Boom
only to find the house mostly empty, much like my bank account, thanks to Jason, my no-good, deadbeat cousin.But forget Jason.
In the bathroom, the stranger still hadn't budged.
By now, I was officially clean and rinsed. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, I dreaded the thought of turning off the water, just like I dreaded the thought of facing him, whoever he was.
His voice, cool and conversational, carried over the sounds of the running water. "So, do you come here often?"
It was either a joke or the lamest pickup line ever. Either way, I wasn't in the mood. "I don't know," I muttered. "Do you?"
"I will now," he said.
I gave a soggy blink. "What?"
"I didn't realize it would be so interesting."
Interesting? Well, that was one way to put it.
When I made no reply, the guy spoke again. "Three minutes."
"What?"
"It's a thirty-gallon tank. And old as dirt."
Obviously, he meant the hot water tank. But he was wrong on both counts. The tank was fifty gallons, not thirty. And it was nearly brand new, installed just last month according to my cousin.
I frowned. Yes. That cousin.
The deadbeat who'd stood me up.
My frown deepened. Cripes, maybe he'd been lying about the hot water tank, too.
The stranger continued, "So do the math."
I didn't get it. "What math?"
"I'm just saying, you've got three minutes, maybe less, 'til the water runs cold."
I liked math, with one exception – story problems. I hated them. I always had. Or maybe I just hated the stranger, whether he deserved it or not.
Not only had he scared the crap out of me, he sounded way too cocky in his calculations, which was especially annoying considering that he didn't look like any math wizard I'd ever seen. Math and muscles – they weren't known for going hand-in-hand.
I repeated, "So?"
"So, you can stall if you want," he said. "But if you stall too long, you're gonna freeze your ass off."
As if he cared. Stubbornly, I said it again. "So?"
"So you want a cold shower?"
"No. Do you?" As soon as the words left my lips, I wanted to take them back.
I was naked.
He wasn't.
And I'd be smart to keep him that way. Quickly, I added, "And just so you know, that wasn't an invitation."
He gave something like a laugh. "Good thing."
I shook my head. "What?"
"That shower – it's narrow as hell."
He didn't need to tell me. I was the one inside it, after all. "So?" I said for the umpteenth time.
"So I'd need a crowbar to squeeze myself in."
I gave his imposing silhouette a good, long look. He was right. He would need a crowbar – unless his stupidly hot body was slippery with soap, in which case…. Oh, for God's sake. What on Earth was wrong with me, anyway?
And now the idiot was laughing – not loud, but loud enough for me to hear it, even over the sounds of the running water. His laughter was warm and almost contagious, which made everything ten times worse, because the sound of it was lulling me into a false sense of security.
I wasn't secure.
Far from it.
And the fact that I'd almost let down my guard showed a shocking lack of common sense. Seriously Arden, get a grip, will ya?
I told him, "And stop laughing. This isn't funny."
Sounding more amused than ever, he said, "Two minutes."
My teeth were grinding now. "Will you please stop that?"
He practically snorted. "Why?"
"Because it's making me nervous." At this, I almost winced. What an asinine thing to say. My nerves should've shattered the moment he'd busted through the door. And maybe they would've, if only I hadn't become numb to nasty surprises.
Today had been way too full of them.
"Good," the guy said.
So he was happy that I was nervous?What kind of sicko was he, anyway? With a sound of annoyance, I said, "And why is that good?"
"Because," he said, "you're in my house. And you're gonna tell me why."
Chapter 2
Arden
His words hit like a hammer. His house?
My stomach twisted with new despair. So the house had been sold out from under me? To him?
In spite of the evidence, I didn't want to believe it. Over the sounds of the shower, I called out, "Says you."
"Yeah," he scoffed. "Me and the deed."
Crap.
I didn't know the guy, but he didn't sound like he was lying. Plus, his bold claim meshed all too well with everything else I'd seen ever since rolling into town – on a Greyhound bus, no less.
When I considered everything I'd gone through to get here, my fingers tightened into fists. Jason – that lying rat-fink bastard.
I was gonna kill him. Already I could think of several ways to do it, slowly.
The guy said, "What, you wanna see it?"
The deed?
Hell no.
What I wanted was to light the stupid thing on fire and watch it burn. But that sort of thing was hardly productive – as I'd learned the hard way back in high school.
"No," I snapped. "What I want is for you to get out."
He shifted his stance, making his muscles pop enticingly under the wet fabric of his shirt. "Did you miss the part where you're in my house?"
"I don't care," I told him. "You need to step outside, like now."
With a laugh, he said, "Forget it."
"What?" I sputtered.
"It's raining buckets out there."
Well, that explained the wet shirt. Through gritted teeth, I clarified, "I meant out of the bathroom."
No response.
No movement either.
With blatant sarcasm, I asked, "Unless it's raining in the hallway?"
"Hey, you never know."
It was then that I realized something. "Wait a minute. You knew exactly what I meant, didn't you?"
"Maybe."
"So…you're just giving me a hard time?"
"Trust me," he said, his tone growing a shade darker. "You could be dealing with a lot worse than me."
He was right. I could. In fact, it was a small miracle that all he'd done was give me a hard time. If this truly was his house, he'd have plenty of ways to make me miserable beyond simple teasing.
But if he thought I was