Page 35

“How many people have keys to your place?”

Wariness flashed before Riley smiled cautiously. Saint should not have asked that.

“Just her—don’t worry, you’re safe.”

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and he stopped himself from leaning forward to ask just who’d taught her she needed to placate men like him. Instincts like that were learned, usually the hard way. He’d noticed it in the hall too, when she’d kissed him, just barely. It was like she knew what she wanted and was too afraid to come take it.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said.

Riley cocked her head and something stubborn entered her eyes. “Well, then, don’t worry about me.”

He laughed, and it jerked a smile out of her. A real one. Too late for that, sweet girl.

His phone buzzed, rattling against the counter under his keys. For a moment, he ignored it. They could pretend they hadn’t heard it, but Riley glanced over to the sound and raised an eyebrow.

Fucking Wheeler. “I’ve got to get my bike.”

Her gaze shifted to something polite, and she jumped off the counter. “Of course, I’ll grab your clothes.”

Saint suppressed the growl that tried to roll out of his chest.

He rolled up the chips and put them away in a decidedly lacking pantry—no real food at all—while Riley pulled his things out of the dryer. Did she live on air? He snuck a look in her fridge. Bagged salads and take-out containers and a bottle of wine.

“I didn’t put any of your clothes in there.” She set his clothes in a neat pile on the counter. She watched him closely, eyes flicking to the fridge and back. A cold rage yawned low in Saint’s gut at the wariness. The carefully practiced avoidance she’d had at the bar too.

He didn’t want her hiding from him.

“I can see that. Sorry. I was being nosy.” He forced air out of his nose, slowly and carefully.

Her eyes widened, and she turned her back, fussing with a drying cloth. “And he apologizes right away? Good god,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

He let out a small laugh and pulled on his jeans over the thin pyjama pants. “I’ll drop them off later,” he promised. He pulled her t-shirt over his head and tossed it in the hamper.

“That’s fine, no rush—” She cut off, cheeks turning a delicate pink. Her eyes darted over his torso, down and up, like she couldn’t help it.

Riley blushed deeper as Saint’s smile spread, and she shifted on her feet.

Saint pulled on his own shirt and held her gaze. There was something eager there, and he wanted to know more. His phone started to pulse on the counter, and he dragged his eyes away. He answered, only because Wheeler would keep calling. Or come find him.

“I said I’d be down in five fucking minutes.”

“Figured you’d last longer than that, but hey, good on you, bud—” Saint hung up. Wheeler’s voice had carried anyway. It always did.

Riley tried her best to hold in the laughter and failed, snorting into her hands.

Adorably.

“I should probably go,” he said, sliding his wallet and knife into his pockets.

She nodded, uncertainty flickering again. “Thanks for the coffee, and—everything.”

He couldn’t handle her looking at him like that, so he pulled her into a hug. “I’ll text you when I get home,” he murmured into her hair, indulging in the sweet smell for a moment longer.

She melted against him, hugging him tightly, and it soothed everything, his earlier rage fading to nothing. Wheeler could wait all night.

“Okay,” she said, smiling as she pulled away.

“Good night,” he said, brushing a kiss over her forehead before he made his way out. She watched him all the way down the hall.