“Yes.” She frowned at Britt’s frown. “I want to help.”
“And he doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
She wanted to argue that, too, but it was pretty much what he’d said when she’d first suggested the idea. Damn it for rationalization.
“Gina, the guy likes you. He wouldn’t have…”
She paused, and Gina’s heart tripped along as she lifted her eyebrows in silent inquiry.
Britt sighed and continued, “He wouldn’t have stayed to help with a baby that’s not his, and not yours, if he didn’t. He probably feels responsible for what Jackson did and doesn’t want it to happen again.”
* * *
She was an idiot. After Dean’s initial openness about liking her, it didn’t matter what Britt said, it was obvious he’d pulled back. Last night’s confusing emotions had been a wake-up call, and his distance was a good thing. She’d recognized from the beginning he would be dangerous to her heart, and she didn’t need—or want—the complication of getting involved right now.
So what was she doing? Being an idiot by inventing reasons to see the man again.
Well, measuring windows for curtain rods, drapes, and blinds was actually a valid reason to go to his house, but she’d taken liberties in deciding it needed to be done on a Sunday morning.
Once she was there, she planned to let him know in no uncertain terms that Jackson’s actions against her were in absolutely no way his fault. Then she was going to argue her case about helping him catch the jerk until he gave in.
It was eight-thirty when she parked in her usual spot in front of the house. Two minutes later, feeling like she was acting out a replay of the other night, she rang the doorbell a third time and held it down. She released the glowing little button at the muffled thump of footsteps on the stairs.
Like the other night, he jerked open the door. That’s where the similarities ended.
One glance and guilt twinged for having obviously woke him up. His hair was a mess, dark stubble covered his jaw, a T-shirt was fisted in his hand, and his jeans were zipped but not buttoned. At this point, the bare feet were a given.
“It’s Sunday,” he ground out, his voice rough and gravelly, and not the least bit welcoming. His arm rose and he raked his fingers through his hair, stretching the skin across the solid muscles of his chest and stomach.
“I, uh, wanted to, um, I need to do some measuring.” His deepening frown had caused her to stumble over her explanation, and then she blushed when she heard her own words.
Keep your eyes on his face. Do not look down. But
with that bare chest in front of her, how could she not? A body like that on a software developer who spent hours in front of a computer defied all logic.
“Couldn’t wait until Monday?”
“No.” She lifted her gaze back to his, determined to not be put off by his attitude. She offered an over-sweet smile. “I promise I won’t bother you.”
His gaze raked down the length of her. Halfway back up, he let lose a low growl and spun away, leaving the entrance wide open. “You already have.”
Her smile turned genuine. Enough heat had flared in those brown eyes to keep her from being offended. She stepped inside and reached for the door. “Why so grumpy?”
“I went to bed about five a.m., Gina. Figure it out.”
Okay, so he was tired. She hadn’t slept the greatest either, but you didn’t see her biting people’s heads off.
As she stepped forward to gently close the door, she paused and stared outside. “Um, Dean? There’s a police car coming down the driveway.”
“What?” he bellowed from the direction of the kitchen.
“I said there’s—”
“I heard you,” he snapped as long strides brought him back. His arm reached above her head to pull the door open wider even as his front brushed up against her back. “Sonofabitch.”
“You say that a lot,” she commented, completely aware of the heat of his lean body so close to her.
“I think it even more,” he retorted. As the patrol car came to a stop behind her vehicle, he added, “Just go do what you came to do. I’ll take care of this.”