Page 15 of Noel
“Camera at your front door.Motion sensors along the hallway.Panic button by the bed.You’re welcome.”
My jaw drops.“You were in here—while I wasnaked?”
He shrugs.“You were in the bathroom, Tinsel, I didn’t peek.I did your bedroom first.And by the time I finished the interior sweep you were already getting dressed.”
“Oh my God.”My voice goes up half an octave.“Do you just—do this everywhere you go?”
“Only when my client forgets to lock the door.”
I glare, cheeks flaming.“I did not forget to lock?—”
He holds up a small silver key, twirling it between his fingers.“Spare hidden in the fake plant by your stairs.Ten bucks says half your neighbors know it’s there.”
I blink, mortified.“You went through my—fake fern?”
“I go through everything,” he says simply, his gaze steady on mine.“That’s the point.”
I open my mouth, then close it again.He’s impossible.Infuriating.And unfairly, ridiculously attractive when he smirks like that.
“Next time,” I manage, “maybe give a girl a little warning before you break into her apartment.”
“That wasn’t breaking in.That was preventative entry.”
“Preventative—” I throw my hands up.“You’re unbelievable.”
He grins faintly.“You’re welcome, Tinsel.”
I narrow my eyes.“Still with that nickname?”
“Still fits.”His gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, and I swear my knees wobble.
“And for the record, Clementine’s right.”
I frown.
“About what?”
He smirks, stepping past me toward the kitchen.
“You do look hot.”
My brain short-circuits.
My mouth opens.Closes.Opens again.
I think I hate him.
Well, I absolutely—okay, Idefinitelycan’t stop thinking about him.
And from the way he glances back with that infuriating glint in his eyes, I think he knows it.
Dang it.
Chapter4
Noel
Friday Morning—En Route to Manhattan
