Zander smirks at my offer, his arms crossed over his chest. Again, I’m drawn to how strong he looks. Who knew it was possible to have so many muscles bulging in just your arms?
“Which is?”
“A surprise.” And not only a surprise for him, but me as well, since up until this moment, I have never had a specialty. How hard can it be to make something delicious and make it look easy? It can’t be that bad.
“I look forward to it.”
We smile at each other, and I again notice how good-looking he is. He isn’t movie star attractive, but he exudes strength, power, and control. His muscles are clearly thick and well-toned, while his facial features are sharp, strong, and not without a few scars. One rests over his right eyebrow, forcing a diagonal hairless line down it. His nose is slightly crooked, too, like he broke it once, and his jaw, which has a slight bit of stubble over it, shows off an old scar. It adds to the mystery of him and doesn’t detract one iota from how handsome I think he is.
How did he get these scars? On the job he currently has? Or, are they older? Was it just an accident, or was he in a serious fight?
When Zander begins to clean up, I quickly jump into action.
“No way! You cooked, so I’ll clean.”
He nods, and I think he might leave me alone to do this, or at the very least leave the kitchen area to give me space, yet he doesn’t. He leans back against the counter next to the sink so I am forced to stand perilously close to him while I wash up.
Heat rises as I grow uncomfortably warm at his close inspection. What is he seeing? Why is he standing so close?
And this is the moment, when my hands are soapy wet, that I realize I didn’t even pat my hair down when I got up from the couch. Given how deeply I slept, it is likely sticking up as much as it usually does when I sleep at home.
I look down at the borrowed clothes I still have on. At least I’m all covered. No accidental nipple slip here. Still, I no doubt look a mess. No wonder he’s staring.
“This might be stepping over a line,” he hesitantly begins, pausing for a moment like he’s trying to talk himself out of it. “And please don’t answer me if you don’t want to, but you mentioned something about your relationship with Clarke last night.”
My body tenses from hearing his name, even if it’s just his last name.
“You said you guys dated for eighteen months, but you didn’t even have a key to his place, you didn’t always see each other when he was home from work, and you never talked about marriage or kids. Why is that?”
I’m surprised by this question, and it takes me a moment to work out why this surprises me.
“Are you asking me why I didn’t want to marry a monster? Bring kids into this?” I clarify, not sure I like where he is going with this.
“No, I’m asking you about before three, well, four days ago now, when you thought Clarke was just a regular guy. Were you not that into him? And if so, why stay with him at all?”
Part of me wants to inform him that this is none of his business, but as someone who has stuck my nose into his business repeatedly, I don’t feel right to deny him this.
The only problem is that I haven’t really thought about it myself. Therefore, I remain silent as I try to consider his question and why it is that I never thought to break up with Brian.
I knew our relationship wasn’t perfect, yet it didn’t seem it was so imperfect that something was wrong. I enjoyed his company, our time together was never awkward, and I never felt unsafe with him. He seemed to have the same values as me, seemed like a nice man, and never pushed me for more than I was willing to give. Our sex life was normal, if perhaps a little infrequent, and we never fought. It was easy with him, and I enjoyed having a drama-free life.
I guess it figures that the end of our relationship has caused every possible heartache and drama to catch up all at once.
Zander rests his hand over my shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Forget I—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I just realized I’ve never thought about it before. I suppose I just liked that things were predictable. I liked that I never had to worry or wonder with Brian. He was straightforward, and I liked where we were. I’m not opposed to marriage or kids one day, but I’m not in any sort of rush to get there.”
“Clarke is an FBI agent who is constantly away on top secret missions. You never worried about him?” Zander asks in astonishment.
I open my mouth to say of course I did, but no words come out.
The truth is, I didn’t worry. I just enjoyed my time alone while he was away, generally liking my own company. It felt like a system that worked perfectly for us.
“I should have worried, right?” I ask.
Zander doesn’t answer me, just continues staring at me like he’s seeing more of me than I realize.
Just a moment ago, I was worrying about Zander being hurt when he goes to Brian’s neighbor’s house, and yes, part of that is because I am the reason he’s in this mess. But I also worry that this is dangerous, that what he does is dangerous.
Why am I worried more for Zander, who I haven’t even known a full day, more than I ever worried for Brian, who was often gone for weeks at a time?
“Does that make me a bad person?” I whisper, shocked out of delving deeper into those thoughts when Zander cups the back of my neck, forcing me to look at him while my hands, still wet from the soapy water, drip over his floor.
“You’re not a bad person. No way. You didn’t even consider for a second to ignore what evil you discovered. You knew you had to do the right thing, no matter how scared you were. That is brave and most definitely not what a bad person would do in the same situation.”
“I’m sure a bad person would steal a car and kidnap a twelve-year-old kid,” I tell him, my voice sounding breathy, caused by the position we are currently in.
There is still space between our bodies, with only his hand touching my neck, yet our position feels intimate.
“A desperate person would do those things. Besides, you didn’t really steal or kidnap when you brought both back unharmed and within half an hour after calling me to let me know your name and what you had done.” He chuckles a little at that. I love seeing it close up.
“You’re right; I suck at being a car thief and kidnapper,” I joke, and his lips twitch.
“I don’t recommend you attempting to improve those skills,” he says seriously.
“I think I might retire from trying out those things,” I concede and am again treated to seeing his lips twitch. “What made you ask me about Brian?”
He releases me then, stepping back. I wonder if I just ruined something. Should I not have asked?
“I was just curious.”
Curious about what? About me? Or maybe this was really all about Brian and figuring out more information.
“Okay.”
“Once you’re finished with them”—he nods at the dishes still soaking in the sink—“get dressed and we’ll go.”
As he walks away, I follow his movements with my eyes before turning back to face the sink. I dip my hands into the hot water and get to work scrubbing, but my mind is elsewhere, stuck on thoughts about Zander and why I stayed with Brian for so long.
I still feel Zander’s hand on the back of my neck and wonder if he would do that same movement if he were to kiss me. I can pretend the warmth I feel heating my body is from the hot water and steam rising in front of me, but I know it’s mostly from the way Zander touched me.
I shake away those thoughts, quickly finishing the dishes then rushing to see if my clothes are dry.
They are not.
I consider putting on my damp underwear, anyway, but a quick brush of my bra against the light gray material immediately dampens it. Therefore, my choices are to remain commando or have damp places where my underwear and bra are.
Not really any choice at all.
Damn.
Instead of freaking out or ranting
in my head about how much worse things can get, I try to ignore how uncomfortable I am and attempt to psych myself up for today. Just one more retelling of my horror story, and then perhaps things will move along fast enough that it will be over with soon. I can go back home, back to my old life, wear clean and dry underwear, and if I’m lucky, keep in touch with Van and Zander in some way.
Something has to start looking up eventually, right?
Wrong.
Chapter 5
Zander pulls into the same spot he was in yesterday as I glance around the neighborhood. It appears much less seedy and grungy than last night.
“What made you choose to place your offices here?”
Zander shrugs. “More work in this area, and we prove that we’re not afraid of any sort of crime.”
I consider that, still not sold on it as a good idea.
“Besides, if things are ever a little slow in the office, we have plenty we can do around here to help. Since we’ve moved in, our surveillance has helped solve numerous crimes. Englewood has actually dropped down in crime since the criminals know to avoid this area now.”
“Well, I clearly didn’t get the memo. Am I the first to steal a car from under your nose?” I ask only to try to slightly rub that fact in.
He turns and glares at me, but it is lacking any heat.
I just smile in return.
“You got lucky. I was busy, and my other guys were out. A couple hours earlier and Sasha would have been watching that video feed like a hawk. She would have gotten you as you started to approach.”
“Who is Sasha?”
“She’s the office manager slash receptionist.”
“And the surveillance manager, too?”
“No, but she says she gets bored sometimes and likes to watch who goes into the strip club across the road. It just has an added benefit of our parking lot being in her view.”
“Oh,” I mutter, having no idea what to say to that.
“Let’s go.”
I wince as I step outside the car. Not only am I again out in public, somewhere Brian or his men could be, but I’m also still in Zander’s clothes and currently commando. I’m not sure I have ever gone anywhere out in public without underwear, and I am definitely not liking the feeling.
“You okay?” Zander asks, treading confidently around the car and coming up to me.
He appears completely put-together in his dark blue suit and burgundy tie. He looks like he might be ready to step onto a runway, while I’m in clothes too big.
I consider asking if I could borrow enough money to buy something else to wear, even just a few dollars to buy some cheap panties and a bra, but Zander is already doing so much. He’s way over his quota for helping a complete stranger. No need to push it.
“Just trying to get used to feeling this naked,” I blurt out.
What? Why the hell did I just say that?
His mouth drops open a little, telling me he quickly figures out why I feel naked. There is a moment when he just blinks at me in what I assume is shock. One, long, drawn-out moment that has me feeling even more uncomfortable. Then it passes as he quickly turns away from me and begins a fast pace toward his office.
I struggle to keep up, and then I can’t help feeling like I have stepped through a portal once inside, landing inside a swanky neighborhood.
Everything is shiny and new looking, and in a weird way, it feels warm. Not so much the temperature, but the feeling it gives off. Dark brown wooden coffee table, black leather couches and seating, with dark cream walls. It’s sort of like my dream living room, except we are in an office, and it is clearly missing the nice big screen TV that is in my living room fantasy. Also, there is a large chunky desk that I never envisioned in my fantasy, which will need to change immediately.
I freaking love this desk!
Drawn to the furniture rather than the person sitting at it, I make my way over to the desk that is covered in chaos and run my hands over the timber. It’s smooth and looks far sturdier than the one I have at home, which is an IKEA one that I put together myself. It only took three tries, and I have always been worried it might collapse since I had eight bolts left over at the end.
Eight!
I get throwing in an extra one just in case, but who throws in an extra eight! No one, meaning I missed something.
“Are those Zander’s clothes?” a woman asks, snapping me out of my desk envy fever and forcing me to focus on her.
The woman has an afro, dark brown skin, and eyelashes that seem unnaturally long, but also make her eyes pop. When she stands, I see she is tall, slim, and absolutely stunning. And she is grinning at me. Actually, she is bouncing on her feet in clear excitement.
“Sasha, did you do what I asked?” Zander saves me from having to recall what she even asked me since I was too busy taking her in.
I glance over at Zander to see why he sounds irritated. Have I done something wrong already?
“Well, I’m not your slave, so picking up clothes isn’t actually part of my job,” she simply informs him without an inch of fear in her voice.
Zander’s eyes bug out, clearly not agreeing with that statement. “As your boss, I’m fairly certain that type of thing is part of your job if I say it is.”
“I’m here to answer phones—”
“And listen in on private conversations,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes on her.
“I wear a headset that sometimes randomly locks in to other calls. I have no idea why it does that.” She shrugs innocently. However, the wink she gives me sort of ruins her innocence. Especially since Zander is standing right next to me and sees it.
“It does that because you pick up the line and connect!” he snaps.
There is something that feels routine about this argument, like they have had it dozens of times before. Neither one seems too mad or worried.
“Whatever. Last month, when you had that freaky woman calling you, I was able to get Jerry to trace it immediately. No need for you to do that stupid hand waving signaling thing.”
“I was already typing a message to Jerry to have him trace it!”
“So, I saved you some concentration.” She shrugs halfheartedly. “Look, the moral of the story here is that I bought this lovely looking lady, who is totally wearing your clothes, a new outfit and now you owe me a favor.”
When Zander first walked in, he looked professional, put-together, and calm. Now his hair is in disarray from rubbing his hand through it; his calm façade is broken, his body appearing tense, with a new glare directed Sasha’s way; and it takes him all of two minutes to pull on his tie, loosening it.
“Fine, whatever. Just give Ava the clothes.”
I’m touched and incredibly happy that he has thought of this. I didn’t even have to ask. Then again, his generosity is just too much. How am I ever supposed to pay this back? It’s not just about the money, but also the trust and kindness. I have never had that directed at me like this. It feels overwhelming.
“I can do that. Just know that your credit card might have gotten an extra workout today because, well, you know, you owed me a favor, anyway, and I never got a Christmas bonus last year,” she continues to calmly inform him while waving me over as she moves away from behind her desk.
“You only started working for me in January!” Zander’s outburst makes me jump.
Sasha shrugs at him then reaches down and pulls out a bag with material sticking out of the top. She then hands it over to me. “Here you go. I’ll show you to the bathroom where you can have some privacy.”
“Meet me in my office when you’re done,” Zander orders before stomping away, getting caught up by a man before he can take more than a few steps.
This one is taller than Zander, but leaner. He has light brown hair, bright blue eyes I can see from across the room, a shaggy beard, and he has clearly been working out. Not only obvious from his workout gear, but the fact that he still seems to be catching his breath.
He looks like he cou
ld be Zander’s brother, except I know he only has Van. Cousin maybe?
“Declan is definitely, and unfortunately, worthy of staring. But I think you might have your hands full with Zander,” Sasha tells me, as we both stand still by her desk, eyeing the men who appear far too serious for this early in the day.
“What do you mean by hands full?”
“You’re in his clothes, in his office, and you slept over at his place last night,” she excitedly informs me like I didn’t realize any of these facts myself.
“Oh, it’s not what you think. I don’t have anything else to wear, and he was just being nice last—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Zander is a saint. Now, tell me”—she leans closer to me as she takes ahold of my arm and guides me down a hallway, stopping us at the first door and opening it up to reveal a swanky bathroom to go with the shiny reception area—“what does Zander Jameson’s bedroom look like? Does he actually have a bed, or just a port he plugs himself into to recharge?”
My eyebrow rises at her question and because she pushes me into the bathroom and closes the door with her still inside. I suppose her privacy comment doesn’t extend to her.
“I never saw his bedroom.”
“You didn’t?” She frowns at this. “He made you sleep on the couch?”
“He didn’t make me. I insisted. Besides, he’s already doing plenty for me. I couldn’t steal his bed.”
“But his car was okay to steal?” she asks, and I redden in embarrassment.
She knows I stole his car. Is that why she is with me now? To make sure I don’t steal anything in the bathroom? Is she worried about the toilet paper?
“I swear I have never stolen a thing before in my life. I don’t make a habit of stealing cars. I was just … I was desperate,” I admit, my voice small and my head down, looking at my shoes.
“I was just joking.” Sasha’s feet come into view before she pats my arm gently. “I nearly fell off my chair laughing when I heard the news this morning. Seriously, sometimes Zander acts like he is Superman. He is cocky and doesn’t know how to slow down. But really, if he had a superhero name, it would be Super Annoying, or Super Neat Freak. He needed to be reminded that he is only human. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if he is a robot,” she tells me kindly, helping me feel more at ease and not like some thief needing to be watched.
I Stole His Car (Love at First Crime Book 1) Page 8