One Night

Chapter 10, One Night

Going home with Detective Walker Pruett could have been one of the most exciting things she'd ever done if it weren't for the fact that she had a psychotic woman on her trail, a woman who had somehow figured that Kate was the one thing standing between her and Ryder Connelly—a man she didn't know, had met once, and wasn't dating! Kate hadn't argued with Walker about going with him, because the fact was that she felt much safer staying with the hunky detective than with her parents.

He parked outside an older two-story house with a small porch out front. It had a tree in the neat front yard and a lone straight-back chair sitting outside the front door. She followed him up the stairs in the dark and waited while he unlocked the door. It squeaked as he opened it and then flicked on a light. It was quaint. A sofa and chair and a sixty-inch flat-screen TV greeted her from the living room. A pool table was in the dining room instead of a table, and the art on the walls consisted of various Native pieces, completely clashing with this entire man-cave thing he had going on.

"So no missus here?" she asked, because it would have been just her luck.

The look he gave her answered that question. "Seriously, Kate?"

"Okay, just checking. With my track record, it wouldn't surprise me if you had some Big Love thing going on with a couple of sister wives." Now she was being ridiculous, she knew that, and she wondered what it was about Walker that made her say things she'd never say to anyone else.

"Do I look like the type of guy who has women stashed away? Good God, one woman is a handful. Now you think I have a harem."

"Sorry, my experience with men is somewhat jaded."

He grunted and allowed his gaze to linger on her breasts before meeting her eyes. "I'll show you the bathroom upstairs if you want to shower." He was already on the stairs, going up. If she didn't follow, she was pretty sure he was going to just leave her there, so she trotted after him, up the stairs, until she was right behind him. He didn't look back, though. "I'll get you a T-shirt to sleep in, and you can take my bed." He was giving orders suddenly, so cold, changing from a man who'd stopped her with one of the most breathtakingly hot kisses she had ever had to a man who was all business, who couldn't get away from her fast enough. What had she done now?

The stairs squeaked. She figured the house had to be sixty years old, give or take a decade or two. It had dark wood and white walls. Even the floorboards creaked when she walked. The bathroom was dated but surprisingly clean, for a guy.

"There're extra towels in the cupboard in the bathroom." He pointed at the door as if giving a tour and kept walking.

She followed on his heels, past one of the two bedrooms upstairs. The first door was open and had boxes on the desk and other junk piled in it.

"And this is my bedroom," he said. It was small and had a four-poster bed, neatly made, covered in a dark blue quilt, with one pillow. He opened a chest of drawers and pulled out a white shirt. She didn't miss how neatly folded his shirts were—a far cry from hers. Most things were jammed in her drawers, and she could barely close them.

"Wow, it's surprisingly clean. I would have expected something not so neat."

He gave her an odd look, the expression on his face almost unreadable. "Really, you mean like the trail you left at your place? First your red dress—which, by the way, is a work of art on you—then your lacy black bra and underwear. What did you do, step out of everything and drop them as you walked to your bedroom?"

How had he known? She swallowed, because that was exactly what she'd done. She gripped his T-shirt closer, feeling her bare nipples brush the inside of the sweatshirt. Even though she was wearing shorts, as well, she felt absolutely naked in front of him. And, right now, she didn't want to be anywhere else.