Page 70 of Jingle Belle's Biker

I look at his handsome face. “I’ve been here since before and after we split, Lance, and you never come here.”

“Maybe I got sick of waiting for you.”

“To come to the dark side?”

He fails even to crack a hint of a smile. “Don’t be foolish, Isabelle. We make a good team. I’ve let you spread your wings, but you don’t want another winter in this Siberian wannabe.”

“Siberian? A little dramatic.”

“Why is it warm in here?” He frowns and glances about as though the answer might be in the air.

“It’s winter.”

“I know, but?—”

He stops abruptly, and a shifty expression comes over his face. I narrow my eyes. “There are laws regarding heat, Lance. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go.”

“Where?”

I pick up my coffee cup and take it into the kitchen, where I wash it very carefully. Then I dry it. Finally, I put it in its place in the cupboard.

“It’s not any of your business,” I say, trying to keep the anger that still beats from his question in check.

He nods in the way he has, which tells me he’s strategizing, rethinking his next move.

“I’ve got an apartment, Beacon’s Hill, brand new. Top floor, two bedrooms.” Lance glances back to the living room and my sofa. “New furniture. It’s got central heating, a doorman, and?—”

“You have a house in Fairfield.” The richest part of Sweetwood. So rich, so special it’s just Fairfield. “So . . .”

I trail off. Oh boy.

“Why do you have this apartment?”

“I don’t.” He smiles. “You do.”

“Are you bribing me?”

“Of course not. But you can’t live here. This place has its days numbered, and I’m still hopeful you’ll become Mrs. Lance Hastings.”

I curl my toes in my shoes right as I fist my hand by my side. “I don’t want an apartment on Beacon Hill. And you and I? Done. I’m not marrying you, Lance.”

His eyes narrow. “There’s someone else.”

The heat rushes my face, even as I say, “No, there isn’t.”

But his lips press together, and his nod’s tight. “Whoever he is, he can’t compete.”

Could he cause problems for Saint? I don’t know. I don’t want to be responsible.

“If there was someone, there’d be no competition.”

“Damn right.”

I let him believe what he’s clearly decided, that he’d win, which isn’t what I meant.

“I’ve got things to do, Lance.”

“The apartment?”

---