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“Cover up.”
I’d barely had time to slip it around my shoulders when Ravage stepped closer, and without any warning whatsoever, he eased his arm around my waist, lifting me into his arms. “Hey! What are you doing?”
“I’m on a mouse hunt.” His hand settled at my waist like it belonged there, strong and careful, and my breath caught when he started toward the kitchen. I told myself it was fear of the mouse, not the feeling of his arms around me, that had my heart racing, but I knew better. He chuckled as he sat me down on the kitchen counter and said, “Last thing I need is for you to get spooked and fall.”
“Good thinking.” I adjusted the blanket and took another sip of wine before asking, “Sooo... How did I do?”
“With?”
“The outfit?” I opened the blanket and gave him another peek. “Too much?”
Ravage’s eyes skirted over me, slower this time… long enough for my pulse to quicken. He didn’t smile. He didn’t tease. He just looked at me like there was no doubt in his mind when he answered, “No.”
“So, I did okay?”
“More than okay.”
For once, I didn’t know what smart comment to throw back at him. He looked like he had something else to say, but his jaw tightened instead, like whatever was on his mind might cross a line he wasn’t ready to cross. Heat crawled up my neck as I pulled the blanket a little tighter. “Okay. Good.”
He stared at me for a second, then turned back toward the living room as he muttered something under his breath. I couldn’t quite make it out, but I was fairly certain that he was cursing. I smiled. Tonight might not have gone as planned, but it wasn’t all bad, even with my unwanted guest.
Ravage dropped the broom, and as he made his way toward my pantry, he ordered, “Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” He disappeared into the small room, and when I heard him moving things around, I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Looking for something.”
“I see that,” I huffed. “What are you looking for?”
“No clue,” he shouted back. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
“So, you’re just pillaging through my snacks?”
“Yeah, and no wonder you have mice.” He stepped out with a box of crackers, grumbling, “These went out of date six months ago.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure there’s some ketchup in there that’s been here since I moved in.”
“Pretty sure these pretzels are out of date, too.” He opened the lid and dumped the remaining pretzels in the garbage. Once it was empty, he placed it on the counter and made his way over to the fridge. “You got any scissors?”
“Yes, but they aren’t in there.”
“Don’t sass me, woman.”
“They are in the drawer by the sink.” He pulled out the Mt. Dew I’d been sipping on for the past few days and started pouring what was left down the sink. “Hey, that’s my drink.”
“I need the bottle… unless you want to spend the rest of the night sitting on that counter.”
“No. No. Toss it… Do whatever you’ve gotta do.”
Without skipping a beat, he grabbed the scissors from the drawer and started cutting on the now-empty Mt. Dew bottle. He was really focused on whatever he was doing, but I had no idea what that was. “You going to tell me what all this is?”
“It’s a trap… Well, it’s going to be.”
“You’re making a trap out of a pretzel container and a soda bottle?”
“And nuts and peanut butter.”
“You sound pretty confident for a man who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
