Page 44 of Ruthless Creatures

“You said you’d put it on the market within a few weeks after you left.”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

His voice drops. “You happened.”

Surely my gulp must be audible. I will my hands to stop shaking, but they ignore me.

He says, “You never called.”

“My roof never leaked.”

The ghost of a smile lifts the corners of his lips. It vanishes when he says, “What happened with Deputy Dipshit?”

“We haven’t talked since that day you nearly ripped off his head.” I pause. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

“No thanks were necessary. It’s a man’s job to protect—”

He cuts off abruptly and mutters, “Fuck.” Then he looks away and says gruffly, “I should go.”

He’s uncomfortable. I’ve never seen him uncomfortable.

It’s oddly appealing.

I say softly, “You can’t just show up out of the blue and leave ten seconds later. At least stay for a cookie.”

His gaze slides back to mine, and now it’s heated. “I don’t want to keep you.”

He says it like that’s exactly what he wants to do: keep me.

If my face gets any redder, he’ll think I’ve burst a vessel.

Then he backtracks. “You’re baking cookies?”

“Yes. Well, they’re probably hockey pucks by now because my oven’s a piece of junk, but I’ve got another batch ready to go.”

“Youbake?”

A prick of irritation makes me frown at him. “Why is that so surprising? Do I look like I’m incapable of operating a kitchen appliance?”

“I’ve never met a beautiful woman who bakes.”

I find that even more irritating. Because one, I don’t like backhanded compliments, two, skill with baking has absolutely nothing to do with a woman’s looks, and three, he makes it sound like beautiful women are draped all over him wherever he goes.

Which they probably are, but still. I don’t like the idea.

I say tartly, “And I’ve never met an eight-foot-tall debt collector who launders money through real estate and flies a plane into a closed airport during a snowstorm, so we’re even.”

He grins. It’s breathtaking. He says, “Six foot six. Are you the jealous type?”

I think about it. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a man do something to make me jealous. Are you the type who enjoys making your girlfriends crazy by flirting with other women?”

In his pause, I sense an ocean of darkness.

He says gruffly, “I don’t have girlfriends.”

How are we standing closer? I don’t remember moving, but my feet must have a mind of their own, because suddenly we’re only inches apart.