Page 28 of Quinlan

I do no such thing.

“No.” Roaring flames clash into me. I have to take a step back. Istumbleback at the intensity. “I thought I’d write this letter and send it. Ended up regretting it. The envelope had to go.”

Such a simple answer. Burning an envelope in the middle of the street, early in the morning on a workday. Such an intriguing one.

“So there are no bills in there?”

“Already paid mine.”

The envelope was empty. Why is he here?

Why does it feel like he’s squeezing my heart even tighter?

“Someone else is indebted to me.”

“Who?” I’m too brave for my own good. A man who sucks the air out of the street has the power to do anything.

“No one that should interest you.” The stranger isn’t being rude, despite his cutting words. He’s being straightforward.

“And the envelope?”

“I wanted to burn something, so I did.”

“Some people drink coffee.” I’m breathless. Can’t shut my mouth with how nervous I get around him. “You set fire to envelopes?”

A mistake.

“Yes.” He pushes off the wall. Prowls forward.

He casts his shadow over me, cornering me.

My reckless lips keep moving. “Here? Outside my building?”

“Who said this had anything to do with you?”

His fingers brush along the tattoo on my cheekbone. They travel lower, to the trembling spot under my chin, tipping my face up. I smell him better from this close. Memories of the fire and a hint of mint.

“I haven’t even met you until a few minutes ago.”

“Why here, then?” I’m curious. Terrified and curious.

“It’s a nice neighborhood. I went for a walk. Found myself here.” Concise. No, simple. Everything seems painfully simple for him. I’m almost envious. “Nothing personal.”

Would liking him mean cheating on mystery man from yesterday?

The one who evaporated without ever giving me his name? Yeah, no.

I’m not cheating. But I might die of lack of oxygen.

That, or he might kill me first. For no other reason other than it fascinates him, I think.

“What areyoudoing here?” he asks, voice low. “You don’t look like you’re going anywhere in these cute pajamas.”

My cheeks flame. Fire burns me inside out.

“Well?” His eyes gloss over my clothes, the fluffy slippers. They’re dark. Wanting.

He doesn’t hate it. He really thinks my pajamas are cute.

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