Page 2 of Rock Chick Bonus Tracks

The fact she was who she was, did what she did, let it all hang out and didn’t get embarrassed about any of it was high on the list too.

“That’s hard to forget,” she retorted, a hint of snap in her tone.

“And you thought it was a good idea to creep around my condo?”

“I wasn’t creeping. I have a key.”

“You have absolutely no reason to be here. You were creeping.”

She made the wise decision not to reply to that.

“And I have a gun,” he went on.

She rolled her eyes.

Fair play, he’d never shoot anyone he didn’t intend to shoot, and they both knew it.

“You’re a trouble magnet,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes again.

Another fair play, Indy being that wasn’t news.

He let his gaze drop to her hand, the one she didn’t use to brush off her ass.

He returned it to her face. “Is that my lock picking kit?”

“Um…” She didn’t exactly answer.

“You stole my lock picking kit?”

“I didn’t steal it.” Definitely a snap in that. “I found it.”

“You found it,” he repeated wryly.

“I found it.”

She was such a shit liar.

“I hid it in one of my boots so you wouldn’t do something like, oh, I don’t know…” He gestured to the floor between them and finished, “This.”

She scrunched up her nose and kept her mouth shut.

He knew why.

She was dying to see what was in the room behind him and getting into an argument with him might mean she wouldn’t get what she wanted.

“You know, if you wanted to know what was in this room, there’s ways to find out that don’t involve breaking and entering,” he pointed out.

“Naked gratitude?” she asked snottily.

He grinned. “Well, yeah. That’s always an option.”

Her stare turned to a glare.

He went on, “But also, you could just ask.”

She put a hand on her hip, hitched said hip—always a warning coming from any female, a code red warning coming from Indy—and asked, fake-sweetly, “Can I see what’s in there?”

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