The words came out sounding like he didn’t know whether to be angry or amused.
I glanced down at my attire, at my sleeveless floral-printed button-down blouse with the bottom tied just below my breasts that revealed a thick strip of my belly, to the flare of my short shorts, down to my little white loafers.
“It’s hot out,” I mumbled almost incoherently, completely caught off guard.
“Obviously a little too hot,” he muttered just loud enough for me to hear.
He turned right back to the high crystal cake platter, a white pastry bag with a swirly tip positioned in his tattooed hands. He bent over and his tongue poked out to the side in concentration as he applied another flower.
Okay, so maybe I hadn’t stepped into a horror flick.
I’d stepped right into the Twilight Zone.
Ripping my eyes away, I made a quick pass over the normally immaculate rental. The trendy furniture was covered in tissue paper and ribbon. Boxes were upturned and on their sides, shopping bags of fabric and yarn and sewing supplies dumped out on the couch and chairs.
His suit for the wedding day hung in a plastic garment bag over the French doors.
My stunned gaze moved on to the kitchen where every cabinet door sat wide open, every tool and small appliance cluttering the counters, the sink overflowing with dirty dishes.
“Seriously…what in God’s name are you doing?”
So maybe this time I was concerned for his sanity because I was sure this rock star had dove right off the deep end.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re baking a cake.”
“Baked a cake,” he corrected with a shrug of a muscular shoulder. “Now I’m decorating it.”
“And…why would that be?”
“What, I don’t look like The Pillsbury Doughboy or Betty Crocker or Paula Fucking Dean?”
A chunk of that silky hair flopped over one of his eyes as he inclined his head, his too-pretty face entirely trained on the task at hand.
I laughed.
Shit.
I laughed.
He was right. He was asking the better question. What the hell was I doing here?
A million warnings shouted in my head, but still, I found myself taking another step deeper into his apartment, a forced lightness twisting through my words. “Uh…no. Not even a little. Should I be concerned? Call someone? I’m worried for your safety. You could have burned the place down.”
A soft chuckle rolled from him and I watched the subtle rise of his brow that was still level with the cake.
“You’re concerned for my safety, huh? I figured you wouldn’t mind one bit if it all went up in flames…me included.” His teeth tugged at his plump bottom lip. “Hell, I bet you’d be the first in line to strike the match.”
“Well, I kind of like my apartment, so I wouldn’t be happy if it all went up in flames.”
I felt the smile pulling at my face.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Now I was joking with him.
That same smirk he loved to wear curved one side of his mouth, before something set in those jet-black eyes. Like twilight taking hold. Dimming the world in an aura of severity.
He set the pastry bag aside and blew out a weighted breath as he pressed both hands flat to the table on either side of the cake.
“Listen… There’s something I’ve been needing to say to you.”
Uneasily, I swallowed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dropping his eyes, he breathed again. “I…uh…fuck.”
A harsh laugh escaped him. One filled with pure disbelief. Obviously directed at himself.
He rocked back enough to study his bare feet between his outstretched arms, those vibrant designs dancing above the sleek, rippling muscle of his back and chest and arms.
“I don’t do this…” he finally said.
I crossed my arms over my chest in the same second I lifted my chin.
Searching for the shield.
“Don’t do what?”
He looked up, hands clutching the edge of the table, the air loaded as he pinned me with his unwavering stare.
“Care.”
The word struck me like an electric prod. My pulse went haywire and that same shiver of adrenaline prickled across my skin.
Was he even capable of caring?
My thoughts traveled to the song.
To his voice.
To the intangible words inscribed with mourning.
How could he not?
Straightening, he raked a hand through his hair. He glanced off to the side, before he reluctantly looked back at me.
“I don’t usually give a whole lot of thought to anything.” He frowned. “The things I say? The things I do? I do them without a second thought. Without concern. And the girls surrounding me are usually game. No questions asked. And I was wrong…thinking that same standard applied to you.”
“You assumed I was easy?” I forced it out like a tease, tamping down the quiver of unease.
He cast a coy grin. “Isn’t everyone?”
“Wow…you really are a charmer.”
A shot of bemused air puffed from him as he set his hands on his narrow waist and looked to the ceiling with a shake of his head. He dropped his questioning gaze back to my face.