She shuffled out into the living room just as he knocked again. “I'm coming!"

God, I sound irritated. I was dreaming. Wasn't I? I think I was dreaming.

She didn't hear him, but when she glanced back over her shoulder from the hall Ryan was right behind her. “I'll handle it,” she mouthed, and he nodded, but his dark eyes were gleaming. “Who is it?” she called.

"Baby, it's Robert.” His voice was muffled by the door. “I called the library, they said you were sick, so I decided to come by and help nurse you.” She could almost hear his eyebrows raising.

You sleazy son of a bitch. I just got tossed into the side of a Dumpster last night, but you think I have food poisoning, and you want sex? Oh, I am SO ready to be done with you. “I'm not in the mood for company,” she hedged. “I feel really sick, Rob."

"I'll make you some soup. Chicken soup. All right? Open up, baby.” Rob's tenor voice was smooth, cajoling. He was trying to charm her. Again.

Too bad she didn't feel charmed.

She slid up to the door, unlocked the two deadbolts, flipped the lock in the doorknob, and opened the door a crack, peering out.

Rob's fair blond face greeted her. He wore his beret, perched on his expensive, artfully-mussed haircut. His shirt was open a little, his coat hanging wetly on him, and he wore jeans and a pair of Testoni loafers. He was also carrying a bunch of daisies, probably yanked from someone's window box.

You jerk. He'd been nice while he lasted, but she had so many other things to worry about now it wasn't even funny. Besides, the sex wasn't that good, especially if he was dipping his wick elsewhere. “Robert.” She tried to sound sick, succeeded in sounding exhausted. “I'm not in the mood. Go away."

He held up the flowers, offering his most charming smile. The one that made his blue eyes twinkle. “Come on, baby. Let me in, I'll play doctor."

Goddammit, I said no. Chess took a firmer grip on her temper. “I said no."

He stepped forward, still smiling, and Chess's stomach flipped. “Open up, Chess. You've been avoiding me, I want to know why. I'll make you some soup, we can talk."

I am not in a talkative mood. I have a demon hunter in my house and my life has just sped into the Twilight Zone. “Go talk to Carmen,” she said, and watched his face fall. He slid right into “pretty repentance” without even missing a beat. Very slick, he must have done this before.

"Carmen was a mistake, Chessie. You know that.” He used his most cajoling tone, spread the fingers of his left hand against the door, and pushed. Chess, caught off-balance, stepped back. Her heart hammered. He was acting a lot more aggressively than she'd thought he was capable of. “Let me in."

What happened next surprised both of them. Ryan's fingers curled around the door and he pulled it back, opening it further. He had also stepped forward so his chest brushed Chess's back, looming over her. “Who is it, sweetheart?” His tone could best be described as “combative,” and Chess had the distinct pleasure of seeing Robert turn cheese-pale, his right hand with its cargo of stolen flowers drooping back to his side. “Who's this?"

Chess found her voice. “It's Robert.” I sound uncomfortable. What a surprise, I feel pretty damn uncomfortable. Would he just have pushed past me if Ryan wasn't here?

Then the demon hunter slid his right arm around her ribs, resting his chin on her head; she was short enough that he could do that. He was very warm, the heat of him working through his T-shirt, her robe, and her own shirt. Her heart hammered in her chest as if she was facing down the skornac again, but it was—wasn't it? — almost comforting to feel his arm around her and his solidity behind her. “Oh, yeah. Your friend. Nice of you to come by and check on Chess, but she's really sick. She should be in bed.” He gave the last two words far more significance than they merited, and Chess felt heat rising to her cheeks. Oh, fucking hell. I'm blushing. Lovely. But I wanted this guy gotten rid of, didn't I? “I took the day off to take care of her."

And how Ryan managed to inject that chauvinistic sense of possessiveness in the last four words was beyond her. It was probably a testosterone thing. As it was, it sounded very caveman. Me Ogg, take care of woman. Grunt. Snort.

Robert stared up, his blue eyes narrowing. “What the hell is this?” he demanded. “Chessie, who the hell is this?"

The totally inappropriate desire to laugh like a maniac rose in her chest and was ruthlessly strangled. “This is Ryan. We've been spending some time together.” And you can make whatever you like of that statement, Rob. You will anyway. What, you think I belong to you? Not even if you weren't a cheating asshole. I belong to me. “Do me a favor and pay the person whose garden you burgled for those flowers, okay?"

"You bitch,” Rob hissed, and Ryan went tense behind her. “You fucking bitch!"

"I think you'd best shut your mouth, friend.” Ryan's tone was even, soft, and merciless. “Or I might decide to shut it for you. You want this guy around, Chessie?"

At least he didn't call me “sweetheart." She watched all the color drain out of Rob's face. She didn't blame him, the sense of cold danger exhaling from behind her was enough to make Chess want to wriggle away. But she stayed still, watching Robert and glorying in a not-very-nice feeling of satisfaction. “No,” she said finally. “I don't ever want to see his face again.” Go back to Carmen, you arrogant jerk.

Ryan eased her back, his hand still on the door. Then he pushed it. It swung shut with a decisive click, and he reached forward, flipped both deadbolts loudly, and clicked the lock in the doorknob.

Well, that was easy. Chess sighed. She waited, but he didn't let go of her. Robert stood there for maybe ninety seconds, she heard the smack of the flowers hitting her door and his heavy footfalls as he stamped away.

"Well,” she said finally, when she heard the door at the end of the hall slam. “One problem out of my hair, at least. Thanks.” She moved as if to step away from Ryan, but his arm tightened. “What? Let go, it's okay. He's gone."

He didn't move, and Chess tried to step away again, reaching down and grabbing his wrist, trying to peel his arm away from her ribs. “Hey. Leggo. Come on."

"You'd better stay still.” The chill, soft tone in his voice hadn't altered, he sounded thoughtful, and very very dangerous. “Just for a second. I wasn't ready for that."

What? “What weren't you ready for? He's just a jerk. A two-timing jerk, I might add. Nice touch with the voice. Very cavemen. Let go of me."

He did, so suddenly she stumbled, almost falling against the wall and barking her elbow a good one. Ow! “What the hell—"

Her shoulders hit the wall, Ryan's fingers sinking in. He held her at arm's length, her back against the wall and her hip pressed into the little rubber thingie that kept the doorknob from bashing a hole in the drywall. “I smell like you.” He sounded distracted now, too. Cold, dangerous, and distracted, a bad combination. His hair stuck to his forehead—was he sweating? His eyes were half-closed, and a muscle in his cheek twitched madly. “I think it's the shirt. Dammit."

"What?” Oh, Christ. What the hell is this? Is it a demon? Not during the day, no; at least I don't think so. “What's wrong with you?"

His hands were shaking. His fingers didn't hurt her, but he held her still. Her hair fell in her face and she wanted to brush it away, didn't dare move. “Instinct,” he muttered. “Triggered it. Hard to think. Just… stay still."

Uh-oh. He said they weren't pretty, these instincts. Does he want to hurt me? Oh, Lord, it's a fine time to wish someone else was here, even Rob.

"Talk to me,” he said hoarsely. “Please, Chessie."

At least he didn't call me “sweetheart.” Things are looking up. “About what?"