Page 48 of Hunted

She finally turned around, out of excuses to keep her back to him. Then she blinked. Romano wore a pair of her father’s trousers, olive drab, with grass stains on the knees.

He plucked at the front of the sweater he’d donned. “My clothes are still wet. I hope it’s okay that I borrowed some of your father’s.”

“They fit you.” She blinked again, looking him up and down, almost laughing at the bitter irony. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? You have so much in common.”

She saw his frown, saw his lips part as if to ask her to explain that remark, or to deny it. But he seemed to think better of it.

“I probably should have said something before, but the furnace has been broken since October. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed, but?—”

“Listen.”

She tilted her head, and in a moment realized the ancient oil burner in the basement was running. She lifted her brows in surprise.

“The nozzle was clogged,” he told her, as if she’d know exactly what that meant. “It just needed cleaning.”

“That’s good. When the basement warms up, the pipes will probably thaw on their own.”

“Not that it matters,” Romano said slowly. “We’re not staying.”

“Maybe you’re not staying,” she replied. “But I am.”

“Lexi, just because no one is here now doesn’t mean they aren’t watching the place. They might check in from time to time.”

She shrugged. “I’m staying. I need to be here right now.”

He frowned until his brows touched. “Why the hell do you need to be here?”

“I don’t know yet.” She looked at the way her hands were clasped together, wringing each other, and made them stop, bringing them deliberately down to her sides. “I just feel I have to be here. And nothing you can say is going to make me leave. If you want to go, go by yourself.”

“You know damned well I can’t leave you here alone.”

“Why not, Romano? Why the hell not?”

“Because you could end up dead.”

“That would be a real strong argument, except that it’s my life. My choice. Not yours. You don’t honestly give a damn anyway, so you have no say in what happens to me.” She strode past him, heading for the stairway, wanting only to go back up to her warm bedroom and put on her heaviest sweater. She was halfway up the stairs when his voice came from the bottom, stopping her.

“My full name is Connor Lionel Romano,” he said, and his voice was very low, very soft. “And I give considerably more than a damn what happens to you.”

A tremor ran up her spine, and she closed her eyes as all the air left her lungs. “I wasn’t trying to force you to say that,” she whispered, knowing that was exactly what she’d been trying to do, consciously or not.

“I know.”

She turned slowly, met his eyes, saw the turmoil in them. This wasn’t easy for him. He was hurting. It was palpable, his pain. He was almost writhing with it, and she wanted to ease it for him. She offered him a smile that felt weak, and lifted her brows. “Connor Lionel, huh?”

His lips turned up a little at the corners, and the confusion in his eyes cleared. “Yeah. And that’s the last time I want to hear you say it.”

“All right … Connor Lionel.” She turned around and continued up the stairs. Romano followed. She went back into the bedroom, rubbing her arms and hurrying to stand close to the fireplace. He came in behind her, but she noticed his hesitation in the doorway.

God, he really was scared to death of her, wasn’t he?

After a moment’s apparent indecision he came inside and closed the door.

“You, uh … you can bring the cat, if you want,” he said, coming to stand beside her. Not too close beside her. Not even close enough.

She realized with a little surprise that she wanted to be close to him, close enough to feel his body heat and hear the pounding of his heart. She wanted to be wrapped up in his arms.

“Bring the cat where?”

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