Her insistence on tagging finger quotes onto the word surveilling chapped his ass, but he kept the stream of swear words that wanted to escape caged behind his teeth. “I’ve never seen him before tonight. Hence my curiosity.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it these days? Curiosity?”
If he was a little more brain dead, he would have given in to the urge to kiss the smirk from her luscious mouth. “I don’t think you should see him anymore.”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction behind her glasses. “Why?”
“There’s something about him I don’t trust.” Like the way he had his tongue rammed down your throat.
“You don’t even know him.”
“Don’t have to. I can read a person in under two seconds flat, and his vibe is fishy.” He also hadn’t failed to notice Thane’s accent. The man was Frittonian. Granted, Tul’dea was a melting pot of cultures. No reason to link him to that blackmailing bastard from the warehouse.
Then again, he didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Oh really? Your amazing people-reading skill is completely infallible?”
Something in Avi’s prodding gaze raised his hackles. “What are you trying to get at?” He had a strong suspicion, but damn if he wasn’t feeling ornery enough to poke it out of her.
A shadow cast over her features, and she lowered her focus to the floor. “Nothing.”
It was all the verification he needed. The tension held inside him constricted before burrowing low in his gut. They hadn’t talked about the fiasco with Leena since the night the ugly truth came spilling out. Sometimes the inevitable confrontation felt like a ticking bomb between them. The rest of the time he pretended it didn’t exist.
He wisely chose to employ that last option. “It’s getting late. Your training isn’t going to run through the paces on its own.”
Judging from her expression, she didn’t appreciate his terse change of subject. Too bad. His disastrous relationship with Leena was a closed topic. There was no way in hell he was rehashing his failures with Avi.
How was it possible to want to hug someone and clobber them at the same time?
Those two constants perpetually wavered within her when it came to Jerrick. She either wanted to kill him. Or love him. Quite often with equal passion.
She’d witnessed the brief flash of dark emotion in his eyes when their conversation edged too close to his painful past. He’d quickly yanked the shutters down, but her heart ached at the tiny glimpse of vulnerability he kept under lock and key.
Kicking off her shoes, she watched him climb the last two stairs and drape the silver plastic bags he’d brought along over one of the tall newel posts. He stepped into her apartment and rolled his broad shoulders, working out the kinks. His massive, larger-than-life personality overwhelmed the small space, sucking up all the oxygen. No doubt that explained the dizziness she experienced looking at him.
Yeah, right. “I can hang your jacket in the closet.”
He shrugged from the garment, his black T-shirt pulling snug against those rippling muscles that invaded her fantasies too frequently. She tempered the desire to perform a chin check for drool and instead relieved him of his jacket. While he unzipped the garment bag, she trekked to the corner cupboard. Giving a discreet peek over her shoulder, she ascertained the coast was clear and buried her nose in the still-warm collar of his jacket. Later she’d kick her ass for being such a creepy, clothes-sniffing loser.
His woodsy spice infiltrated her sinuses, the delicious, stealthy invader making her woozy and her panties uncomfortably damp.
Enough torture inflicted on her for the day, she hooked his jacket next to her wool winter coat and snicked the cupboard door shut. Thankfully Jerrick was too preoccupied with the contents of his mysterious bag to pay her any mind, which meant her embarrassing behavior went blessedly unnoticed by him. While he struggled to free the section of plastic that’d snagged in the zipper’s teeth, she buckled to the hopeless need to drink him in.
He looked good standing in her apartment. Too good. The overhead star-shaped chandelier threw prisms of light dancing along his sun-kissed sable hair. It was cropped shorter than his usual style, but not too severely that the soft, silky strands wouldn’t curl enticingly around a woman’s fingers.
His focus remained intent on his task, his breath-stealing features set in concentration. She was so spellbound by his rugged beauty that she gave a little jolt of surprise when that startling blue gaze of his lifted and latched on to her. It should be downright illegal for a male to have such thick, lush eyelashes, even if he was a damn fairy. “Damn thing is stuck. Happen to have scissors handy?”
She snapped from her trance and rushed into the kitchen. Rather than wait, he trailed after her and plunked the bag onto the center marble-topped island. He accepted the scissors from her and made swift work of shearing open the stubborn plastic. Once he’d revealed the contents, she took a quick step back and shook her head furiously. “Oh hell no.”
Jerrick dug a thumb into his temple. “Surely you didn’t think we’d waltz into that club in our street clothes?”
“Funny, because that’s exactly what I thought.”
“Be thankful I got you this and not the body Band-Aid getup I first considered.”
“I would have chopped off your balls if you’d attempted to foist that on me.”
“Precisely why I left it on the rack,” he said dryly. “Avi, the dress isn’t that bad.” He tugged it from the confines of the plastic and held it aloft. “At least try it on. If you absolutely hate it, we’ll think of something else.”
“Yeah, you better believe we will.” Grumbling, she swiped the dress from his outstretched hand and stalked toward the hallway. She flipped on the bathroom light and secured the door behind her before tossing the garment over the lip of her oversized stone claw-foot tub. The things I do to exact revenge.
Only this time around, revenge seemed intent on biting her in the ass. Was stuffing herself in a miniscule scrap of leather really worth getting to order Jerrick around?
Yes. Yes, it is. Sighing at how easily her inner bloodthirsty wench sold her out, she wiggled from her pants and top and toed them aside. She eyed the strapless bust on the dress. She’d look like a tacky moron if she left her corselette on. Muttering, she unhooked the undergarment and flung that aside too. Her grunts and obscenities rapidly piling up, she jiggled her way into the flimsy excuse for a dress. Halfway through the ordeal, she realized one important factoid she’d overlooked. There was no way she’d be able to lace up the back on her own. Clutching the front to her, she hobbled to the full-length looking glass propped adjacent to the tub.
Her jaw dropped at the vision staring back at her. “Dear gods, I look like a streetwalker.”
An expensive one at least, but nonetheless she’d die a thousand mortified deaths if her mother accidentally saw her in this getup. Tucking her arms tight to her sides, she stuck out her chest. And almost took out an eye with her left boob. “I can’t leave the house in this. No way in hell.”
“Everything okay in there?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Jerrick’s rich baritone on the other side of the door. Seeing how skin was pretty much the only thing currently covering her, springing out of it was a dangerous prospect. “Yes,” she croaked.
“I’m coming in.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t.”
“Damn it, Avi. It can’t be that bad.” The knob turned, and the next instant Jerrick pushed inside the cramped space. She caught his reflection in the mirror. His stunned, sucker-punched expression made it worth donning the skimpiest dress known to womankind.