“Yeah. They’re uh, rambunctious to say the least. I’m sure you deduced that yourself.”
“And not shy about it, huh?”
He clears his throat twice as he pushes off the door. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll get you to work. Unless you’d like to call in.”
He sounds hopeful, and as much as I’d like to stay here and spend time with him, I’m not the type of person to call in unless it’s a legitimate emergency. Apparently, in my mind, possibly being stalked after getting my house broken into doesn’t fall into that category.
“I need some normalcy,” I explain.
I sit at the counter while he gets dressed, trying to keep my mind from wandering to the realization that he had to first strip down before putting more clothes on.
We haven’t touched, haven’t kissed or even talked about that kiss. It leads me to believe he regretted it and seeing as how he apologized for doing it the second it happened, I shouldn’t expect any less. But if that’s the case, why is he always staring at my mouth. Why is he going out of his way to make sure I’m safe? Is it his personality? Would he do this for any woman, or does he just feel obligated because there’s a chance I’m being watched because of something he’s done?
“Ready?” he asks, sweeping into the room, the scent of cologne in the air.
Mouth-watering—that’s the best way to describe not only how he looks in jeans and a tight t-shirt, but also the scent of him, the air of power that swarms all around, somehow seeming to wrap me in a cocoon of safety even with him a couple feet away.
“I have travel coffee mugs, if you’d like some to go.”
“I have a mug at work but thank you.”
I don’t know if I imagine it or I’m just hopeful, but I swear I feel the brush of his hand on my lower back when we walk toward the door.
We chat about nothing in particular on the drive to my work after I tell him the address, and I get the feeling he’s trying to lighten the mood from the drama that my life has become.
With a quick goodbye and a request to text him when I get off work, I climb out of his truck. The office is quiet when I arrive, and I find it unusual that my boss has two men in his office. They both stare at me when I walk by, one of them closing the door before I make it to my desk. My boss normally doesn’t get to work so early, but he’s been acting weird for weeks.
I grab another cup of coffee wondering just how many it’s going to take to get me through the day and get to work. As the day drags by, I regret not taking Quinten up on his suggestion to just call in.
When the guys leave my boss’s office, one stares at me like I’ve personally offended him, but he doesn’t say a word.
Thankfully, the rest of the day goes by without incident. When I text Quinten to let him know I’m leaving soon, he texts back that he’s already waiting in the parking garage for me. I don’t think I’ve ever rushed out of the office so fast.
Chapter 23
Quinten
She grins, a smile so small it barely lifts the corner of her mouth when she spots my truck as she exits the office building. I climb out quickly and open the door for her, resisting the urge to help her inside by either touching her waist or her glorious ass. God, the woman brings me to my knees, and I don’t think she even realizes it.
“Good day?” I ask when I climb into the cab.
“I’m an accountant. I don’t think I’ve had a good day at work since I started.”
I frown, hating that she goes to a job she doesn’t love. I have bad days at work as well. I think everyone has, but I couldn’t imagine waking up each morning with any level of enthusiasm if I despised where I worked.
“Your car is back at my place. They didn’t find a tracker on it, and they didn’t find anything at your house. I wish I could tell you that we were closer to figuring out just what the hell is going on, but we aren’t.”
“Okay,” she answers, sounding sullen and a little withdrawn. “I hate that I’m putting you out.”
“You’re not,” I rush to tell her. “It was nice to have someone to chat with this morning.”
And the way she looked at me? I was barely able to keep control of my erection, a problem I haven’t had since my early twenties.
“Do you have a class tonight?” she asks when I pull up outside the gun range.
“Nope. Just here to pick up a package.”