The Closer He Gets

“I wasn’t fine,” Zach said. “I drove by your house at midnight and again at around five. Didn’t do a lot of sleeping in between.”

She stared at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Tess nibbled on her lower lip. “My father wants me to move home.”

“Your father, who just had a stroke?”

“Three years ago. He’s made an amazing recovery,” she said defensively.

Zach shook his head. “Not a good idea.”

She looked away from him. “No. I know it isn’t.” She hesitated. “I have friends...”

“This isn’t the kind of trouble you want to bring down on most people.”

“Nothing that terrible has happened,” she fired back, her argument losing force when she barely stopped herself from finishing with a yet.

Zach did it for her. “Yet.”

She crossed her arms. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Part of me thinks I should stay with you.”

Wow. Nice of him to let her hear his deep reluctance.

He shook his head. “Bran told me yesterday that a rumor was already going around about me spending the night at your house.”

Her mouth fell open. It was a moment before she could form words. “But...how?” Then she scowled. “Officer Parish.”

“I doubt it.” His voice wasn’t much better than a growl. Zach wasn’t a happy man. “I think somebody had to be watching your house.”

Goose bumps rose on her flesh, giving her the sensation of invisible fingers moving over her.

Tap, tap, tap.

She didn’t have to say anything. Zach swore. “I’m sorry, Tess. Damn it! I wish they’d come after me.”

“No!”

“I’m ready for them.”

There he was again, terrifying her with his certainty that he was invincible. Just like her father, who was so sure he could protect her even if he was still semi-crippled from the stroke—and was on a blood thinner.

“They...they won’t go after you the same way,” she said. “You know they won’t.”

Zach tipped his head in a form of acceptance. “You’re right, of course.”

Suddenly desperate not to be talking about this, she said, “We close in half an hour. If you were serious about looking at tiles, you’d better do it.”

He grinned wickedly at her. “Of course, I could go to Home Depot and pick up some plain black and white tiles. Do the classic checkerboard.”

“You could.” Despite herself, she was smiling. “Have you?”

“Yeah, looked good in one of the houses I flipped. Did glass blocks between the toilet and sink, a shower with etched glass, chrome fixtures. It came out great.”

“It sounds like it.” And, truthfully, it probably didn’t make sense for Zach to buy super high-end materials of any kind for a relatively modest older home he intended to sell once he finished the remodel.

He reached for the tile he’d picked up the last time he was here. “I really like these.”

“Anything you buy here will be at cost,” she told him.

He turned his head. “Why? You have to make a living.”

“You’re the guy who comes running, night or day, when I call. It’s not like I’m losing anything to order whatever tiles or flooring you want at cost.”

“How about cost plus ten percent?”

They negotiated, but he won. Or lost, depending on your point of view. He took out his wallet and removed a piece of paper with measurements. Tess led the way to her office, carrying the sculpted tile and the plain one that worked best with it, and filled out the order form. Concentrating was a challenge with Zach in the straight-backed chair on the other side of the desk from her, his legs outstretched, his gaze never leaving her. She watched as he wrote a check to cover the deposit. He’d come prepared.

“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked suddenly, the words hardly spoken before he looked disconcerted, as if he’d never meant to say any such thing.

Her eyes widened. “You mean...go out?” Where anyone at all could see them together?

“Actually, I thought I’d put dinner together at home.”

“Is this part of the Protect Tess program? Or—” She couldn’t make herself finish.