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He made a weird huffing noise before pivoting on his heel and heading to the open-plan kitchen area where he began noisily opening cupboards and throwing items into a backpack.
Jo surveyed his apartment, needing to take her mind off the annoyance of Griff Nyland. Right now, she couldn’t afford any distraction. That was how you ended up dead. Raptor was the fox watching her that would know when she looked the other way. It was a risk she couldn’t afford.
Several sheepskins lay on the floor in front of the stove which was framed by two rammed, floor to ceiling bookcases. The stove was dark, but it was easy to imagine the warmth when it was lit. Perfect for lying beside with a book, a hot chocolate at your side. Cozy. The complete opposite of the couch downstairs, where it looked like he’d been sleeping.
What was he avoiding up here?
Griff stomped past her into what she assumed was his bedroom. She breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be off his radar for a few minutes.
She wandered to the kitchen. The vibe was a masculine mix of stripped wood and black metal. The work surfaces were clear, spices neatly arranged on a simple rack. It didn’t look like anyone had cooked there recently. He’d filed neatly opened envelopes in a wooden holder. The top one had a US stamp, and a motif printed on the envelope. Greenglades.
She turned away. Analyzing his mail was stalkery. On the far wall was a series of framed photographs. The clean, sharp lines of mountain peaks. Dark shards jutting toward a crystalline blue sky, capped with snow. Ice glittered in the air and on the ground, as though it had fallen just moments ago from a storm cloud. The vistas were treacherous but also breathtakingly beautiful.
Below were several smaller prints. Griff, clad in mountain gear, his hands full of rope, sunglasses perched on top of his head. He was head to toe in black, fitted cargos hugging his muscular legs. T-shirt stretched over defined muscles. The body of a warrior.
Clearly, the man loved to climb. She picked up one photo to study it closer. He looked different from the man she’d just met. Happy.
She skimmed her fingertips across his face. He was insanely attractive when he smiled. What had taken away the light evident in his eyes here?
“What are you doing?”
Jo flinched, almost dropping the framed photograph.
“Sorry.” She hurried to place it back on the shelf. “I was just admiring these. You climbed these mountains?”
“Once, a long time ago.” His tone was cool, but she detected a hint of restraint.
“They look amazing. My brother Luke loved hiking, being outside.” She managed a smile despite his scowl. There had to be a way in with this man, some way to forge a connection so they could tolerate being around each other.
“I’ll be finished packing in a minute.” With a final undecipherable glare, he stalked back to the bedroom.
Jeez.
She exhaled, her shoulders dropping, rubbing her upper arms. Being around him…
Her skin felt too sensitive, as if the force of his gaze was a palpable thing. What was that, especially since all she seemed to do was piss him off? Maybe this wasn’t the good idea she’d hoped for.
What if this was one big mistake?
10
Griff stuffed a change of clothes into his compact backpack with a force that threatened to rip the seams.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
He was speaking to Jo as if she was the problem, when she was anything but.
I’m the problem.
He hadn’t felt himself since that doctor’s appointment. Since he’d been told the outlook wasn’t what he wanted it to be. What he needed it to be.
He sighed. He needed to get his shit under control so he could do his job competently. Jo was scared, pursued by mercenaries, and it was his job to make her feel safe. He needed to focus on the job at hand, not his own crappy problems or the jolting pulse of attraction triggered by her presence. Right now, he had to keep her at a distance. It was the only way he was going to get through this job.
He stopped stuffing clothes and sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, and dragged his hands across the top of his head. He couldn’t protect her if he was fixated on how fucked up his life was. That was when you missed signs of danger and the stakes were too high for anything less than total focus. He needed her to trust him, to do exactly as he asked when he asked.
Shit. This wasn’t him. He liked people.
He zipped up his bag and pulled on a clean T-shirt and fresh cargo pants. He would make this good. He stuffed his phone into his back pocket.
