Will do. My building’s the one there on the right.”
“You’re humoring me,” he said, displeasure coloring his tone as he swung the car into a parking space.
“I’m sorry,” she said, letting her head fall back against the seat, exhaustion setting in now that the adrenaline had left her system. How long had it been since she’d slept? She couldn’t quite remember. “I’m not trying to be flip. I just—everything was going so well and now I have this to deal with. I want to throttle that asshole.” She opened her eyes, staring forward. “Is it supposed to be this hard to live a drama-free life?”
She caught his smirk in her peripheral vision. “Some people would call drama-free boring.”
She turned her head toward him. “Boring sounds amazing.”
He smiled fully now. His jaw was still a little swollen from the punch, but that didn’t reduce the impact of the expression. God, he was gorgeous when he let that grin slip through, lighting up all those dark features and revealing the dimples hidden beneath. He smiled so infrequently that it felt like a gift each time it happened, like she’d won some secret contest.
She stayed where she was, enjoying the close-up view of him too much to look away. But in the small space of the car, the ocean blue of his eyes darkened behind his glasses the longer she sat there, his humor morphing into something decidedly more intense. Heat seeped through her in a slow roll, the playful fantasizing about her fictional boyfriend becoming more of a desperate itch for the real thing.
Wyatt reached out, his large palm cradling the side of her face. “You’re too young and too sweet to have so much history in those eyes.”
She wet her lips, her cheek tingling beneath his touch. “I’m not that young, Wyatt. Or that sweet.”
He stared at her, that blue gaze boring into her with the precision of surgeon’s knife, and she thought he was going to lean over and kiss her. She wanted him to. Even though she knew it was a ridiculously bad idea, knew that the minute she crossed that boundary with him, she’d be just another woman he’d bedded. She was well aware of the score with guys like him. Had tripped down that path a few too many times in the past. Wealthy men didn’t date women like her—they entertained themselves with them.
But all Wyatt did was brush a thumb over her mouth, swiping the moisture she’d left there, and then lowered his hand with a softly expelled breath. “Come on. I’ll walk you up. You need rest.”
She blinked, the loss of his touch like a cold wind against her face, and tried to drag herself back to reality. “Oh. Um, don’t worry about that. I’ll be fine.”
But he was already opening his door. “I’ll feel better if I see you safely inside. I rarely get the opportunity to feel chivalrous.”
She laughed, breaking some of the tension that’d been thrumming through her body from the imagined almost kiss, and pushed her door open to climb out. “Is there a white horse to ride up the stairs?”
“Nah, he’s in the shop.” He offered a little bow and a bent elbow. “Will my arm suffice, fair lady?”
She tilted her chin up in her best imitation of haughtiness. “I guess that will do.”
He smiled and took her hand, linking it around his arm. “Lead the way.”
If Wyatt had any opinions about her modest apartment complex and its peeling paint or sagging stairs, he kept the judgment off his face. She knew he’d probably never spent a night in anything with less than five-star accommodations, but she wasn’t going to bother being embarrassed about where she lived. She’d worked hard to get her own place on the decent side of town and even if it wasn’t much, it was hers.
She guided him to her door and reluctantly released herself from his hold to slide the key into the lock. There was a note taped above the doorknob, and she suspected it was the landlord telling her rent was a day overdue. She grabbed it and turned the knob, stepping inside.
She expected Wyatt to follow, but when she turned around, she found him leaning against the doorjamb like a vampire who needed permission to cross the threshold. “You can come in if you want.”
His mouth lifted at the corner. “Probably better I don’t. Leaving the car was hard enough.”
So she hadn’t imagined the almost kiss. She set her purse down on the breakfast bar, debating whether or not to push the issue. Even nudging a toe down this road was a bad idea. But she couldn’t help herself. The question that had been hovering in her mind ever since that first week he’d started coming to the restaurant spilled out. “Why do you come to the cafe every morning? Jace told me where your building is. It’s not convenient.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Because I like you.”
She absorbed that for a second, the matter-of-fact way he said it. The answer didn’t shock her exactly. He wasn’t one of those guys to throw lines at her and shamelessly flirt, but she could tell when he looked at her that he wasn’t just concerned about getting her attention for a coffee refill. However, mixed in with that subtle interest, she always sensed some underlying layer of distance. Like he was watching her from the other side of bulletproof glass. “So why didn’t you kiss me in the car?”
He pushed himself off the doorframe and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Same reason.”
“Right.” At least he was honest. Message, loud and clear. If they slept together, she would never seen him again. “You don’t date.”
“No, I don’t. Not very dateable, I’m afraid.”
“Sure, with the good looks, your own company, and the penchant to save waitresses in dark alleys, women must run away in horror,” she teased. “Come on, you know you could have your own season of The Bachelor and fill Texas Stadium with the contestant casting call.”
His curving lips had an edge of resignation to them this time. “Women like me on paper. But the reality isn’t as bearable. I work from seven in the morning to past ten most nights. I’m a control freak in all aspects of my life. And my social graces leave a lot to be desired.”
“Meaning, you can be an asshole.”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “My tolerance for others is limited.”
She had already gathered that about him. The glare he’d sent that customer who’d interrupted them today could’ve bent the silverware. “Yet you visit me every morning.”
“You’re exceptionally tolerable,” he said, stepping inside finally and picking up the note that must have fallen to the floor when she’d set her purse down.
His comment and having him only a pace away from her—in her apartment, alone—had her thoughts disintegrating for a moment. To stop herself from moving even closer and embarrassing herself, she went for the safety of humor. She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes in her best southern belle impression. “Oh, Mr. Austin, you say the sweetest things. You should write poetry.”
He chuckled and handed her the paper, his hand lingering against her fingers for a few extra seconds. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. LeBreck. Try to stay out of trouble until then.”
“Will do my best.” The loss of the skin-to-skin contact
