Page 4 of Bad Guys Need Love Too

Being this close to Lark, close enough to smell the delicate, citrus-y scent of her skin, was disorienting. He supposed he should just count himself lucky she hadn’t recognized him. Although, a lot had changed since the one time she’d seen him.

The time she’d saved his life.

He’d always hoped he’d never have to return the favor. He would’ve loved nothing more than to watch from afar as she led a nice, boring, long life.

But…here he was.

The inside of Lark’s house was a wood worker’s dream come true. She’d restored the original window casings, ceiling beams, moldings, and built-in bookshelves to their original stained-oak glory. The green glass tiles around the wood-burning fireplace looked original, too.

Her living room windows were a stalker’s nightmare, but even he could appreciate how the ivy design on the stained glass cast beautiful designs on her expertly refinished wood floors. She’dkept the furniture in the room to a minimum, with only a pair of brown leather loveseats facing each other with an antique-looking coffee table between them, a couple of floor lamps, and a media cabinet with an older-model TV on it. (Clearly, Lark wasn’t a big TV watcher, which was something Ren could really appreciate. There wasn’t anything worth watching on, anyway. Not since the networks had moved to the whole 8-episodes-every-three-years-if-you’re-lucky release model.)

He took a second to admire the wainscoting on her dining room walls as he followed her towards the kitchen, pondering where to place the camera he had in his work bag. It was so tiny it could go anywhere, really. And setting it in place would only take—he did some quick mental calculations—ten point two seconds.

He was willing to admit he might’ve miscalculated a bit, though. It was hard to do mental math when he was trying so damn hard not to notice how toned and firm her ass looked in those leggings, or how shiny her blonde hair looked bouncing around her shoulders as she led him into her kitchen where the basement access was.

Of course, he’d known something in her house was painted a sunny yellow and sage green. He’d watched through street cams in her neighborhood as she chose the paint colors at the hardware store, after all. Seeing that yellow on her kitchen walls and the green on her cabinets was another experience entirely. This place, this room in particular, wasn’t just a house. It was a home.

Ren had never had a home. A long string of houses and trailers, sure. But homes? No way. Even his current house was functional, clean, and tactically easy to defend instead of homey or warm.

Everything about Lark and her space was warm and welcoming.

That’s when the douchebag at her table looked up and noticed another man in what he perceived as his domain. The pompous little asshole puffed up like a gorilla at the zoo. Ren contained his snort of derision, but just barely.

Neal narrowed his eyes on Ren, then shifted his gaze to Lark. “Who’s this, hun?”

Hearing this guy call Larkhunmade every muscle in Ren’s body tense. He wanted to tell him he wasn’t good enough to scrub Lark’s toilets, let alone call herhun. But that would blow his cover, because surely Bill from the city’s utilities department wouldn’t have any opinions on who she dated. So, he kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t stop the muscle in his jaw from jumping, though. He only had so much control.

Lark made a sweeping hand gesture in his direction. “This is Bill. He needs to check the gas meter in the basement. Someone called in a leak across the street.”

Neal’s gaze swept over him, taking in his size and bulk, lingering on his tattoos, lip curling in disgust. “I hope you checked his ID.”

Lark’s eye roll was minimal. Anyone who wasn’t watching her closely wouldn’t have even noticed it. But since Ren was always watching Lark, he clocked her disgust right away. It made him smile.

Or more accurately, it made one corner of his mouth tip up ever so slightly. That was as close as he ever got to a real smile.

“Of course I checked his ID,” she muttered, before offering Ren a warm smile. “Here’s the basement access. I flipped the light on. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, ignoring the tingle of awareness that danced down his spine when his arm brushed hers as he moved past her.

The basement itself was far nicer than Ren expected. Typically, in an old home like this one, the basement was a dark, dank, pit of despair. His years in foster care in less than ideal spaces had taught him that much. But Lark had obviously put a little money into this one.

A small laundry area was set up in the far corner, but other than that, it was a relatively large, open space. It had clearly been waterproofed, and the concrete floors were so clean you could eat off them. The visible support beams were even free of spider webs. That was something he especially appreciated since his hair was currently brushing against them. (High basement ceilings were sadly not a feature of a 1940s Craftsman house.)

And the best part? Furnace vents that lead to wide floor grates in the upper levels. He could feed cameras up into her living room floor grate and maybe even the kitchen one, and she’d never have to know.

He couldn’t make himself put cameras in her bedroom. It just felt too invasive. He knew that was stupid, given the fact that he’d been watching her every day for the past 23 years. But watching her intimate, private moments wasn’t respectful. Everyone deserved a space where they could be themselves, unwatched. And for Lark, that place was her bedroom.

While he dug the cameras out of his bag, he heard Neal say, “You really need to be more careful, Doodlebug. That guy looks like he’s part of a prison release work program.”

Ren snorted. Everything Neal knew about prison was probably confined to what he’d learned watchingThe Shawshank Redemption.

“Shhh,” Lark hissed. “He’ll hear you. He’s just doing his job. Besides, he seems like a very nice man.”

Wow. Lark’s gut instincts about men were clearly terrible. He was far from anice man. So was her fiancé.

Maybe he should add more cameras. Just to be safe.

“Nice mendon’t have tattoos like that or nipple piercings,” Neal hissed back.

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