewhere, Hart.”
A laugh escapes me. “I meant here. On the farm.”
“Yes. North side of the property. There’s a cottage past the orchard.”
I’ve been coming here for weeks and had no idea. “You live in a cottage?”
“Apparently.”
I study him. This man has been hiding an entire house.
“Can I bring anything?”
“No.”
“Dessert?”
“No.”
“Wine?”
“Hart.”
“Fine. Seven?”
“Seven.”
He turns to go.
“Martinez.”
He looks back.
“Should I dress up?”
His gaze travels over me for half a second before returning to my face. “No.”
Something about that half second follows me all the way home.
At six fifty-eight, I turn onto the narrow gravel lane beyond the orchard.
The cottage appears gradually through the trees, tucked into a quiet, wooded corner of the farm. I slow down.
