Page 56 of Return To You

“I’m on another job, so whenever, no rush, just leave the truck at my house, keys under the seat.”

“Gotcha.”

I hang up and take the box and set myself on the gray couch, looking outside the cute little garden. The view extends far away, up a distant hill, and a thought strikes me. Pulling the map app up on my phone, I’m pretty sure I’m right. Just for the heck of it—not that it matters at this point—I’ll check on that later. As I pocket my phone, the cat jumps onto my lap and purrs.

I give it a scratch between the ears.

“How long you think she’s gonna be?” I ask as it starts kneading its paws on my thigh.

Maybe thirty seconds into that, the cat stretches, and then I hear the engine, and the door, and her voice.

“Damian? Oh my god Damian, baby, are you okay?”

Damian jumps off the couch and greets Grace with perfectly healthy and happy purrs.

That’s my cue to stand and turn around, the box in my hands.

fifteen

Grace

My mouth goes dry. “What are you doing here?” I pick up Damian. “Are you okay, baby?”

“He’s fine,” Ethan says, “but we need to talk.” He drops my box on the kitchen counter. “Care to explain yourself?”

My heart beats hard, and I squeeze Damian for comfort. Protection. But the fiend jumps off me and runs away.

“How did you get in here, and how dare you snoop through my things?”

Ethan lifts his hands as if to plead innocent. He looks like nothing innocent right now. Tall and menacingly handsome, his eyes raking over my body like he could consume me right here and now, his breathing heavy with… desire?

Ohmygod, here I go again. Making stuff up. “Answer me,” I snap.

“I came to do a job. Fix your closet door.”

“I didn’t ask you to!” I shriek.

He shakes his head and lowers his hands. “I know you didn’t. Lucas did.”

“Lucas?” I did see Lucas’s truck outside. And it was Lucas who called me at the spa to tell me his “worker” had called about Damian.

“Look, the point is, I didn’t snoop through your things. Your cat threw the box almost literally at my feet. I was picking it up and… well…”

He’s at a loss for words and so am I. This is so embarrassing.

“You need to go,” I say.

He crosses his arms. “That seems to be your go-to phrase when it comes to me.”

What does that even mean? “Just leave,” I snap.

“Nope.” He reaches over, his heat and scent invading my space in a way that agrees way too much with my lady parts. “Not until we talk about this.” He snatches the box.

I try to grab the box from him, but he lifts it over his head, holding it in just one hand. I jump to get it and only achieve bumping into his hard, wide, warm chest.

Screw this. “Give it to me,” I hiss, and from the look on his face, I’m pretty sure he feels the anger coming at him the way I feel it seeping from me.

“Fuck, but you were always even more beautiful when you were angry. You haven’t changed a bit where that’s concerned.”

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