Page 36 of To the Chase

“I would, but”—his mouth twitched—“if I were the type of man who dismembered women, I don’t think you could trust my word.”

“I’d feel better if you lied.”

He cocked his head. “Would you?”

Huffing, I stepped into the doorway. “No, probably not.” I flicked my gaze over him, trying really hard not to be attracted. In dark, slim-fitting jeans and a T-shirt that looked soft and worn, his hair slightly mussed, it was impossible.

“You’re so handsome. It’s really annoying.”

“Ah, sorry.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “There’s not much I can do about that. It’s just…you know, my face. I could show you pictures of me in college. That might change your mind.”

“I doubt it. You were probably gawky and adorable.” Since I’d flustered him, I took charge, closing and locking the door. “You could tell me I look nice. That might make up for it.”

He looked at me—reallylooked at me—and took his time doing it. Starting from the top, his eyes roved over my face and hair, which was swept back by a knotted scarf. His gaze slid along my shoulders and chest, taking extra time there, then moved to my stomach and thighs.

When he reached my feet, he sighed. “No heels.”

I tapped the toe of my red Chuck on the hardwood. “In case I need to run from you.”

His eyes flared. “I wouldn’t mind that. So long as I caught you in the end.”

Oh, this man.

I gave him a light shove. “Don’t flirt with me, Tore. I don’t know why I’m even here, but it’snotto let you catch me.”

“Of course. Not now.”

I shot him a sharp glare. “You’re incredibly optimistic.”

Then I marched into the house, which was…empty. Not entirely, with a lone couch in the living room, but the rest of the room was bare, as was the dining room. With each room I found deserted, my heart rate ratcheted up.

I’d been joking about the murder thing. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

A couple years ago, we’d shared a handful of intense, seemingly meaningful hours before he dropped off the face of the earth—what did I truly know about this man?

“I’m in the process of moving.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I turned my head, finding him closer than expected, his chest almost brushing my shoulders. “In or out?”

“Out. I’ve already bought the new place. Just finishing up here. Some of the art requires specialty movers who can’t come until next week.”

“You collect art?”

“I do. Would you like me to show you?”

I wanted that, but it would be too easy to get sidetracked. “Maybe another time.”

“Sure. Another time.” His hand skimmed my upper back. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I have wine or coffee and desserts, if you’d like. I could use a drink myself.”

The kitchen was light and bright, with white cabinets and expansive pale-gray marble countertops. The floors were warm hardwood—probably original to the house—and the ceilings were striped with heavy, exposed beams.

On the peninsula was a platter of mini cakes, a bottle of white wine, two glasses, coffee mugs, and a pitcher of cream. Next to that was a vase holding a spray of wildflowers, and playing in the background was one of my favorite songs.

“This is nice.” I put my purse on the counter and leaned my hip against it. “You went to a lot of effort.”

“It was no trouble.” He picked up the wine bottle and tilted it toward me. “Would you like a glass? It’s sealed. Just in case you’re concerned that I intend to drug you.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Honestly, that hadn’t crossed my mind, but now it has. Dear god, you’re terrible at putting a woman at ease.”