Kissing his head makes him twist around to try and lick me. “Easy, little man. Everything’s fine. No bad guys coming in the house today.” Now that I’ve seen the system in action, I’m kind of impressed. Not that I really believe there’s a killer still looking for me, but still . . . better safe than sorry, right? At the very least, that siren would make him deaf.

My doorbell rings, sending Felix into spasms of outrage. I put him down so he can run to the door and scare the hell out of whoever is there. I check my watch. It’s probably Ozzie, even though it’s still ten minutes to seven.

I put the bottles of wine on the counter and go to the door. The peephole confirms my visitor is early. I unlock the door and pull it open.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, his arms wrapped around two paper bags. Sahara pushes past both of us and goes into the living room, her tail wagging. Felix begins his welcome-to-my-bachelor-pad dance as she turns in small circles, trying to get her nose on his butt.

“You brought gifts,” I say, trying to peek into the closest bag.

“I brought dinner. Hope you’re hungry.”

I hold the door open until he’s through and then shut it. He continues through the living room and into the kitchen like he owns the place.

Huh. Not sure how I feel about this impromptu dinner thing. Did he mention it in the text? I verify that he did not.

“How’s the security system working out for you?” he asks, unpacking the paper bags. White boxes of various sizes come out and get stacked up on the counter.

Both dogs are at our feet, hoping something will drop.

“Great. Had my first incident already.”

He pauses to look at me. “Incident? You had a break-in?”

I laugh a little self-consciously. “Not unless you count me trying to get into my own house and forgetting the code as a break-in.”

His expression goes a little dark. “You were supposed to choose a code that was easy for you to remember.”

“It was easy. Kind of.”

“What was it?”

“Thibault’s birthday.”

Ozzie sighs in disgust. “Figures.” He continues with his unpacking. At one point he glares at Sahara and motions to the corner of the room. “Go lie down.” She immediately moves to do his bidding. Felix follows and curls up next to her.

I’m kind of amazed not only with how well he controls our dogs, but also with how much food he’s brought. Is the rest of the team joining us, or what?

“You pick four numbers you can remember, and I’ll program them in for you tonight.”

I’m feeling a little saucy or something, because I respond with, “What makes you think I want you knowing my secret code?”

He just keeps on moving boxes, without even blinking. “I’m no threat to you.”

“Yeah, right.” It pops out of my mouth before I can stop it. I was imagining his hand touching my body and how I’d completely lose all self-control if that happened, but thank God, he doesn’t know that.

He takes the last box out and crushes the bag down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug. “Nothing.” I actually meant that he’s a potential threat to my good sense, but if he wants to take it to mean I find him scary, I’m not going to disabuse him of that notion. Maybe it’ll give him a nice ego pump. Plus there’s no way in hell I’m going to admit to having a crush on him when he’s not interested in anything of the sort from me.

He turns to face me, and it looks like he’s having trouble selecting the right words. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He looks around the room a little and tries again.

“I . . . uh . . . uh . . . I wanted to say that . . . uh . . .” I grab a bottle of wine off the counter and hold it up between us. “Wine anyone?”

“Yeah, sure. One glass.” He sounds relieved.

Now who’s the superhero? I grin as I open the bottle, take out two glasses, and fill them halfway.

“I can’t promise it’s any good, but it has alcohol in it.” I hand him a glass and hold mine up.

He pauses, staring at me. Then he brings his glass up and touches his to mine. “Cheers.”

I can’t think of anything more prosaic to say, so instead I do what’s expected of me. “Cheers.” I take a serious gulp, draining half my glass in one go. I turn so he won’t notice my eyes bugging out of my head as I suffer the burn of alcohol in my throat.

“Plates?” he asks.

I open a cupboard and pull two out. Then I pause before shutting the door. “How many will be joining us?”

“No one. It’s just the two of us.” His voice is gruff.

My heart is skipping beats all over the place. I somehow manage to pull out the correct amount of silverware and napkins, even though my mind is elsewhere. I set the table in my tiny kitchen on autopilot.

Why did he bring dinner? Is this a date, or is he just buttering me up to take the job? I’m not taking that job, no matter how much butter is involved.

“I hope you like lobster,” he says.

“What the hell, man.” I drop the last silverware on the table with a clang and a crash.

His hand freezes over one of the boxes. “Are you allergic?”

“No, I’m not allergic. I’m pissed.”

He steps back away from the food, his arms falling to his sides. I can actually picture him in a military uniform getting ready to salute. “You’re angry.”

I pout a little. That lobster is calling to me with all its rich, buttery goodness. “No, not angry. Frustrated. I’ve been checked.”

“Checked?”

“Yes. Checked. As in the game of chess. You’ve out-flanked me.”

His mask slips a little. “You like lobster, I take it.”

“I don’t like lobster, you fool—I love lobster. I’d eat lobster every day if I had the money.” I flop down into my chair. “I’m not going to work for you, though. No matter how much clarified butter you have in those little cups.” There are several of them. Dammit. But what the hell? He expects me to just come work for him because he buys me lobster? It could be a dangerous job. That’s what the security system is for, right?

He brings boxes over to the table and starts opening them up. “I have fresh lemon too.”

“Of course you do. Jerk.”

He chuckles. “I think this is the first time I’ve ticked a woman off by buying her lobster.” He’s mixing up some rice pilaf before scooping out a couple helpings, one for each plate.

“I’m not sure why that makes you so happy,” I grumble.

“Me neither.”

Out comes a huge lobster that floats down onto my plate. Its fire engine–red shell is still glistening from whatever steam did it in. Felix leaves his spot by Sahara and settles in by my feet. The little beast knows me well; he will end up having a taste of everything that’s on my plate, but not because I feed him tidbits on purpose. I have a tendency to drop things.

“Where did you get these monsters?” I ask when the second one comes out and lands on his plate.

“I get them flown in every once in a while from Maine. I have a friend up there.”

“Wow. Nice friend.” I take another long sip from my wine glass. It’s almost empty, so I help myself to some more.

“He owes me.”

I wonder what he’d demand of me if I owed him a favor. Just the idea makes me get all antsy again. I know what I’d like to offer.

Whoa! Slow down, nympho! He just walked in the door. Jesus.

Ozzie sits down and pulls his chair in. “Bon appétit.” He rips a claw off before I can lift a fork.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, enough time for me to dip a chunk of lobster in some butter and close my eyes, sighing with happiness. I haven’t had this kind of food in a loooong time. I think the last time I had lobster was when I was dating this lawyer named Alfred. He was a putz, but he did love fancy restaurants. I had to break up with him when he refused to eat my baked ziti, though. Food snobbery is not tolerated in my household. Just ask Felix.


Перейти на страницу:
Изменить размер шрифта: