He looked me over. “You’ve been pacing for an hour.”
I blushed. “Sorry, I forgot how thin the walls are.” I stepped back to let him in. “I just can’t sleep.”
“I figured.” He held up his pillow. “Thought I could sleep on your couch.”
I smiled. “You’re very sweet.”
Shawn laughed. “I’m very tired.”
Blushing, I tucked my hands behind my back. “Sorry. Your grandmother slept like an old log and was mostly deaf. I had a huge Halloween party last year and she slept through every gin-soaked second of it.” I hurriedly flipped the lock and put the chain in place.
Having him on my couch dressed in a pair of pajama pants did not seem like a good idea if I planned on sleeping any at all, but I dutifully got him a light blanket and then toddled off to my room to lie down.
I threw myself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling for five long silent minutes before he appeared in the doorway of my bedroom.
“Did you need something?”
He laughed. “Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why were you tapping your headboard?”
I sat up and blushed. “God, I’m sorry. I’m just antsy and nervous.”
Shawn came in and sat down on the edge of my bed. “You’ve had a stressful couple of days. You got an ex-boyfriend with issues, your apartment was broken into, and you were assaulted. It’s fine if you are all bent out of shape.”
“A new guy moved into my building and dashed my expansion plans.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Yeah, I’d hoped to buy the apartment from your grandmother’s estate.” I sighed. “But I was trying to be respectful and not ask until an appropriate time had expired.”
“Thank you. We had twenty offers for the place the day the obituary went into the papers.”
“Gross.”
“The real estate market is tough, which is why in the end the family voted to give it to me.”
“It’s a good building and a decent neighborhood.”
“Yeah, and I got a fine-ass neighbor.”
I gasped. “Me?”
“No, Mrs. Drake across the street.”
Laughter spewed before I could suppress it. Gillian Drake was eighty years old going on two hundred. “I bet she was fine in her day.”
He laughed. “Probably right. But, yeah, you. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw you the other night. I’m surprised that Grant fellow isn’t crawling around behind you begging for you to take him back.”
“He’s British. They are sort of above that kind of pleading.” I grabbed a pillow and hugged it tight. “You’re the first man who’s ever even been on this bed.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me?”
“I always went to Connor. My place has always been sort of off limits to men.”
“Want me to go back into the living room?”
“No.”
That being said, I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to do. In the few days that I’d known him, I hadn’t allowed myself to really think about him sexually. He was finely put together and had a great face. I liked his voice and the gentle way he had guided me through all of the police stuff I’d done during the day.
“I’ve always slept alone.” I rubbed the blanket underneath us with one hand. “They took my bedspread. I’m glad; I doubt I could ever look at it again.”
“Have you thought about who could have hired him?”
“No. I mean, I don’t have anyone in my life that bothers me or who has tried to hurt me. Connor may be pissed about the breakup, but he isn’t the type to hire someone to do his dirty work. The last guy I dated before him was a doctor. Around month four, I decided that being his arm ornament for the better part of my life just didn’t seem all that interesting, so I dumped him.”
“You aren’t one of those women who’ll just stay with a man because she doesn’t want to be alone, are you?”
I laughed. “No. I decided a long time ago that I don’t need help being miserable and if I hate being with someone it would just be easier to be alone.”
“It’s a rational conclusion. But what about being lonely?”
“There are worse things than being lonely.”
“What about other men at work?”
“There are twenty men employed at the gallery.” The number came easily because I’d spent most of the evening thinking about each of them. “Not counting contracted artists. When I oversaw the sales floor, I supervised five of them. There is one male senior buyer in the administrative area and the rest are security guards.”
“Any of them with criminal records?”
“No, all members of staff are thoroughly vetted, interviewed, and tested for drugs. Everyone is also reviewed on a yearly basis for financial problems and/or legal problems.”
“What about hiring and firing?”
“Jane and Mercy do that.”
“An artist who wanted a show in the gallery?”
“There are hundreds of artists in the Boston area alone that would love a show in the gallery. The administrative staff spend every day going through proposals, viewing pieces, and making selections for the general gallery. An artist is invited to do a show with us, and I’ve never known of one to ask outright for one. Sometimes agents contact us and let us know that an artist is interested in working with us. If they fit with our schedule and needs, we strike a deal.”
“So you couldn’t have made any enemies that way?”
“I don’t see how.”
“Having a stranger moving around in your life like he belongs is a difficult thing to assimilate, much less deal with. You’re allowed to be upset or scared.”
“I’m more angry,” I admitted softly. “I mean, honestly, he couldn’t even do his own dirty work!”
“That he hired someone to do it is an indication that he might doubt his own ability to pull the situation off or he wants to be able to play your hero.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not saying this to scare you.”
“I know.”
“You
