Page 52 of Guarded Secrets
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“My feelings are my own concern. Is there anything else?”
The slow shake of his head made her think she’d surprised him. Good.
“Right, okay. I’ll follow you home. I brought a sleeping bag so I can bunk on the floor.”
“No,” she said succinctly, glaring at him. “You will not bunk on the floor. I’m fine. I don’t need or want your protection.”
“Fuck that. I don’t trust that asshole Jaxon, and we don’t know who killed Demaris. You’re vulnerable living alone.”
“My cottage is mere feet from my parents’ home. I’m fine. I don’t want you there, Owen.”
“Right.” He sighed. “Before I forget to tell you, I’ve contacted a security company to work out a plan for a system that includes your cottage and your parents’ house. A rep will be at your house in the next couple days.”
She shook her head at his change of subject.
Fed up, she got in her car, started the engine, and backed up to turn around. All the while Owen stood, hands still in his pockets, and watched her leave.
***
Owen stretched, then cursed when he rapped his elbow against the Bronco window. Jesus, it was cold. He’d unzipped his sleeping bag and spread it over himself, but it had slipped off sometime after he’d finally gotten to sleep. That would’ve been about oh-dark-thirty. He sat up, bringing the seatback to the sitting position, and scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d sell his soul for a cup of coffee. The sun shone brightly through the trees ringing the Montaigne property.Shit. He’d slept later than he’d intended. He’d meant to make sure Keeley stayed safe through the night, then get out of the firing zone before she spotted him.
He leaned his head against the headrest, fingers jammed through his hair, and closed his eyes because the stabbing rays of sunlight hurt his brain.
He’d pissed her off last evening. Maybe that was better because maybe if she was pissed off, it’d be easier to keep his hands off her.
A sharp rapping had him jerking open his eyes and knocking is elbow on the window again.
Keeley stood outside his truck, as pretty as a sunbeam and wearing a poppy orange Vista Middle School hoodie with flannel pants. She brought a mug to her lips that read “Don’t make me use my teacher voice” and sipped slowly.
The bandage on her forehead infuriated him all over again. He opened the door and stepped out, his cramped muscles complaining, and inhaled the scent of coffee.
“That’s fucking mean.”
Blinking slowly, she took another sip.
He eyed the coffee level as he brushed past her. She still had about an inch to go before being conversational. He went into her cottage, used the john, and splashed cold water on his face. In the kitchen he noted she’d made a full pot. He got a mug and poured his daily dose of sanity and went to join her where she sat at the table on her little patio.
He blew to cool his coffee then drank deeply, warmth sliding through his body. He’d much prefer waking up next to Keeley to sleeping in his SUV, but at least he had coffee.
“You slept in your Bronco.”
She must’ve gotten to the halfway point. He sipped from his mug, taking his time answering. “Yeah.”
“I told you I don’t want your protection.”
“Tough shit.”
The bright sun brought out the gold flecks in her eyes and the golden freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“You’re staring.”
“Wouldn’t stare if you didn’t have freckles.”
She rubbed a finger self-consciously across the bridge of her nose. “I need to remember to put on sunblock or they’ll get worse.”
He clamped his mouth shut to keep the words he wanted to say from tumbling out. That he loved her freckles. That she was perfect as she was.
