Black Out: HOT Heroes for Hire: Mercenaries: A Black’s Bandits Novel
door and disabled the alarm. It was a cheap system put in by the owner, which meant it didn’t have any teeth, but it would stand up to petty burglars. Professionals, however, were another matter.Colt flipped on the light switch and walked inside. Angie took in the 1960s kitchen decor and her jaw dropped. “Whoa.”
“Groovy, right?”
“The appliances are green.”
“I believe it’s called avocado.”
She blinked. “How do you know that?”
“How do you think? Maddy.”
“Oh, right.” Angie laughed. “Well, it’s certainly memorable.”
“The whole house is caught up in the 1960s. I think it was built in ’64, so there you go. But the appliances work, the heating and cooling are good, and it’s close to everything.”
“I’m surprised the owner hasn’t renovated and flipped. So many people are flipping houses in this neighborhood.”
“It’s owned by three siblings who grew up in the house and inherited it after their dad died last year. They can’t agree on selling, so they rent it instead. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”
Colt led her through the small living room and down the central hallway. There were three bedrooms and two full baths, and he took her to the one with the full-sized bed that sported a frilly pink canopy and a My Little Pony comforter.
“It’s not mine,” he said as her eyes widened. “The house came mostly furnished, and this was the room reserved for the granddaughters.”
Angie laughed. “Thank goodness. I was starting to wonder if I’d discovered your main flaw—bad taste in decorating.”
“I’d let you have the master, but I don’t fit in this bed. It’s too short. The third bedroom doesn’t have a bed, unfortunately.”
Angie waved a hand. “No, I get it. It’s fine. And thank you. I appreciate everything.” She sucked in a breath. “This is not how I thought the night would end when you took me to dinner. I kind of thought I’d be in bed by now, texting with you about tonight and reading a book before falling asleep.”
“You can still do those things, Ang. The bath in the hall is yours. I have the master. There are clean towels and soap, toothpaste, everything you need. Feel free to think of this place as yours. You don’t have to ask me if you can use anything or eat anything. Just do it. We’ll sort out groceries and anything else later.”
“Thank you.” She glanced at the bed again. “It’s very pink, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Like Pepto Bismal.”
She snickered. “That’s the shade. It’s very unflattering to a redhead.”
He could only frown. “Nothing could make you look bad, Angie. You could be wearing a garbage bag and you’d still be gorgeous.”
“Oh my,” she breathed before turning a much prettier shade of pink than the bed’s linens. “You do know how to say the right things.”
“I only speak the truth, babe.”
She pushed her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin. She was still pink, but she was trying not to let it get to her. “Do you have any wine? I could use a glass. I’m a bit keyed up.”
He could think of something else to release all that tension, but decided it wasn’t a good idea to mention it. “What kind of Frenchman doesn’t have wine? Of course I do.”
She tilted her head. “It’s hard to think of you as French when you’re so blond.”
“Really? What do Frenchmen look like?”
She shrugged. “Like Kevin Kline in French Kiss?”
Colt laughed. “I saw that movie. Kevin Kline isn’t French. The other two actors though, the cop and the thief—they’re French.”
“And they both have dark hair. I rest my case.”
He laughed again. “Come on, Ang. Let’s get some wine. And bring your laptop so I can see that spreadsheet.”
Angie took a seat at the kitchen table with her laptop while Colt opened a bottle of red. He poured two glasses and handed her one while she pulled her laptop open and navigated to the spreadsheet.
It was a little strange being here with him.
Okay, it was a lot strange.
And awkward. What was all that babbling about French men and blond hair anyway? Nerves.
She took a deep breath. She was in his house—this timewarp house with the avocado appliances—drinking wine with him like she did it every day of her life.
This after barely speaking to him for months and making him think she was a basket case with her hot and cold reactions to him.
He didn’t seem to hold it against her though. If anything, he was amazingly understanding. Colt pulled out the chair beside her and sank down on it. He was close enough she could feel his heat, smell the warm, spicy scent of his deodorant. She liked being next to him.
“To finding out the truth,” he said, lifting his glass.
Angie clinked glasses with him and tried not to get jittery at his proximity. She took a sip of wine to cover her awkwardness. Cherry and raspberry burst onto her tastebuds, followed by jam and oak and tobacco. She forgot being awkward.
“This is good. You really do know wine.”
To think last night she’d had Chardonnay from a box.
He pushed the chair back on two legs and grinned. “One of these days, when things are a little more settled, I’ll give you a crash course on wine tasting. You’ll be the envy of your friends at the next party.”
“Or not,” she said with a laugh. “I think you overestimate the people I know. We drink grocery store wine, sometimes out of the biggest bottle it comes in—or, horrors, a box.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Believe it or not, there’s some fine wine in grocery stores. And boxes aren’t always bad.”
“Not what I expected you’d say.”
“Predictable is boring. Whatcha got there?” he asked, nodding at the screen.
Angie turned the laptop so he could get a better look. “This is the spreadsheet in question. I don’t have the statements anymore because they’ve been deleted from the server, but trust me when I tell you this spreadsheet does not align with the information in the statements. It’s off by