Okay, brain out of gutter, he chided himself, clearing his throat and trying to say something before he melted to the floor.
“Hi,” she said, as breathless as he felt. At least it was a mutual dumbfounded ogling.
He raised his eyes to her face again, ignoring the spectacular breasts under that top, pretending he hadn’t noticed her nipples tighten under the delicate cotton as she responded to him. And hoped to hell she didn’t notice his cock salute back.
“Hey,” he nodded, burying the overwhelming visions of peeling off those tiny shorts to find out if that ass was as grabbable as he’d dreamed. “So, uh, have you seen any more sign of anything?”
“No. It’s probably nothing. I mean, I’m still a little jetlagged, so, I’m sure it was my imagination.”
“Well, I’ll hang out until we know it was nothing.” And absolutely not make a move. Hell, after the divorce, he’d played the field more than he should have. When Asher joined up, the pair had wreaked havoc on the single female population of San Diego. But the last few years, the job getting to him more than it should, he hadn’t even pictured a woman naked.
“Thanks. I’m really sorry for waking you. If I thought it was anything serious, I would have called the police.”
“So you called Asher instead?”
“I got my driver’s license first and hauled his ass all over town for months, so he owes me many a late-night rescue.”
Nodding, Zane found an easy smile quirking up the corners if his mouth. “And I owe him a favor or two. Could you tell where the shot came from?”
“I haven’t heard a lot of gunfire, and I was asleep, so I couldn’t even begin to guess.”
“Well, I have. Show me where you saw them.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and led the way across the main room and toward the back bedrooms. “It was probably my overactive imagination, but I would swear I saw something move just to the right of that maple.”
“Okay.” He hung back in the shadows and watched out the door.
Standing next to him, she stared along with him. Wasn’t even touching him, but his skin prickled at the heat radiating between them.
She didn’t strike him as the sort to make a big something out of nothing. Maybe it was the sharply sketched flower tattoo on her arm or the tree of life over her left upper back. That she'd jumped in to help unload his truck, without even sticking around for a thanks. Or maybe it was simply a vibe; she was solid, not crying or fussing. Instead, her breath came slow and easy, her eyes scanning the darkness, sporting a scowl of frustration that she might be right.
“Seriously, it was probably just my imagination. You should head home.” She stepped back and sighed.
“Do you imagine a lot of gunshots? I mean, I do, but that’s the PTSD talking,” he shrugged, hoping she didn’t think he was totally nuts.
“No, that was a first. But I haven’t been back in the States long; must be all the talk about everyone having guns around here,” she rolled her eyes at herself, her mouth turned up in a soft smile.
“Well, I’m not leaving until we know the coast is clear.”
She brushed past him, hopping onto the far side of the bed and propping up her pillow against the headboard. Leaning back, she stretched those long legs and took a deep breath that drew the tank lower. Patting the spot next to her, she waved him over. “You can stand there or get comfy.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, he willed away the fucking rock-hard erection at the sight of her inviting him to bed. As she rested another pillow in the spot she’d saved for him, he held his breath, hoping his jeans were snug enough that she wouldn’t notice how desperate he was.
“Really, I feel terrible waking you for a figment of my imagination. No qualms about waking my cousin, but you I feel bad about. Besides, if this wasn’t my imagination, and you just risked your life for a panicky woman that couldn’t just lay low and call the police?”
Shaking his head, he found that rusty smile taking over his face again. He relented to the inevitable and plopped down on the bed next to her and kicked off his shoes. Leaning against the headboard, he glanced at her, then back out the window. Going to be a long fucking night… he suppressed an inappropriate laugh vibrating under his ribs at his poor word choice. No fucking tonight. Sadly. “You mentioned jetlag?”
“I just got home.”
“From?”
“Italy.”
“Fun trip?”
“I lived there.”
His brow furrowed as a distant bell was ringing in the cobwebs of his memory. “Painter. The sunset in Asher’s apartment.”
