A Better Man(29)
"Just give her some time. Like Riley said, she'll come around."
He hoped so, but he wasn't willing to bet on it.
With a nod, he curled his fingers around the bag in his hand, and went up to the baby dragon's lair. Not surprisingly her door was closed. He'd expected her to slam it when she'd rushed up the stairs, but somehow she'd refrained.
He knocked. Of course, she didn't respond. He knocked again. And again. And again. Until finally she yanked the door open.
"What's it going to take for you to go away?" she ground out between clenched teeth. "I know you're dying to."
He held out the white paper bag. "This is for you."
She eyed the bag curiously, somehow maintaining the stink-­eye in the process. Talent. Pure talent to do that. It had taken him years to perfect the stink-­eye on the ice. For him it had been no easy task-­like patting himself on the head and rubbing his stomach in circles at the same time.
"What's that?" she asked.
"It's a surprise." He jiggled the bag. "For you."
She continued to eye him suspiciously.
"Just some stuff I picked up that I thought you might like," he explained. "I promise nothing will jump out and bite you."
While she continued to glare at him, he pushed past her and moved into her room.
"You can't just barge your way in here."
"Too late." He set the bag down on her bed. On his way out the door he stopped where she stood in the center of her room with her arms crossed, tapping the toe of one pink Converse high-­top.
"Keep it. Toss it. Doesn't matter," he said. "What does matter is that I'm not going anywhere. And I'll be back tomorrow to piss you off some more." As he made his way toward the stairs he heard her sputter an obscenity. Then her door closed and he heard the distinct rattle of the paper bag.
A smile crossed his lips.
He hoped the pink floral journal and set of colored gel pens would give her the inspiration to start writing down what was on her mind. The king-­sized Snickers bar had just been pure bribery. Whatever she chose to do with the contents of the bag tonight didn't have any weight on his plans for tomorrow.
He'd be back.
Chapter 7
Standing on the front porch of Lucy Diamond's little two-­story Victorian cottage, Jordan realized he might be overstepping his bounds. Well, there was really no might in it. He was definitely breaking boundaries. She'd given him her phone number, not her address. He'd taken it upon himself to find out where she lived. He hoped she wouldn't see him as a stalker. Then again, that's exactly what he'd think, so he could hardly fault her if she did.
The soft glow of the porch light provided enough illumination to see the surrounding rosebushes and the blue trim on the door frame and windowsills. A clean white picket fence bordered the yard. And from the large tree, an old wooden swing swayed in the gentle breeze, which made him wonder if Lucy had kids.
He hadn't thought of that.
The house was the kind of place one would picture in a fairy tale, and it didn't exactly fit Lucy's straitlaced-­teacher, kickboxing-­tough-­girl image at all.
Night had fallen hours ago and the air was crisp and cool as he knocked on the door. It took a minute, but then from behind the barrier, he heard the sound of scuffing footsteps approach. A long pause hinted that she might be peering at him through the peephole. Finally the door opened.
"Jordan. What are you doing here?"
The response tangled on his tongue as he looked her up and down.
Lucy was dressed in a pair of baggy plaid pajama bottoms and a white tank top with straps so thin they looked like spaghetti noodles. By the sheerness of the fabric and the dusky hint of her nipples showing through, he knew she didn't have on a bra.
Not that he minded.
Her hair was still pulled up in that sexy, messy bun on top of her head. Her dark framed glasses had slipped partway down her straight nose. And she wore a pair of fuzzy slippers on her feet. She held an open paperback book in her hand, and from somewhere in the house the sultry beat of JT's "What Goes Around" played.
"Hel-­lo?"
He dragged his gaze up from her black and yellow bumblebee slippers. "Huh?"
"I asked what you're doing here." The book in her hand snapped shut-­a romance judging by the couple kissing on the front cover-­and yanked his attention back to where it should be. "And how did you know where I live anyway?"
"Which one do you want me to answer first?"