The Dangerous Jacob Wilde

The last thing she wanted was to deal with him this morning.

She was busy getting things in order inside this—this catastrophe of a house.

Despite her best intentions, she wasn’t going to be able to leave today. There wasn’t a seat on a New York-bound flight out of Dallas until the end of the week.

Not a problem.

She wasn’t fleeing Wilde’s Crossing, she was simply heading home.

There was plenty to keep her occupied for a few days.

Like what she was about to tackle. Emptying a hall closet on the second floor.

“Yuck,” she muttered.

It wouldn’t be fun, but it had to be done.

Over the weeks, she’d cleaned all the rooms, scrubbed the kitchen and ancient bathroom. She’d even done some touch-ups—polished the floor, painted the walls, bought some odds and ends for the biggest bedroom, which was the one she slept in.

She’d done the closet there but nowhere else, and she had not even looked at the attic.

She could put the house on the market as it was, but for all she knew, there was a treasure trove of interesting old stuff right here, under her nose.

Checking would be fun—

Okay.

Addison stepped away from the closet, sighed and sank down, cross-legged, on the floor.

Maybe not.

She’d probably find nothing but spiders and dust. Still, it would give her something to do instead of thinking about last night.

Thinking about it was pretty much all she’d managed this morning.

That man. Jake Wilde.

“Such arrogance,” she told the empty room.

Indeed.

Arrogance. Audacity. Ego.

The nerve of him to show up here today.

Why had he come?

She couldn’t think of a reason, unless he thought he could talk her into a repeat performance.

No. That hadn’t been it.

A man hoping to take a woman to bed wouldn’t have looked so damned angry.

As if he had anything to be angry about when she was the one who—

Addison froze.

What was that? A car?