Heroes Are My Weakness(33)

“Yes, I have something on!” She hit the perfect note of righteous outrage.

“Great. Then we don’t have a problem.”

“We wouldn’t have a problem even if I didn’t have anything on.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Was he coming on to her? If she hadn’t already been wide awake, that would have done the trick. She thrust herself out of bed, immediately conscious of her yellow flannel Santa pajamas, a joke present from a girlfriend. She grabbed Mariah’s robe, snatched up yesterday’s socks, and left him alone.


ANNIE’S FOOTSTEPS FADED. THEO SMILED. He’d had his first good night’s sleep in longer than he could remember. He felt almost rested. Just lying here irritating Annie had been . . .

He searched for the word, finally found it. But it felt so unfamiliar, he had to examine it for a moment to make sure it fit.

Irritating Annie had been . . . fun.

She was scared to death of him—no mystery why—but she hadn’t backed down. Even as an awkward, insecure teen, she’d had more courage than she gave herself credit for—more than she should have had, considering the way her mother had undermined her. She’d also possessed a strong sense of right and wrong. No messy gray areas for Antoinette Hewitt. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to her when they were kids.

He couldn’t abide having her here, but it was becoming increasingly apparent she wasn’t going anywhere for a while. That damned divorce agreement. He wanted to be able to use the cottage whenever he liked, and she’d screwed that up. But it was more than the cottage. It was Annie herself, with her ridiculous na?veté and her link to a past he wanted to forget. Annie, who knew too much.

He’d been pissed when he’d discovered her stuck on the road. That’s why he’d baited her into trying to push the car out herself, even though he knew she couldn’t. As he’d sat behind the wheel badgering her to push harder, he’d experienced the oddest sensation. He’d almost felt as if he were slipping into another man’s skin. A regular Joe who liked to have a little fun with people.

An illusion. Nothing about him was normal. But this morning he almost felt that way.


HE FOUND HER STANDING AT the kitchen sink. Last night, they’d cleaned up the worst of the mess, and now she was washing the silverware that had been strewn across the floor. She had her back to him, her run-amok honey brown curls in their customary free-for-all. He’d always been drawn to classically beautiful women, and Annie wasn’t that. His arousal bothered him. But he’d been living without sex for longer than he cared to remember, and it was automatic.

He remembered her at fifteen—awkward, funny, and so smitten with him that he’d felt no pressure to try to impress her. His sexual fumblings were comic now, normal for a horny teenage boy. Maybe the only thing that had been normal about him.

Her plain navy robe came to midcalf with yellow flannel pajamas sticking out beneath. They showed Santa trying to squeeze into a chimney. “Nice jammies.”

“You can go home now,” she retorted.

“Do you have any with the Easter Bunny?”

She turned, one hand on her hip. “I like sexy nightwear. Sue me.”

He laughed. Not much of one—rusty at its core—but still a laugh. There was no darkness about Annie Hewitt. With her big eyes, freckled nose, and scallywag’s hair, she reminded him of a fairy. Not one of those fragile fairies who flitted gracefully from flower to flower, but a preoccupied fairy. The kind of fairy more likely to tumble over a dozing cricket than sprinkle any magic glitter. He felt himself uncoil, just a bit.

She swept her eyes from head to toe. He was used to women staring at him, but they weren’t generally scowling at the time. True, he’d slept in his clothes and needed a shave, but how bad could he look? She frowned. “Do you even have bad breath?”

He had no idea what she was talking about. “I just used your toothpaste, so I don’t think so. Any reason you want to know?”

“I’m keeping a list of disgusting things about you.”

“Since ‘psychopath’ is already at the top of your list, it doesn’t seem like you need to add much more.” He said it lightly, as if it were a joke, even though they both knew it wasn’t.

She grabbed the broom and began sweeping up some rice they’d missed. “Interesting the way you showed up at just the right time last night.”

“I came down to get my car. You remember my car. The one you stole.” He’d told her she could borrow it, but so what?

She was smart enough to pick her battles, and she ignored the accusation. “You made it here awfully fast.”

“I took the beach path.”

She jabbed the broom into the corner. “Too bad you weren’t using your little spy telescope last night. Maybe you’d know who did this.”

“I’ll be more conscientious in the future.”

She went after a noodle wedged under the stove. “Why were you dressed like Beau Brummell that first day?”

It took him a moment to remember what she meant. “Research. Getting a sense of what it feels like to move around in those clothes.” And then, because he could be a real prick . . . “I like to slip inside my characters as much as possible. Especially the more twisted ones.”

She looked so horrified he almost apologized. But why? He gazed toward the cupboards. “I’m hungry. Where’s the cereal?”