Nate chuckles.
The sound is so foreign, so achingly compelling, it melts through me like liquid gold. I haven’t heard him laugh, really laugh, in years. Not since we were kids, before he left Harvard and went through the military training that left his eyes too cold and his words too guarded. Hearing it now, rusty from disuse as it rumbles from his throat, I fight the need to close my eyes and savor the timbre of it, like I do when I’m front-row at the Boston Pops listening to the orchestra crescendo.
He falls silent all too soon, eyes finding mine once more. They’re no longer crinkly-warm as they scan from the dog at his feet to my hyper-short pajama bottoms to the baggy sweatshirt draping me to mid-thigh, taking in every detail with painstaking attention.
“You were out walking alone? At this time of night?”
“Um…” I gulp at the accusation in his words. “No.”
He stills dangerously. “Someone with you, then?”
“Um…” I’m having trouble forming words. “Yes?”
He goes so tense, he’s practically vibrating. “O’Dair?”
“What?” My mouth gapes.
“You meet up with O’Dair somewhere?” His voice drops lower to mutter words I’m pretty sure I’m not intended to hear. I hear them anyway. “Man has a fucking death wish.”
My heartbeat picks up speed. “Excuse me?”
“West—”
“I didn’t meet up with Cormack. Why would you even think that?”
His jaw unclenches a bit. “You said you met up with someone.”
“No, I said I wasn’t walking alone.”
“Then who the fuck were you walking with?”
“Um…” My voice gets small. “Boo?”
His mouth twitches as he stares at me, his expression flickering between frustration, anger, and amusement, like a slot machine spinning numbers. He settles on anger.
“You shouldn’t be out alone at night, West.” His eyes burn into mine. “Tell me you’re at least carrying your pepper spray.”
“Tell me you don’t actually believe I own pepper spray.” I snort. “Come on. Who do you think I am? Five minutes ago I was ready to karate chop you to death, for god’s sake. You think if I had mace on hand, I would’ve been like Oh, look! A creepy stranger on my steps! Yep, now seems like a good time to test my samurai skills. Let’s do this. Crouching Tiger Hidden Phoebe.” I strike a ninja pose, hands slicing through the air between us in a faux-strike. “Heeeeya!”
His mouth tugs up against his will. “Are you a ninja or a samurai?”
I pause — hands dropping, head tilting. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
He shakes his head, amused.
“Oh.” I fight a blush. “Whatever. My lack of knowledge concerning ancient Asian warriors is not the main issue here.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I pin him with my best no-nonsense look. “Why are you here on my stairs, scaring me half to death at one in the morning?” I glance down at my ninja hands then back at him, eyes wide with mock concern. “I could’ve killed you with these!” I waggle my fingers at him. “They’re lethal when I unleash my qi.”
His mouth twitches again.
You are not fourteen. You are a grown ass woman. Do not squeal or do cartwheels because the man deigned to smile at you.
“Seriously, Nate, I didn’t send up the bat-signal, or anything.” I shiver — more from the image of Nate dressed in a skin-tight Batman costume than the cold. “So… why are you here?”
“Let’s talk inside.” His eyes scan my body, taking in the goosebumps on my bare legs. “You’re freezing.”
I sigh, but don’t fight him. Truthfully, I am kind of chilly. And hungry. And horny.
Not that I’ll be acting on those last two — not while he’s around, anyway.