Page 50 of The Woman in the Warehouse

And his stupidly gorgeous face.

His determination to make something of himself.

His good manners.

His easy smile.

His ability to get under my walls, to bring out a softer side of me I almost forgot existed.

All of that was sending up red flags.

So I needed to put a stop to this before things got any further.

Whether he liked it or not.

Whether I liked it or not.

It was for the best.

Case closed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Anthony

I felt the change in the air as soon as I walked back out of the bathroom. Before my gaze even landed on Saylor, already half-dressed and clutching her pants to her chest like a shield.

I’d expected it, I guess.

But it was still a disappointment how quickly she wanted to get away from me, wash the feel of me off of her skin.

With a sigh, I fell into the bed that smelled like her, listening to the shower running, and wondering how she could go from so soft and sweet and clinging to hard, detached, and cold so quickly.

And how to get the other part of her back.

The shower cut off, but it was another half an hour before she finally made her way out. Maybe she thought that if she waited long enough, I might pass out, saving her from actually having to talk to me about what had happened.

I was wide awake on the bed when she came out, gaze focused on the windows, and making a beeline for the couch where she picked up the binoculars, acting like watching the house required her utmost attention. Even though it had been quite literally since we’d moved in a few hours ago.

I figured that Saylor was not the kind of woman who was going to respond well to being pushed—especially emotionally—so I let her have her space for the night, deciding to catch a few hours of sleep, then wake up to take over at the window.

__

I woke up sometime before dawn, the sky still dark, but there were streaks of pink and purple in the distance.

Glancing over, I saw Saylor still sitting facing the window, her arms on the back of the couch. But the binoculars had fallen onto the cushions next to her legs, and her head was resting on one of her arms.

Out cold.

I climbed out of the bed, stretching for a second, then making my way over to her, carefully sliding my arms under her legs and around her back, wanting to move her to the bed.

Only to get kicked and hit as she struggled toward consciousness.

“Even wake up swinging, huh?” I asked, gripping her tighter as I pulled her against my chest.

“Anthony?” she asked, voice all soft with sleep as she looked up at me with dreamy eyes.

“Yeah.”

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