Several minutes pass and Coop is still standing there, talking to Theo. Or drawing pictures or whatever it is he does to communicate with Mr. Incommunicado.
“What the hell is it with this guy?” I mutter, growing more irritated by the moment.
Finally, Coop straightens, and the Mustang pulls up to the curb. The engine shuts off. I want to look away, but I’m rooted to the spot, staring out the front parlor window, waiting for what feels like an eternity until the driver’s door opens and Theo steps out.
Black hair.
It’s my first thought when his broad shoulders rise up over the roof of the car. I’ve only seen him in a raincoat, his head covered, but now I see he has a lot of thick, black hair, the length past the collar of his leather jacket. It’s messy. Windswept and untamed, like he only ever combs it with his fingers.
When he turns and looks toward the house, it’s like he knew exactly where I was standing. Our eyes meet with the sensation of a key fitting into a lock: a smooth, inevitable click.
A tremor runs through me, something close to fear but more primal, a pulse of restless energy that makes me want to break into a run.
I’ve never met anyone with more naked emotion in his eyes. His face is stony, but his eyes burn with a thousand unspoken things, all of which are dark.
I resist the urge to step back. We stare at each other until it becomes uncomfortable. I move first, turning to head to the front door, taking deep breaths to calm the sudden throbbing of my heart.
When I open the door, Coop and Theo are walking up the brick pathway toward the porch. Coop is in the lead, smiling nervously. “Hi, Megan!” he calls, as if he hasn’t seen me in forever.
“Hi, Coop. Long time no see.”
Coop ambles up the steps onto the porch that wraps around the front of the house, but Theo stops at the first step and looks at me, as if for permission.
“Sure, Dracula,” I say drily, unamused by this strange situation. “You’re welcome to come in. I’ll put away the garlic and crosses.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. He doesn’t look amused either. He steps slowly up, one big boot at a time, until he’s on the porch and I have to look up as he walks toward me with thunderclouds churning over his head. He stops a few feet away and stares down at me as Coop looks back and forth between us, visibly worried.
But I can’t pay attention to Coop anymore. Not with the boiling cauldron standing in front of me. The rumbling mountain of magma about to blow. The seething pool of silent emotions clad in a leather jacket and jeans. If I were a cop, I’d arrest this guy on the spot for disturbing the peace. All by himself, he’s a riot threatening to destroy the entire town.
On the left side of his neck, a snarl of scar tissue peeks over the collar of his shirt. His nose was broken once and not fixed well. There’s a ragged white scar above his left eyebrow that disappears into his hairline, and he walks with a barely perceptible limp, favoring his left side. And those dark, dark eyes. God, how they burn.
Whatever the accident was that he was involved in, it’s left its mark on this man, in more ways than one.
Coop does the introductions. “Megan, this is Theo Valentine. Theo, Megan Dunn.”
When he glowers at me, as he does, I sigh, because I’m really over this. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Theo, but my mother didn’t raise a liar.”
In the depths of his bottomless black eyes, there’s a flicker of humor. His lips twitch as if he’s about to say something, but then they still, and I realize that was his version of a smile.
“I told Coop that I’ve already agreed to work with Craig from Capstone, so there’s really no need—”
Theo brushes past me and walks into the house.
I turn and look at him, a huff of outrage on my lips, then turn back to Coop, throwing my hands up in exasperation.
“Sorry.” He shrugs. “But you did say he could come in.”
Theo heads to the staircase, then takes the stairs two at a time like he owns the place, his boots echoing hollowly off the wood. As he disappears from view, I shout, “Where are you going?”
Coop says, “He wants to start work on the master bedroom first so you’ll be comfortable while the rest of the house gets done.”
“How thoughtful.” My tone drips sarcasm. “But he’s not working on anything, Craig from Capstone is.”
Coop makes a face like we don’t have a say in it, which is ridiculous because this is my house!
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter, heading toward the stairs. Coop closes the front door, then we’re both clomping up the stairs, me leading the way with steam pouring out of my ears.