Page 24 of Fire in You
“Whatever,” I muttered. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I’ll tell you if you let me in.” His gaze turned shrewd. “Would you be more open to letting me in if you knew I brought something for you?”
The center of my cheeks heated. “You shouldn’t have brought anything for me.”
“Well, it’s too late for that, because I did.” He cocked his head to the side. “And I think once you see it, you’ll be really, really happy you let me in.”
“I don’t care about what you’ve brought.”
“I don’t think you’d say that if you knew what I have.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the next as I glanced behind him. Cool air was drifting into my apartment, and if I weren’t careful, Rhage would sneak out. I nibbled on my lower lip as I weighed my options. Letting him in wasn’t like I was opening myself to anything other than having a conversation with him.
“Decisions, decisions,” Brock murmured.
Rolling my eyes, I stepped back and grumbled, “Come in.”
Brock dropped his hand and walked inside, his head turning as his gaze swept over me. I closed the door.
“Nice socks,” he commented. “You know, it’s like you’re recognizing two seasons right now—summerandwinter.”
I glanced down at myself. Oh crap! I’d forgotten I was wearing cotton sleep shorts paired with knee-high socks. And these wereshortshorts. Grateful that I was wearing a long cardigan over the shirt, I self-consciously tugged on the hem of my shorts while he looked around the apartment. I saw he had a little brown bag dangling from his fingertips.
“So,” I said, fiddling with the sleeves on my cardigan, “what did you bring me?”
“Oh, so now you’re curious about what’s in the bag?”
Crossing my arms, I stared at him while I hoped it wasn’t obvious that I wasn’t wearing a bra, because I could feel my nipples pressing against the shirt I wore.
Brock chuckled as he lifted the bag and reached inside, pulling out a small white carton. He then turned, spying the small kitchen. “So, how long have you lived here?”
“Um, I don’t know.” I watched him walk over to the island and place the carton and bag on it. “I think I moved in here about four years ago.”
“Nice place.” His gaze strayed to the stack of books on the other end of the island, and a fond smile appeared as he started to open the carton. “It’s safe here?”
“Yeah. There have never been any problems here.” I crept closer. “Most of the people who live here are married or work in D.C and commute.” My gaze dropped to his back. Did he ever get the large phoenix tattoo colored and filled in? I bet he did and it looked amazing. Then again, his back with all those ropey muscles always looked amazing. “So, where . . . where do you live now?”
“I bought a house outside of Shepherdstown,” he told me. “Got an amazing view of the river. You need to see it.”
I stopped walking, thinking his fiancée might not be too keen on that. Then again, I doubted she would see me as a threat.
Brock turned sideways, sliding the carton toward where I stood. I glanced over, and I stopped thinking when I saw what he’d brought.
“Glazed doughnuts,” Brock said. “Just glazed. Nothing weird hidden inside them. I know how much you used to hate biting into something and having no idea it’s filled with cream or fruit. They’re fresh, too. Picked them up at the bakery in Shepherdstown that makes them all day.”
I did hate biting into any food and having something unexpectedly squirt into my mouth. It was freaking gross, but I wasn’t focused on that aversion.
Sitting atop wax paper really were large glazed doughnuts.
It was so simple. Just glazed doughnuts. Nothing fancy or spectacular. But heremembered, and I didn’t know why that meant anything to me. I was sure serial killers remembered things about their victims, but I felt some of the tension easing out of my stiff muscles as I blinked back sudden hot tears.
Gah, I was so over-emotional. It was just doughnuts. “Thank you.” I cleared my throat. “That’s really nice.”
His gaze flew to mine, and I hastily lowered my chin, walking past him into the kitchen. “Jillian—”
“You’re eating one if I am,” I said, snatching several sheets off the paper-towel roll. God, I was such a damn mess, but I . . . I missed this—missed having someone in my life who knew me inside and out, because no one,no oneknew me like Brock had. I turned around only when I was sure I didn’t look like I was seconds from exploding into tears, and went to the island, placing the towels on the counter. “I mean, I’m not going to eat three gigantic doughnuts.”
“Since when?”
