All I Want(64)

In fact, he didn’t want to move on at all, but he knew his lifestyle wasn’t good for the people he cared about.

Not that caring was all that good for him, either. It distracted him, and being distracted could get him killed, like it had nearly done up at Cat’s Paw.

He needed to focus. Not easy when he felt all twisted up over Zoe. He knew damn well it was going to come down to choosing her or the job. He couldn’t have both and he knew it.

When dawn finally hit, he showered and dressed and then walked—okay, maybe limped slightly—into the kitchen to find Zoe pacing. Whirling to face him, she put her hands on her hips, her pissy look firmly in place.

He knew it couldn’t be the cut above his eyebrow, because he’d worn a baseball hat to cover it for exactly that reason. He had no idea what had crawled up her ass, but that look on her face only made him want to kiss it right off her. It made him want to drag her off to his bed, where he’d put her into a different mood entirely. “We out of caffeine?” he asked mildly.

“What’s this?” she asked, gesturing to the back door and the shiny new lock he’d installed.

“Huh,” he said. “You did a nice job.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Like I did on the fireplace? And the electrical? Or on any of the other millions of things that have suddenly gotten fixed?”

“I’ll pour you some coffee,” he said, heading to the pot.

“Do you ever just answer a question?” she asked his back. “No, you don’t. Ever.”

“Overexaggerating much this morning?” he asked. “And I answer your questions to the best of my ability.”

“Yeah? Well, then answer this one—how do you nicely tell someone that sometimes you want to hit them in the head with a brick?”

He poured a cup of coffee and added a healthy serving of vanilla creamer—her favorite—before holding it out to her. “You could say that you’d like to rearrange their facial features with a fundamental material used to make walls,” he suggested. “That does have a certain ring to it. Drink, Zoe. Fuel up.”

She took the proffered mug, drank generously, and sighed. “Probably I shouldn’t talk before I’ve had caffeine.”

He refrained from agreeing.

She sighed again. “I’m sorry. I’m a morning shrew.”

Again, he thought his restraint was remarkable and deserving of a medal.

Her lips twitched. “How many live-in girlfriends have you driven right out of their minds by being so morning perfect?” she asked.

He choked on his coffee and very nearly snorted it out his nose.

“So all of them?” she asked.

He smiled. “You’re fishing.”

With a shrug, she went back to sipping her coffee, but it didn’t take a genius to see that she was trying so hard not to push him. “I’ve never had a live-in girlfriend,” he admitted.

“Never?”

“Never.”

She considered this for a long moment. “Well then, women the world over are missing out. You’re a good roomie. Thanks for fixing the lock, Parker. And for all the other little fixes, too. I appreciate it.”

“What makes you so sure it was me?” he asked.

She gestured to something above the refrigerator.

His motion detector camera.

He stared at it and then her and cocked a brow. “You’re spying on me?”

“As I told you when I borrowed it, I meant to spy on Oreo. You were an added bonus,” she said.

For a guy who guarded his privacy, this admittedly threw him. “You’ve had the camera for days,” he said. “Where else have you set it up?”

She stared at him, looking surprised at the question.

“The shower?” he asked.

“No,” she said, looking horrified that he’d think so. “I swear.” But then her curiosity apparently got the better of her. “Why?” she asked. “What do you do in the shower?”

“Well, this morning I jacked off to the memory of you crying out my name.”

She swallowed hard and looked like she might be having trouble breathing. “You . . . really?”

“Really.”

Abruptly setting down her mug, she walked out of the kitchen.

What the hell? Not nearly finished with this conversation, not even close, he followed her out, through the living room, and up the stairs to the bathroom he’d been using. It was still a little foggy from all the hot water he’d used.

She stood in the middle of the room and stared through the glass.

“Zoe?”

“Shh. I’m picturing it,” she whispered, like it was too naughty a conversation for a normal speaking voice.

Behind her back, he found a smile. “Seems only fair since I picture you all the time. You have a handheld in there. Do you ever use it when you think of me?”

She gasped. “I don’t . . . I don’t use it like that—and I don’t even use this shower.”

He turned her to face him and found her blushing and biting her lower lip. “But you do think of me in your shower, where you also have a handheld.” Leaning past her, he flicked on the water.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding more than a little panicked.