Loving the Secret Billionaire (Love at Last #1)(8)

“I don’t… I’m not sure.”

“Because, if you mean being alone.” I waved a hand toward the empty house behind me. “It’s kind of my thing.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“I know.” I half laughed. None of this was going how I’d pictured it. Then again, I hadn’t exactly planned this thing out. I’d just gone against all of my own rules and helped a stranger. “I’m not great at joking. In person, at least.”

“In person?”

Crap. Wrong thing to say.

“I uh…spend a lot of time online.”

“Oh. Right.” Her feet shuffled on the porch boards. Was she about to leave?

“Would you…” I cleared my throat and ignored the voice of reason screaming at me to shut up. “Would you like a coffee?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t interrupt your work.” She took a step back.

“You’re not. I mostly work at night.”

“What is it you d—” If she didn’t ask, I wouldn’t have to lie, so I stopped her.

“You want something stronger than coffee? I’ve got beer. Not much else.” I lifted the bottom hem of my shirt and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

“Oh, no, I should—” She exhaled with a strange whistling sound. I dropped the shirt and waited for her to finish. “I’d love to.”

“Come on in.” I said the words, she slid inside, and now it was too late to kick her out, even if I wanted to.

Which I didn’t, though it was clear this was a very bad idea.





3





Veronica



* * *



“So, what’ll it be?” Zach led the way down a wide hall and into a big, clean, modern kitchen where everything seemed to have a home, and opened up a well-stocked fridge. I set my backpack down in a corner and followed him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Want a beer?” He touched a watch at his wrist and smiled and, like a puppet master, that little tweak of the lips pulled at something inside me. I wanted to make this guy happy, wanted to see how big that smile could get. I wanted him to pick up his shirt again and give me another illicit glimpse of his happy trail. “Way past beer o’clock.”

“Sure,” I mumbled. “That sounds good.”

None of this made sense, especially inside me, where everything had gone haywire. I never got worked up about the way a man smiled. And I liked guys who weren’t a challenge. Guys who were safe. Not strange shut-ins with big, sweaty muscles and—

“My app knows I’m here,” I blurted.

He stopped twisting open the second beer and turned toward me.

“Who?”

Oh, God, this was stupid. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have come back, I should have accepted the man’s interference for the boon it was and ignored the other crazy stuff going on in my brain.

“My canvassing app. It shows my location.”

He looked puzzled for a second before his features suddenly cleared. “Oh, you mean in case I’m a psycho killer?”

“Yes,” I responded on a nervous giggle.

“Fair enough.” He put down the beer and pulled a phone from his back pocket. “Got someone you trust?”

“Trust?”

“Like a friend you can text. Someone who’ll check on you.”

“Oh, sure.”

He handed me the phone. “Text ’em. Tell ’em you’re with me, give my name and address.”

“I can use my phone.”

“This way your friend’ll have my number. Take my picture, too, if you want.”

I did it all and sent it to my friend O'Neal Jones. She was a reporter in town, so I figured she’d know what to do with this kind of information.

Whaaaaat? You’re on a date?

Just a visit.

He’s cute.

This is his phone.

So I shouldn’t say he’s cute?

No comment.

Right. Well, I just got ANOTHER text from last weekend’s date. Number block! Have fun. Call if you need a pick up.

I deleted the exchange and handed him the phone.

“Thanks.”

“You bet.”

I was standing between the kitchen and an adjoining dining room with a simple, Swedish-looking table and chairs, bar stools pushed under the granite counter separating it from the kitchen, and French doors that opened onto a patio with a cast-iron table and four chairs. There was something calming about a place that wasn’t chock full of junk. I should really go through my apartment and take stuff to the consignment shop. I had books everywhere, tchotchkes from the kids at school, framed pictures of my parents and grandparents. The place was a hoarder’s paradise compared to this.

“It’s nice in here.”

“Yeah?”

I realized after a couple of seconds that he was really asking.

“Yes. Well it’s huge and sort of super clean, and pretty simple, with lots of natural light.” I made myself see it in a way that I could translate, almost. “It’s a lot bigger than it looks from the outside.” And nicer. Although I didn’t mention that. “The hardwood floor has this darker glow, though, that warms it all up. Along with the sunshine coming in. It keeps it from being too stark.”