Trusting Danger (Danger, #2)(24)

She left the room and was halfway down the staircase when she heard her name mentioned in Grayson’s deep voice. The stair she halted on creaked as she stopped short.

“. . . and that attitude is ridiculous. Contrary to what she seems to think, we’re not here to cater to her.”

Normally, Claire would have ignored someone speaking ill of her, wanting to avoid an argument. Confrontation always made her stomach clench into painful knots, so she tended to ignore slights and move on.

But something about this rude, arrogant man made her temper flare, and she didn’t wait for Jeremy’s response. Hot with indignation, she hurried down the stairs and marched into the kitchen.

Trying to keep her voice steady, Claire said, “If you have something to say about me, the least you could do is say it to my face.” As Grayson met her gaze, his expression held no trace of regret, which only upset Claire more. “Oh, so now you have nothing to say?”

Heat flushed through her entire body as she moved to a cabinet next to the sink. The hunger she’d been feeling had disappeared—go figure—but she should at least have something to drink. She grabbed a glass and turned on the tap.

As she stared out the window, she took a sip of the tepid liquid and was embarrassed to realize her hands were shaking. Swallowing hard, she forced the water down her throat.

In a low voice, Grayson told Jeremy he’d be in his bedroom.

“Sorry about that,” Jeremy said once Grayson had left the kitchen.

Claire lowered the glass to the counter before turning around. “It’s not your fault.”

“My mother would be pissed that I didn’t step in.”

The comment was so unexpected that Claire smiled.

“Grayson’s not a bad guy, you know. Just intense.”

Claire’s smile faded. “If you say so.”

She raised her glass and took another small sip. It went down easier this time. “Your mother raised a gentleman. She must be proud.”

Jeremy grinned, then gestured toward the stove. “I was about to make some spaghetti. Interested?”

Claire pressed a hand to her stomach. Even though it was still unsettled, she’d try to eat. “Sounds great.” She took a seat on one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter and settled in to watch, determined to make the best of this crazy situation.

“How long do you think I’ll have to stay here?” she asked.

“As long as it takes to be sure you’re safe.”

A comfortable silence filled the kitchen as Jeremy got himself organized, setting out a few vegetables on the counter and then pulling out a cutting board and knife. He pulled a blue baseball cap from his back pocket and turned it around before fitting it on his head.

Glancing up at her, he asked, “Do you cook?”

“I’m a pro at ordering takeout,” she admitted. “So, how do you know you have all the ingredients here?”

“We have people who come in and restock when we know we’ll have a protectee,” Jeremy said as he diced a bell pepper. “They’re pretty good at stocking a nice variety of stuff, and I checked to see what they’d left us while you were upstairs. Want to dice up the onion while I start browning the meat?”

Claire nodded and pulled the cutting board and knife to her side of the counter. She focused on the simple task, willing herself to relax. “Is DC home for you?”

Jeremy opened a package of ground beef and broke it into small pieces into the frying pan he had warming up on the stovetop. “I have an apartment in DC.” The meat sizzled as he turned up the heat and stirred it around. He gestured to his hat and turned his head so she could see the Cubs logo. “But Chicago is my home. My family’s there.”

The knife she was using slowed its work as Claire frowned. Did he mean a wife and kids? Jeremy looked a little young, mid-twenties or so, but it was certainly possible.

When she asked the question, he gave her another grin. “No, I’m not married. I mean my mother and younger brothers.” He picked up the cutting board and scraped the diced peppers and the onions she’d just finished into the frying pan with the meat. “My mom’s single now. She raised my two brothers and me by herself.”

“Three boys. That’s a lot of testosterone in one house.”

Jeremy chuckled. “Tell me about it. She definitely had her hands full.”

Claire watched as he added herbs and tomato sauce to the meat mixture. This was nice, having a friendly conversation with someone, and she wished she had a glass of wine to sip as they chatted. But there was probably another rule about that, and if there wasn’t, she was sure Mr. Bossy Pants Grayson would make one up on the spot just to annoy her.

What would she do if she and Grayson were alone in this house without a buffer like Jeremy? Pull her hair out, probably.

Or better yet, Grayson’s.



At bedtime, Claire started to pull her silk nightgown over her head and froze. It was low-cut and sexy, an expensive piece of lingerie Gabe had bought for her a few months ago, and seemed entirely inappropriate considering where she was and who she was with.

Naked, she padded to the dresser and pulled out the T-shirt and shorts she’d worn that morning on her run, deciding they’d do for tonight.

Tomorrow, I’ll definitely have to do some laundry was the last thought she had before sleep claimed her.