Page 14 of Guarded Secrets
A sharp rapping at his front door had him muttering another curse. He finger-combed his wet hair, pulled on briefs, then Levi’s, buttoning the fly as he crossed the room. He pulled open the door and his breath jammed in his throat.
Seeing Keeley unexpectedly when he didn’t have time to brace for impact always had the effect of making his breath back up in his lungs. There were millions of women in the world, but not one of them could stop his heart like the woman standing at his door holding a pie.
Keeley Montaigne likely had that impact on any man she came across. Some women were like that. Golden brown hair, hazel eyes that gleamed with hints of gold, green, and gray, and a smile so bright when it beamed his way, it made a guy feel like the luckiest bastard on the planet.
Not that she beamed at him a whole lot. Everyone else got the sunshine, but with him she covered that sunshine with a thick layer of fog.
His apartment was located upstairs from Easy Money, accessed from the back parking lot by an outside flight of stairs. She stood on the narrow landing, and instead of her default sunshine she was one hundred percent pissed-off female.
She held a plastic carrier by its handle. “You’re a deceitful, lying bastard.”
“Not usually. Got a problem, princess?”
“Yes, I’ve got a problem.”
Even as she spoke, her gaze ran over his chest. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth, the gold in her eyes glowing. It didn’t hurt his feelings that she seemed to like what she saw, but it also made him wary. Then her attention snagged and she went still, her cheeks going pale. He knew what had caught her eye: a small round circle of uneven skin the size of a bullet right where his arm met his shoulder. She raised a hand and he froze.
He knew he should back up. Get far enough away so she couldn’t touch him. But he remained standing there like an idiot as she reached a finger to lightly brush the puckered scar. The first time she’d voluntarily touched him, and he felt it like a bolt of lightning.
She raised her face, expression stricken. “You were shot. Someone shot you.”
“Yeah. Vest caught the first one.” He thumped a fist on his chest, right side, keeping his voice even. “Right here. Almost knocked me on my ass. Second one got past the vest, messed me up some.”
“Did it happen when you were in the military or when you were a cop?”
It figured that Abby or Bruce had shared his background.
“Cop.”
She waited like she expected him to explain. When he didn’t, she said, “I’m so sorry you were shot. It must have been agonizing.”
She was so empathetic her eyes reflected his pain. It took every ounce of control not to take the hand resting on his chest and…do what? Something stupid like pressing his lips to her palm? Like kissing her knuckles?
Where the hell did those ideas come from? He wasn’t a romantic, and he certainly wasn’t the right man to act like one with her. He shook his head to clear it. “My partner got it worse.”
Which was more than he wanted to say. He never talked about what happened. Ever.
Because he liked her touching him too much, and was afraid his control would break and he’d do some touching of his own, he stepped back to snag the rest of his clothes from where he’d left them hanging over the back of a chair.
She seemed to take his movement away from the door as an invitation because she stepped over the threshold into his apartment, closing the door against the cold wind. Shit.
“Look, princess, we’re short-staffed tonight and I need to get downstairs. You can be pissed at me later.”
“I’m not a princess, and I can be pissed at you now.” She held out the carrier in her hand. “Here’s your thank-you pie.”
“Thanks.” He took it across the room to the kitchen counter. Good move because it put more space between them. Facing her again, he noticed her watching as he buttoned his shirt.
He wished she wouldn’t do that. Self-preservation dictated he stay away from her. But if she was attracted to him, his self-control would erode away to nothing and he’d be screwed.
“Not-annoyed me wants to say I really do appreciate you coming to get me last night. I didn’t want to spend the night in the car. And you arranged for it to be towed to Lou’s. I know you were doing it as a favor to my mom, but thank you.”
He opened his mouth to contradict her assumption, then snapped it shut. Some things were better left unsaid. He pulled on a navy t-shirt, followed by a long-sleeved polo with the Easy Money logo. “Spit it out, Miz Montaigne. Tell me what I’ve done to annoy you so I can get to work.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed glare and turned her back on him. She wandered to the bookcase and picked up his baseball mitt from a shelf and fit her hand into the glove. He never should’ve let her in.
Now he wouldn’t be able to get the image out of his head. Her in his space, touching his things. She tilted her head to study the titles on his bookshelf, loose golden-brown hair hanging down in a shimmering curtain of color.
“Angela’s Ashes,” she murmured. “That one’s gut-wrenching.”
