“Not really a treadmill kinda guy.”
“Office, then?”
“I don’t need an office anymore.”
“Why not?” My nose wrinkles, mind flicking back to his tiny studio. “You have so many computers.”
He lifts a thick shoulder. “I quit Iron Shield so I can be around for Aurora as much as possible. Gave my setup to a friend still in the field.”
He. Quit. His. Job. For her.
Oh, shit. That news is excellent for him, for his case, and probably adoption—but so,sobad for my warring emotions.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurt. My eyes go wide and I swallow hard. “I mean, or like a roommate or something.”
“Girlfriend?” he drawls, brows climbing higher by the second. “Or a roommate…”
I jerk a nod and his lip curls in a smirk. “Why would you think I have either?”
“Your house,” I say, voice bland, disinterested. “It’s big.”
“So I must have a woman who’s gonna fill it with shit?”
I shrug, tracing a crease on the wall like I don’t really care what his answer is. He pauses and I hold my breath.
Finally, he puts me out of my unexpected misery. “No, freckles. I don’t have a woman, or a roommate, or anything of the sort. It’ll just be me, that little girl, and my family when they inevitably show up.”
“Then why did you pick a house with so many rooms?” I blurt again, then gnash my teeth together. What is wrong with me today?
His cheeks go a little pink, just enough to catch me off guard.
“You’re blushing,” I breathe, stepping closer. “Now youhaveto tell me.”
He gives me a long look, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.
“Not sure you can handle the honest truth, darlin’.”
The way he says it makes my blood heat in my veins—sticky and slow, like the very honey they farm here.
Unable to help myself, I murmur the first thing that comes to my mind, “You’d be surprised what I can handle,sunshine.”
“That right?” He steps into me, leaving only a few inches of space between us.
I jerk a nod, doing my best not to combust on the spot.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and leans in, close enough that the longer strands of his hair brush my cheek. I gasp. He makes this low, satisfied sound in the back of his throat, like he can feel what it does to me. “You really that desperate to know about what goes on in my bedrooms?”
“No,” I rasp.
Yes, actually. Truly and honestly desperate.
“Liar,” he mutters, gaze locked on mine. “If you’re curious… all you gotta do is ask.”
I scoff. “And you’d just tell me? Not that I want to know. Because I don’t.One, that’s gross—ew. Andtwo, it’s utterly unprofessional.”
“You’re not my social worker anymore.” Kade tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and drops his voice to a low, seductive purr. “I can be asunprofessionalwith you as I want.”
Oh my God.
