Besides, it was hard to be intimidated by a man she’d seen with his pants unzipped.
As the music lowered in decibel level, so did his eyebrows. “How can you think with it so loud?”
“I can think just fine.” Crossing her arms, she watched as Duff stepped over her scattered papers and books to check out the new stranger. Without hesitation, the purring cat rubbed his head and body around Hunter’s legs, and a cloud of black cat hair rose.
Trisha bit her lip and kept her eyes on Hunter’s, hoping he wouldn’t notice. No such luck.
“Your cat sheds.”
The disapproval was apparent and Trisha’s amusement abruptly faded. She’d had enough disapproval to last a lifetime. Besides, any man who didn’t like cats, no matter how devastatingly handsome, didn’t belong in her apartment. “Was there something I could help you with?”
At her chilly tone, he glanced at her, something in his eyes catching her attention. Not humor, it couldn’t be, not in Dr. Hunter Adams’s eyes. Yet there it was.
Bending in one easy motion, he scooped up the cat, folded his arms around his considerable body, and scratched Duff behind the ears in his exact favorite spot.
She could hear Duff’s purr from across the room, and despite herself, Trisha melted on the spot.
“Planning on dropping through any ceilings today?” he asked evenly.
She’d never been one to hold a grudge, especially with a man who could charm her cat and laugh at himself. “Not today, no. What brings you out here?” A suspicion gripped her, seized her gut. “You’re not here with a ‘For Sale’ sign, are you?”
“No.” He put Duff down, and the cat immediately rolled onto his back at Hunter’s feet, obviously hoping for a friendly scratch on the belly. “But you must have a hole in your floor from… where you fell. I thought I should look at it.”
Unable to help it, Trisha grinned. “I never did apologize for that.”
“Do you make that a habit, spying on men in bathrooms?”
Was that a faint blush in his cheeks? It couldn’t be, Trisha decided. Nothing would embarrass Dr. Adams. “Not often,” she replied with a little laugh. “And I am sorry if I startled you.”
“Startled?” He shook his head. “You damn near killed me.”
The man was huge. His wide shoulders and powerful build left no doubt that he was in excellent shape. “I’m not all that heavy,” she protested, scooping Duff up when he walked her way, looking for more attention.
“Heavy, no,” he admitted. “But that vinyl was slippery. You’re lucky I didn’t drop you right in the toilet.”
A giggle escaped her at the memory of the indescribable look on Hunter’s face yesterday, but it quickly backed up in her throat when she watched his gaze roam down the length of the two-piece teal bodysuit she wore.
“No vinyl today, I see.”
There’d been a time when she’d been made to wear nothing but school uniforms, then the most conservative of business clothes while attending college. Now she dressed for herself, and no one else, and if that meant she went a little wild sometimes, what did it matter? She liked it. “No, no vinyl today.” Because she knew he disapproved of her, she didn’t bother to explain that she didn’t like vinyl either.
He cleared his throat. “About the hole -”
Her phone rang, and Trisha hesitated. It was late Sunday afternoon and that could mean only one person. Her uncle Victor. No way would she answer it this week. No way would he make her feel guilty or depressed about her life and how she’d chosen to lead it.
Ring, ring, ring.
No way, she repeated to herself as her hand itched to stop the ringing. Not even if the man was still grieving… oh, hell. She was stubborn, not heartless. Shoving both the cat and the red lace teddy she still held at the baffled doctor, she whirled for the phone.
Hunter stared down at the burden in his hands. Duff immediately demanded, loudly, to be released, and Hunter let him go. But the soft, satiny thing… God.
He could picture her in it, all that thick, flowing hair behind her, shimmering eyes, that tight body filling out the silk.
What was it she’d called him? The stuffy scientist? He was well aware that he’d come off formal and reserved. But she’d unnerved the hell out of him in the bathroom the day before, and now he was flustered beyond belief from just fingering the woman’s underwear.
What was it about this chatty, crazy lady that did that to him?
His department would enjoy this. The Devil himself, flustered by a wild pixie of a woman who didn’t know how to dress, whose apartment looked like a cyclone had hit it. Who sold underwear for a living.
Order. After having grown up in this very sort of environment, with a flighty actress for a mother and a wanderlust-struck artist for a father, Hunter liked order in his life. Apparently, Trisha didn’t know the meaning of the word. Unwanted memories stung him. How many times had he been willing to sacrifice his needs for the people in his life, only to have them throw those needs back in his face?
Well, no more. He wanted organization, control, routine, and he’d get it. But being here, with this woman who somehow drove him to forget what he wanted and needed, was dangerous. His insides tightening uncomfortably, he straightened and set down the lingerie. He needed out of this house, badly.
“They hung up before I got there.” Trisha replaced the receiver and looked immensely relieved. She sighed deeply, and in doing so, brought his attention to her bare stomach. Her flat, tanned, bare stomach.
“You mentioned your lease before,” Hunter said carefully, a little desperately.
She stiffened. “What about it?”
“I’ll buy it out,” he said recklessly.
Her expression didn’t change. “Absolutely not.”
Two
“Think about it,” Hunter suggested while hopelessness coursed through his veins. What if she wouldn’t leave? “I’ll make a very generous offer.”
“No.” Trisha lifted her shoulders, stretching her top high on her ribs, outlining the firm curves of her breasts. “You’re stuck with me.”
He had to take a deep breath and turn away. Concentrating on the mess that was her home helped. That is, until he focused in on the red and black satin teddies strewn over her couch. Of their own accord, his fingers reached out and scooped one up, the satin rubbing sensuously over his skin.
Not your type, he had to repeat to himself, over and over again, like a mantra.
It didn’t work.
Following a method he’d perfected long ago when something or someone upset him, he closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten, waiting for the visions of this insane woman wearing nothing but silk to go away.
“What are you doing?” he heard her ask, but he just kept counting. Four, five, six…
“Are you… counting?”
Moving around him, she stared at him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You are. You’re counting.” She laughed, a light musical sound that had him grating his teeth.
“Seven.”
He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud, but she laughed again. “Dr. Adams, you can’t be serious.”
“Show me the hole,” he managed to say, rather politely, he thought.
But she just kept that infuriating smile in place and didn’t move. “You know what? I think you just play at this stodgy, superiority thing to intimidate people.”
“What?”
“It probably works with your… whatever you scientists call your assistants,” she went on, undisturbed by his glare. “But here, Dr. Adams, in my apartment, we’re equals.”
“I own the place.” Where the hell had that come from? I own the place. Good Lord, he sounded just like the intolerant jerk she thought he was. “I mean -”
“I know what you mean.” She turned from him, entirely without the show of temper he expected, and sauntered back over to her stereo in her teal workout clothes that so nicely encased her -