by Pennza, Amy
“You’re very welcome.”
“I haven’t had sweet tea in forever.”
He smiled over his glass. “This is Texas, darlin’.”
God. If he smiled that like again, she was going to embarrass herself. She tore her gaze away from his face and shoveled more stew into her mouth.
They ate in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the clink of their spoons against the ceramic bowls. Eventually, she put her spoon down, her belly filled with warm stew and enough cornbread to feed a family of four. If Smith was shocked at the sight of a woman eating like a trucker, he didn’t show it. If anything, he seemed pleased by her appetite. A few times, he’d nudged the bread platter closer to her, like he enjoyed watching her eat what he’d prepared.
She gestured to the kitchen. “Your house is gorgeous, you have the world’s sweetest dog, and you can cook. How in the world are you single?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to sink into the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She clamped her mouth shut. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, lightning would strike her where she sat.
Faint color stained his cheeks, but he smiled, his gaze on his bowl. “No, it’s okay. I…haven’t had much luck in the romance department. With the hours I work…” He shrugged.
She could hear Pia now. “Way to go, Ashley. The man made you stew, and you go and stomp all over his ego.”
“That makes sense,” Ashley said quickly. “And Prattsville is painfully small.” She let out a short laugh. “Although, I can’t say I’ve had any luck in L.A., either.”
“But you’re so beautiful.”
Their gazes met. Something in his told her he hadn’t meant to say that, but it didn’t matter. An unspoken exchange passed between them—a tacit acknowledgment of mutual desire. It hovered in the air, waiting for either to seize it and say it aloud.
Smith looked down, and the spell was broken. He pushed his empty bowl away and stood. “Speaking of the world’s sweetest dog, I should check on Deuce. He loves being outside, but it’s getting late.”
“Of course.” Warmth curled in her belly, but it wasn’t from the stew.
He nodded and disappeared into the front of the house.
Whoa. She sat back in her chair, her mind spinning with a dozen questions. He thought she was beautiful? Was he prepared to act on it? More to the point, was she prepared for him to act on it? It was times like this she missed her phone. If she’d had it, she could have texted Pia for some quick advice.
Thunder erupted from the hallway, then a streak of black shot into the kitchen. Deuce circled the island like a centrifuge, his tail thumping the cabinets.
“Deuce!” Smith strolled in after him. The look on his face said this was a common event. “Deuce!”
The dog sprinted to Smith’s side. He leaned down and took Deuce’s head in his hands. “Calm down, buddy. We have a guest.”
Deuce’s tail thumped the hardwood. He pushed his nose against Smith’s hand, then reared back and let out a loud sneeze.
Smith met Ashley’s gaze over Deuce’s head. “He’s always like this.”
“Really? I would have never guessed.”
Their gazes held, and another electric current passed between them. The air seemed thick and heavy.
After a long moment, he patted Deuce’s flank. “Time to clean up, boy. And, no, that doesn’t mean you get to lick the dishes.”
Ashley stood with her bowl. “That’s good because there’s nothing left in mine. Thank you for dinner. It was amazing.”
“I’m happy you liked it.” He walked to the table and began clearing it.
“I’ll help you with this, then I should really be getting home.”
He stopped, the cornbread platter in his hands. “I think you should stay another night.”
Electricity sparked along her veins. Casual. Act casual. She walked to the sink and set her bowl in it. “Really?”
He put the platter on the island. “Just in case. I don’t think you have a concussion, but it’s best to play it safe. If you’re here, I can keep an eye on you.”
Oh. How…neighborly of him. Had she misread the past twenty minutes? He was a cop and technically her landlord. Maybe he felt obligated to look after her. Or he might just be one of those people who rescued kittens from trees and helped little old ladies cross the street. What she’d assumed was interest could be nothing more than altruism. For some reason, that thought made her stomach clench. “Thanks, but I don’t think—”
“The temps are also supposed to drop into the twenties tonight. And I know the furnace at your place only works half the time.”
She couldn’t argue with him there. A few nights ago, she’d been able to see her breath inside the house. Given a choice between shivering under three blankets in her old bed and snuggling under the down comforter in Smith’s guest room, it was hardly a toss-up. Still, there was no excuse for her to stay. She didn’t have a concussion. As tempting as it was to let him “keep an eye on her,” it was also very dangerous. This…attraction between them was dangerous, especially since she wasn’t sure how much of it was mutual. He’d taken care of her last night, and he’d been a solicitous host tonight, but a few smiles and a nice dinner were a sharp contrast to the cold shoulder he’d given her over the past two weeks. Which Smith was the real one? And did she dare to find out?
He must have seen the indecision in her expression because he jerked a thumb toward the stainless-steel fridge with a big freezer drawer on the bottom. “At least stay for dessert. I have ice cream.”
“Okay, that’s not fair.”
The side of his mouth kicked up in a sexy grin that seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. “I can play dirty when I have to.”
She grabbed her tea from the table and sipped so he wouldn’t see how much his words affected her. Maybe she could press the glass against her face when he wasn’t looking. This is dangerous. Actually, it was downright stupid. If she was smart, she’d thank him for dinner and march her butt right across the lawn. That was the right thing to do.
“So it’s settled then,” he said, moving to the refrigerator. “You’re staying.”
She lowered her glass. “Wait. I didn’t say—”
“Chocolate or chocolate chip cookie dough?” He opened the drawer and peered inside. “I have vanilla and rocky road, too.”
How could she do the right thing when he had an ice cream arsenal? “Cookie dough,” she said weakly.
He plunked two frosty containers on the island. “I’m partial to cookie dough myself.” Deuce trotted to Smith’s side and gave a soft woof. Smith smiled as he pried the lid off the first carton, muscles bunching with the effort. “Deuce, though, he’s a vanilla guy.”
She looked between the dog and the sexy, smiling man. Oh yeah. She was so screwed.
* * *
He was so screwed.
Smith followed Ashley upstairs. For once, Deuce minded his manners and stayed at his side. After ice cream, the three of them had watched TV in the den for a little over an hour until Ashley had nodded off so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. He’d suggested they call it an early night and go to bed. Of course, she didn’t know he was exhausted from fighting to keep his eyes off her. Even in the oversized sweats, her firm curves had beckoned. With her tousled hair and big, blue eyes, she reminded him of a sleepy kitten in his big t-shirt.
He’d made three mistakes tonight, each one more fatal than the last. First, he’d called her beautiful. As soon as he’d said it, he knew he was doomed. It was like the door he’d slammed shut between them had cracked open.
She knew it, too. It had been there on her face as they’d watched each other across the table. She knew he wanted her. She just didn’t realize he’d wanted her from the first moment he saw her. No wonder she’d looked confused.
If he was a better man, he would have grabbed that door and closed it again. Then he would have escorted her home.
But he wasn’t and
he hadn’t. Instead, he’d kicked it wider by asking her to stay. And when she’d hesitated, he tore the door right off its hinges by making sure she wouldn’t say no—mistakes two and three, one right after the other. He was a goddamn overachiever.
When she’d talked about going home, his gut had lurched. She could never know what had passed between him and Dean Lacy today. Smith knew without asking that she wouldn’t like it. And until he knew for certain that son of a bitch had gotten the message, he wanted to keep her as close as possible.
It would be easy to pretend that was the only reason he wanted her in his house. But that would have been a lie, and he never bothered lying to himself.
She reached the top of the stairs and turned.
He stopped two steps below her, one hand on the railing. The position put him at her eye level. Deuce went ahead and plopped on his butt next to her. She smiled and rubbed his head.
“Well,” she said, looking at Smith. “Good night.”
“Good night. Do you need anything?”
“No.” She fingered the bottom of her shirt. “As long as you don’t mind me sleeping in your clothes.”
And didn’t that just make blood shoot straight to his cock. He tightened his grip on the railing. “Not at all.”
“All right. Well…” She glanced at her room.
“Hey, one thing.”
“Yes?” She tilted her head, and a thick curl fell over her shoulder. The curved end fell over her nipple, which was just visible under her shirt. The pressure in his cock ratcheted up a notch.
“The house is old. If you hear any…noises or anything at night, don’t be alarmed. Sometimes drafts blow through. It can be a little scary if you’re not prepared for it.”
“Sure. It’s the same at my grandma’s place.” Pink tinged her cheeks. “Well, it’s your place now.”
Guilt stabbed at him, which was silly considering he’d paid more than the property was worth. Cheryl had been in a hurry to sell. He cleared his throat. “Also, I’m a bit of a light sleeper. It’s probably best if you don’t walk around a lot at night.”
She bit her lip. He wondered if she had any idea how such a simple gesture made his blood pound. “No problem,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She rubbed between Deuce’s ears. The fool dog closed his eyes and swayed. “Thanks for letting me stay,” she said. “Thanks for last night, for everything you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done much.” Damn, but her eyes are blue. His cock throbbed. With the blood supply to his brain dwindling, some stupid instinct made him add, “That’s what neighbors are for, right?”
Her smile froze. It was fast—if he’d blinked, he would have missed it—but it was there. Then she brightened and said, “Right.”
Shit. Could he have picked anything more stupid to say? He groped for a witty comeback, but she gave Deuce a final pat and slipped into her room.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Deuce, who had swiveled his head to follow her, turned back to Smith and gave him the canine version of a look of pity.
Smith curled his fist against the railing. A heavy sigh rose from his chest. Deuce’s ears perked up, and he let out a low whine.
“Come on, boy.” Smith climbed the rest of the steps and led Deuce into his bedroom. He didn’t bother with the lights. Moonlight streamed through the windows and painted the floor silver. Deuce started for his spot in front of the fireplace, but Smith clicked his fingers, summoning him back.
“No treadmill tonight, buddy.” Ashley would hear the noise.
Deuce’s hindquarters shivered, then he leaped onto the bed and settled himself on the bottom half. It was a bad habit, letting him sleep on the bed, but Smith didn’t have the heart to tell him no.
He went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of shorts. He started to shut the drawer, then hesitated, his hand hovering over the clothes. After a second, he reached underneath and pulled out a photo. It was old—at least by current standards. Taken before smartphones and selfies, it was creased down the middle and ratty around the edges. He carried it to an upholstered bench at the end of his bed and sat down, then rubbed his thumb over the glossy surface. He’d told Ashley that justice had a way of catching up with people who deserve it, but there was more he could have told her.
Like how sometimes justice got it wrong. Other times, it was just plain indifferent.
Round, grinning faces stared up at him. He closed his eyes. It was best he hadn’t told her the last parts. She belonged in a world where only the first part was true.
In other words, a world apart from his.
He opened his eyes and heaved himself off the bench. By the window, the treadmill gleamed in a puddle of moonlight.
Two nights without a run. He’d done it before with no problem.
He replaced the photo, then changed into his shorts and climbed into bed. Before he lay back, he gazed at his bedroom door. It was ten, maybe fifteen, steps to her room. He could get up, cross the hallway, and see her within seconds.
But he wouldn’t.
He punched his pillow into the shape he liked, lay down, and turned away from the door.
The hallway between them was narrow, but it might as well have been a mile.
13
Ashley sat up with a gasp.
What the hell was that? She strained, listening for the sound that had startled her awake.
It came again—a low, muffled groan. Wind. Smith had said the wind sometimes blew drafts through the house. She looked out the window, where a full moon shone like a spotlight. The trees were still.
Another groan drifted through the door. Whatever it was, it was close.
Shivers raced down her spine, and the hair on her arms lifted. She pictured a spectral figure in Victorian clothing floating down the hall. Her heart thumped. She pinned her gaze on the door. Any second now, a ghost was going to seep through it, and she’d die of a heart attack. Smith would find her and what wonder happened—
A man’s muffled yell split the air. Smith’s deep baritone was unmistakable.
She threw back the covers, got out of bed, and went to the door. Was he hurt? In pain? She waited for another sound, her nerves so taut someone could have played them like a fiddle.
There was a groan, followed by a low woof. She didn’t even think, just yanked the door open and flew across the hall. Smith’s door was closed. She grasped the knob and burst inside. The moon was even brighter in here. Smith lay flat on his back, one arm flung over his head. The blankets were tangled around his waist, his shorts bunched around his thighs. His bare chest heaved. Deuce sat at his side, his ears pinned back. A high-pitched sound—like air being let out of a balloon—filled her ears. It took her a second to realize it came from Deuce. He nosed Smith in short, frantic snuffles.
She crossed to the bed. “Smith?”
His eyes were closed, but his features contorted like he was in pain.
He’s having a nightmare. “Smith? Smith, wake up.”
His mouth twisted. He sucked in a breath and then let out the most heartbreaking sound she’d ever heard. Low and raw, it ripped from his chest as if it had come from the depths of his soul. Beside him, Deuce yelped—an exclamation point on the end of the wrenching moan.
Fear spiked her veins. This was more than a nightmare. She leaned over Smith and gripped his bare shoulders. “Smith!”
His eyes shot open. Their gazes met. His narrowed, and she caught a glimpse of the deadly calm he’d displayed when he demanded to know the name of the man who hurt her.
Then his arm shot out, and she flew across the room.
She landed ass-first on the hardwood. The impact forced a grunt from her lungs. Pain shot up her spine. “Ow…shit!”
Smith sat up. He blinked, his gaze blank as if he was just now seeing her. “Ashley?”
She rolled to her hip.
“Ashley…” His gaze swept the room, then he jumped out of bed and extended a hand. “Are you all right?
”
She waved off his help and got to her feet. “Yes, I think so.” She resisted the urge to rub her backside.
“What are you doing in here?”
Wait a minute, was that anger in his voice? “I heard you cry out. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The concern on his face vanished. Now his mouth tightened, and his brows pulled low in a frown. “You shouldn’t have come in here.”
“I was worried. I thought—”
“You didn’t think. I told you not to walk around the house at night.”
Why was he being such a dick about this? It was weird to find herself on the defensive when she’d only been trying to help. And he’d just tossed her to the ground like a bean bag! “You didn’t tell me not to walk around. You said you’re a light sleeper—”
He slashed his hand through the air. “You don’t understand. I could have killed you!”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying—”
“I don’t need you to try. I need you to follow orders!”
Orders? Just like that, she was done apologizing. She took a step toward him. “Hey, I said I was sorry. Next time I won’t bother checking to see if you’re okay.”
He didn’t back up. No, he leaned forward. All at once, she realized just how big he was. Her heart thumped. Moonlight turned his face to harsh angles. In a low, precise voice, he said, “That’s not a problem, because there won’t be a next time. I don’t need you to check in on me, I don’t need you in this house, and I sure as hell don’t need you.”
Ice slid down her spine. It would have been better if he’d yelled. If he’d flailed his arms and told her to get out, she could have handled it. But this… The contained menace in his gaze was more shocking than a loud outburst. Somehow, she managed to nod. Then, without a word, she turned and left his room.
* * *
It was a good thing the bed was right behind him because Smith’s legs gave out as soon as the door closed behind Ashley. Although, if he fell on his ass, he sure as hell didn’t have to worry about her rushing back in to check on him. Judging from the shocked look on her face before she’d walked out, he didn’t have to worry about ever seeing her again.