Eli growled a noncommittal response, and the conversation returned to finding a solution for a glitch in the design of the second-floor balcony supports.
Later, when his brothers and Jack left the trailer and he was alone, Eli’s thoughts returned to Frankie.
Where the hell had that surge of possessiveness come from when she’d stepped into the trailer and met his brothers? The Wolf men had hammered out an unwritten rule while in their teens—none of them ever poached each other’s dates. He had no reason to worry that Matt, Ethan or Connor would do more than flirt harmlessly with Frankie as long as he was dating her.
He’d never before felt the urge to threaten his brothers over a woman. So, why now—and why Frankie?
“The protective thing must be left over from Justin and me vetting her boyfriends when she was a teenager,” he muttered aloud, frowning unseeingly at the drawings taped on the wall.
Of course that was it, he thought with relief. He’d known Frankie a long time—it was only natural he’d feel protective. No doubt if he’d had a sister, he’d feel the same way.
A small voice in his head uttered a loud hah!
Eli ignored it, grabbed his hardhat and left the trailer to purposely stay busy so he wouldn’t have time to ponder all the reasons why he might feel so strongly about Frankie and other men.
Even if the other men were his brothers.
Even if he knew she was perfectly safe with them.
It was going to be a long afternoon, he thought with resignation.
It was nearly seven o’clock before Frankie reached home that evening. The afternoon sunshine had given way to dark skies and sheets of rain that drenched her as she ran from her car. She shrugged out of her raincoat, hanging it on a hook beside the door, then toed off her wet pumps the moment she closed and locked the condo door behind her. Bending to pick them up, she walked in damp-stockinged feet into her bedroom. She dropped her purse and leather briefcase onto the bed, set her shoes next to the floor heat vent and stripped off her jacket, blouse, skirt and hose.
She flipped on lights as she went, turning on the shower and letting it run to heat up the space while she shed bra and panties, dropping them into the hamper before she stepped into the shower.
The water pulsed against her skin, and she turned her face into the spray, relishing its heat for several moments before she shampooed and scrubbed.
She felt a thousand times better when she left the bathroom. She’d towel-dried her hair then run a brush through the tangles until it lay sleek and smooth before donning a clean black bra, panties and gray University of Washington sweatpants. She drew on a matching gray UW hoodie, zipping the front closed to a few inches below her collarbones.
Her stomach growled as she walked barefoot into the living room, pausing to switch on the television to a cable twenty-four-hour news channel before heading for the kitchen. She shifted items on the refrigerator shelves, but nothing appealed. She was just contemplating calling a local Chinese restaurant to order delivery when the doorbell rang.
Sighing, she padded out of the kitchen, across the living room to the tiny entryway. I bet it’s Mrs. Ankiewicz, she thought. Her eighty-year-old neighbor often dropped in on a Friday evening if Frankie was home. Much as she adored the feisty old lady and enjoyed their conversations, however, she was more interested in food at the moment.
One glance through her front door’s small glass viewer, however, had Frankie catching her breath.
Eli stood in the hall outside.
The sense of disappointment she’d felt since leaving him at the work site lifted, instantly replaced by a surge of delight.
Oh, no! Her fingers tightened on the doorknob. She leaned her forehead against the solid wood door panel, nearly groaning in disbelief.
What happened to her determination not to give in to her attraction to him? She knew he was dangerous for her heart—she did not want to take any of this too seriously.
She lifted her head, narrowing her eyes at her reflection in the mirror.
We’re just two people conspiring to teach Uncle Harry a lesson, she told her reflection sternly. Eli isn’t really interested in me—I’m not his girlfriend and he’s not my boyfriend.
Not really. She repeated the words in her mind but she couldn’t ignore the mirror’s reflection of the anticipation that flushed her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes.
She turned away from the mirror and its too-revealing image, drawing a deep breath and straightening her lips in an attempt to erase the smile.
Then she pulled open the door.
Chapter Seven
“Hi.” Unfortunately, she suspected her expression told him exactly how happy she was to see him, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“I thought you might be hungry, so I picked up a pizza—unless the food at the party was good …?” He lifted a square box in one hand; his other held a six-pack of imported beer.
“The food was awful, actually. Come in.” She caught his arm and pulled him inside, closing the door to lead him to the kitchen. “You’re drenched. It must be raining harder than it was when I came home.” She drew in a deep breath when he set the pizza box down on the table and lifted the top. “That smells like heaven.” With perfect timing, her stomach let out a low rumble.
“I’m guessing that means you are hungry?” A smile curved his lips as he shrugged out of his damp jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He wore faded, well-worn jeans and a light blue polo shirt, the fabric stretching snugly over the hard, defined muscles of chest and thighs.
“That means I’m starving!” She laughed and opened cabinet doors to take out plates. “Why don’t you take off your boots and set them on the floor grate over there.” She pointed at the scrollwork vent under the window. “I use the vents for my shoes all the time—works like a charm.”
Eli nodded and pulled off his boots, padding in stockinged feet to set them on the grate.
“Will you grab some napkins out of the drawer next to the sink?” Frankie plied a wheeled cutter with quick efficiency, cutting the pizza into slices.
They carried loaded plates and napkins into the living room, Eli balancing two bottles of beer and a single glass for Frankie.
“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” she asked, curling one leg beneath her as she sat on the sofa, balancing her plate on her lap.
“Positive.” Eli set his plate on the coffee table while he removed bottle caps, pouring a glass for Frankie and setting it on the lamp table next to her at the end of the sofa. “Real men drink beer straight from the bottle.”
Frankie rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll let that pass,” she said magnanimously. “I’m feeling kindly toward you since you knocked on my door bearing edible gifts.” She lifted her slice of pizza. “Mmm.”
