I climb the steps, rolling my eyes when I see Nate step over Boo with an uncomfortable grimace. Little dogs always have a way of making large men uneasy. As though if they’re ever caught walking one or, god forbid, cuddling with one, it’ll be an automatic deduction of masculinity points.
Hands searching my empty pockets, I pause at the door and groan. “Oh, frack.”
Nate’s eyebrows go up.
“My keys.” I sigh. “They’re in the bush.”
Brows go higher.
“I kind of… threw them.” I swallow and try not to blush.
“When you flailed like an epileptic fish on dry land?”
“Was that a joke that just came out of your mouth?” I ask, taken aback. “I didn’t think you knew how to do that, anymore.”
His eyes are steady on mine. “A lot you don’t know about me, West.”
Oh, I’m sure there is…
My heart is pounding so loud by this point I’m pretty sure they can hear it down the block. I try to swallow but find my throat is clogged by a bundle of nervous, sexual energy.
“Well, you surprised me, appearing out of nowhere like that.” I cover hastily, making my voice haughty so he won’t know I’m seriously considering the repercussions of dry humping his leg. “Which means it’s your fault my keys are in the hydrangeas, and you are the one who’s going to climb in there and find them.”
“Or…” He steps closer, until our chests are nearly brushing, and I forget to breathe, forget to think, forget to do anything but stare as his face moves toward mine. Extending one arm behind my back, he comes to a stop before we actually touch, but his mouth is so close to my ear I can feel his breath on my neck when he whispers. “…I could just use my key.”
The sound of a lock turning over and my door swinging inward snap me out of my momentary lust. I’m still standing there like a fool, attempting to process the fact that Nate just opened my door with “his key” when he steps around me and strolls inside. His gate is so casual as he strides through my foyer and disappears into my kitchen, you’d think he’s stepped over my threshold every day for the past five years.
What. The. Frack.
“You coming, Miyagi?” he calls from somewhere inside.
I glance down at Boo, who’s gazing up at me in expectation, clearly wanting to follow the strange man inside — the man who’s likely looking through my private documents, hacking my hard drive, and cracking my safe as we speak.
“You do realize we’re totally fucked, right?” I ask Boo in a serious voice.
Swear to god, he nods his doggy head in comprehension before giving up waiting for me to grow a set and trotting after Nate.
“Frack,” I mutter, stepping inside with a groan and shutting the door at my back. If not for the sudden tension in Boo’s leash, pulling me away from the entryway, I’d have happily stayed there all night rather than face whatever message of doom and gloom Nate’s undoubtedly here to deliver.
Chapter Eleven
There’s a special ring of hell for the people
who invented push-up bras and high heels.
Nathaniel Knox, watching a beautiful brunette
glide out of a town car in a blue-black dress.
I find him in the kitchen — not rooting through my drawers for state secrets, but searching my fridge. As soon as I unhook Boo from his leash, he runs to his bed on the other side of the room and settles in like a king holding court. Nate’s audible sigh brings my eyes back to him.
“What the hell is the matter with you, West?”
I hop up on the marble kitchen island, legs swinging, and contemplate his question. “Well, I’ve always wanted to be better at math. And sometimes, if I blow-dry my hair too much, I get really bad split ends. I’m an abominable public speaker. Oh! And I’m really terrible at remembering names.”
After a few seconds, I realize I’ve been rambling and snap my lips together so I won’t say anything else. Nate’s staring at me with crinkly eyes again.