Page 43 of The Twilight Theft

Probably at least one of those.

I could mess with him back. “Let me guess. An uber-expensive, complex red from some private vineyard in France?”

He grabbed a glass from a top shelf, turned, and poured it without taking his eyes off me.

Goddammit, he was hot.

Or maybe it was the oven.

He placed the bottle on the counter and swirled the glass under his nose. Eyes fluttering closed, he said, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, and no.”

I hadn’t paid close enough attention to what I’d said to figure out what I’d gotten right or wrong.

“It’s from Italy, not France.” He held the glass out to me. The bowl on the glass was astonishingly large, so the serving was likely more than it appeared. “I’ll spare you the details if you’re more interested in the flavor than the history of the Cavallotto winery.”

The stem was extraordinarily long, yet somehow, when I took it from him, our fingers brushed. He didn’t seem phased by it—just poured a glass for himself. But me? My insides were melting.

The plan to mess with him wasn’t going well. I made a hasty retreat into the dining room. A little distance would help. I sighed at the sheets on the table, already tired of the Mosaic floor plan. The measurements were in my head and I didn’t need pictures anymore. That’s what the rest of the team needed.

The dining room opened into his living room, where a large screen television hung on the wall by a small balcony door. On television? More news. No wonder he was always so grumpy. How could a person be happy with so much negative information bombarding them every moment they were awake?

I scanned the living room, an overly masculine space that resembled a show home. Structured furniture, everything in tones of gray and blue, including the barely there rug under the coffee table. After being in his car, it shouldn’t have surprised me.

Shit. My shoes were still on. Did I track in any dirt?

Mr. Clean wouldn’t be a wearing-shoes-inside kinda guy. I’d been too distracted by the kitchen when I arrived to think about common niceties. Not that it was only a nicety—I preferred feeling the floor. Another thing that centered me.

I kicked my shoes onto a small mat next to his door. He had one shiny pair of brown Oxfords next to a worn pair of running shoes, lined up perfectly.

That was a way to mess with him. I adjusted one of my shoes so it crossed over the other. Asymmetry. That was step one.

Unfortunately, the hardwood floors weren’t as pleasant as I’d hoped. “Your floors are cold. Has anyone ever told you that?”

No response came. Either he hadn’t heard or he was ignoring me.

I wandered to one of the tall windows, the curtains hanging open. The sun was still up—would be until we were done—and I could see for miles. “Nice view.”

“It’s better from the top of the building,” he called from the kitchen. “You can see the Potomac from the lounge area by the outdoor pool.”

“Swanky.”

“We can go up there after we discuss Scarlett’s ideas.” The sound of metal slicing against metal came from around the corner. Not an amateur, for sure. He was sharpening his knife. “The city’s beautiful at night, with all the lights twinkling in the darkness.”

At night? Darkness? In the middle of June, that wouldn’t be until after nine. How much did he think we had to discuss?

I took a sip from the glass, a hint of chocolate and cherries dancing over my tastebuds. Itwasfantastic. Not that I had to let that slip. It would go against my whole plan of messing with him.Or you should talk about work, the reason you’re here in the first place.

“Scarlett thinks—”

“How’s Tanner doing?”

My heart lurched.

The sound of sharpening switched to cutting, and he raised his voice further. “Emmett said that’s where you were this afternoon.”

Emmett, you jerk!You were supposed to cover for me!

Next question: What did he mean? He’d asked how Tanner was doing, not who he was or why I was there. Did they know each other? Did he know which Tanner I’d visited?

---