Can't Buy Me Love (Sinclair Sisters 3)

“What else would I do?” Did he think she was stupid?

“Confront them?”

Well, that answered that—he did think she was dumb. “Don’t let the blonde hair fool you.” She tapped the side of her head. “There’s a brain in here.”

At this point in the conversation, most men would have backtracked. But Logan wasn’t most men. “I asked around about you. Seems you have a hot temper and a violent streak rigged with a hair-trigger. I was worried you’d react without thinking and get hurt.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

The idiot nodded. “Well, that, and you’re a small woman. Which, let’s face it, is a problem if the thief is bigger than you, and from what I can see, most people are bigger than you. It’s a disadvantage in an attack.”

Oh, that infamous hot temper of hers was flaring up for sure. “Did you ever work with women when you were on the force? And what about at Benson Security? I know they have women security specialists. Do you tell all of your female colleagues to step back and let the big, strong man handle the situation?”

“No. They’d kick my arse.”

“Exactly.”

“But they’ve been trained. Have you been trained? Do you know how to handle yourself in a fight?”

“What? I have to pass some sort of test to satisfy you that I have the skills to catch a soap thief?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you just said that I’m tiny, defenseless and incapable of making the decision to call the police rather than tackle a bad guy all on my own.”

He seemed to think about that for a second. “This conversation isn’t going the way I thought it would. I’m just trying to tell you that I’m here because I was worried about you.”

“Because I’m too dumb to stay out of a situation that could hurt me?”

“I really didn’t say that.”

Agnes was done with this conversation. She stood and pushed the chair and coffee table back against the wall to make space beside the bed. Then, hands on the hips of her gray yoga pants, she faced Logan. “Come on, attack me. If you dare.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to hurt you just to prove a point.”

“Why? I have no problem hurting you to prove mine.”

“Agnes…”

“Don’t Agnes me. Get moving.” She pointed at the red tartan floor in front of her.

“No. We’re not doing this.”

“Chicken.” She made clucking noises. “Scared of a tiny, wee woman.”

“Mature.” He heaved a sigh. “Okay. If this will make you see reason, I’ll play along.” With clear reluctance, he stood in front of her. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“Thanks.” Like he had a chance! “Now attack me.”

Without warning, he lunged at her, his right hand going for her arm. Agnes grabbed his wrist, yanked him toward her, slammed the heel of her hand into his nose, and released him.

“What the hell?” he barked as he covered his bloody nose. “I think you broke it.”

Agnes waited for guilt to set in, but it didn’t manifest. “Don’t be a baby.” She strode through to the bathroom and wet a washcloth for him. “And don’t get blood on the bed. It would be murder to get out of those white sheets. Aim for the floor. No one will notice a stain on this carpet.”

Logan pressed the cloth to his nose. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she dug out some ice from the mini-fridge. “Here, put this in the cloth. It will help with the swelling.”