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"You are, but I'm used to it." She waved her hand at her bathroom. "But about this?—"
He'd offered to pay for a hotel while he redid her bathroom, but her little home was her oasis, and she'd needed the comfort of being there. She had a tiny powder room that had a toilet and a sink, and she could shower at her gym, so she'd decided it would work. "I didn't plan for this tonight. I need a shower."
And a miracle, but first things first.
Declan sighed and ran his hand over his short hair, his chiseled bicep flexing like God's gift to women. His hotness had never dawned on her prior to the last few weeks, but her trio of besties had recently been on a mission to get Piper back into the dating game, and they'd fixated on Declan as a good start.
She disagreed, but their constant harping on his physical attributes was working its way into her subconscious, which was incredibly distracting and annoying, especially when he was shirtless and sweaty.
Fortunately, she had a will of steel and enough relationship trauma to withstand any temptation, so it was all good.
"It was my mistake," Declan said, "so you can shower at my place."
"Your place?" Piper had never been in his gorgeous house that shared a gravel driveway with her little carriage house. She'd never even peeked through those beautiful French doors or tiptoed past his gorgeous, landscaped pool. Declan was private, closed-off. Almost a loner, from what she'd observed from herlittle vantage point in his guest house. He kept people away, except for the occasional visit by his mom and brother.
Whenever his mom, Kitty, couldn't find Declan, she always came to ask Piper where he was, if he was going on any dates, if he had gone out recently, if he had gone back to his job as a cop.
Kitty always looked upset when Piper hadn't been able to report any sexy shenanigans happening at Thirteen Hemlock Drive, but she'd always looked relieved when Piper hadn't had any police car sightings in his driveway. Kitty was sassy, chatty, unapologetically bold, and adorable.
Declan, in contrast, was a reclusive ex-cop who spent his life in jeans, boots, t-shirts, and a five-o'clock shadow. His sole existence appeared to be working on his house, playing ball with his dog, and bartending part-time at a neighborhood bar.
His mom and brother were well-dressed, sociable, and always looked like they knew what a shower was for. She had no idea how they were related.
"Yeah. Back door is unlocked." Declan looked at his watch. "I'll be working until six, so you'll have privacy. Use the guest bath to the left at the top of the stairs. It's the blue bathroom."
Piper stared at him. "You're inviting me unattended into your sanctuary?"
He cocked a brow. "Why? Should I not trust you?"
"No. I'm very trustworthy." Well, apparently she was also demon spawn cursed to destroy love and romance in all its earthly forms, but she doubted Declan would be worried about that apparent flaw in her character. He didn't seem the type.
He grinned. "I know you're trustworthy. I ran a background check on you before I rented you the carriage house. You have an hour. Once I'm finished in here for the night, I'm kicking you out, so make it quick."
A background check? Sudden alarm gripped her. Did he know about her past? He was an ex-cop. If he'd decided to dig deep, his tentacles would have gone far. "What did you check?"
His smile faded. "Credit. Prison record."
"That's it?"
He leaned on his sledgehammer, studying her with open curiosity now. "What else is there to find, Piper?"
"Nothing." She shook out her shoulders. If Declan had uncovered her past, he wouldn't have rented her the carriage house. It was fine. Her past was still hidden. No one except her friend Maddie Vale knew.Relax, Piper.She ducked past him and grabbed her shampoo and conditioner off the sink where he'd moved it. "I'll be on my way?—"
"You're getting married?" he asked.
"What?" Alarm leapt through her, and she instinctively glanced at her left hand. Where there was no longer an engagement ring. Had he heard what happened?
He pointed. "The magazine."
She looked down and saw that her copy of the June issue ofElite Bridewas facing him. Relief rushed through her.He didn't know."No. I'm a wedding planner."
Or rather, a wedding killer, according to Kathryn Vespa, one of her bridal clients.
Kathryn had also called her cursed.
And bad luck.
And, most significantly,fired.
