Sleeping With Her Enemy(15)
She heard the shower down the hall shut off.
And of course there was Dax.
Her office enemy. Though perhaps after last night she’d have to promote him to frenemy.
She pulled the quilt he must have covered her with over her head. God, she hadn’t even been able to get Dax, Prince Among Womanizers, to sleep with her. He’d been polite, even complimentary, about his refusal, but a refusal it had been.
She felt like crying. But unlike last night, it seemed like she had some rational say in the matter, so she willed herself to wait until she got home. Or wherever she was going, because who knew if Mason was at her house? What time was it? She grabbed her phone. Dead.
The pounding escalated—it was definitely coming from outside—and she groaned as she tried to sit up.
She almost groaned again when Dax came down the hallway with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wet. No, everything was wet. Gah! Water droplets clung to his sculpted shoulders and biceps and ran in little rivulets down his flat abs. She had the vague idea that Dax was into kayaking and, like, lake-y activities, but damn, who knew canoeing could get a guy so buff?
He didn’t even look at her as he strode to the patio door at the back of the kitchen, opened it, and hollered, “Gary! It’s Sunday morning! Give it a rest!”
She heard the reply from what must be the next-door neighbor. “It’s nearly Sunday afternoon, dude.”
Dax slid the door shut and then pounded his head lightly on the glass while making a strangled noise. Then he sighed, turned, and shot her a lopsided grin. “Sorry about that. That’s my mad scientist neighbor. He’s making a Rube Goldberg machine in his backyard.”
“What’s a Rube Goldberg machine?” She’d heard the phrase but didn’t know what it meant.
“It’s a crazy, elaborate contraption that does a simple task. But it does it in a really inefficient way, with a chain reaction. Think pulleys and gears, purposefully overengineered. It’s like something you’d see in an old Tom and Jerry cartoon. His is supposed to crack eggs.” He rolled his eyes. “Or something.”
She laughed in spite of herself, which in turn caused his smile to deepen into a wicked grin.
Which in turn caused her to shift uncomfortably and pull his T-shirt farther down her legs. She probably should have worn the sweatpants he gave her, but they were too big and didn’t have a tie at the waist, so she’d had to physically hold them to her body to keep them up.
“Anyway. Good morning,” he drawled.
No wonder women fell at his feet. He was like a rugged J Crew model living in a magical land of tiny houses and quirky neighbors. You couldn’t make this stuff up.
“Let me just go get dressed, then I’ll heat up your omelet. I thought it was best to leave you to sleep last night.”
“Thanks. Do you have an iPhone charger?” She picked up her dead phone, then thought better of it. “Wait. I’m suddenly considering the possibility that it’s better not to know.”
He rummaged around in a drawer in the kitchen, then tossed her a charger and cord. “Here you go. Use at your own risk.”
She plugged in the phone, deciding to give it a little juice, just enough to do the responsible thing and text her brother that she was okay. He could transmit the message to the parentals—assuming they even cared. The rest, she would ignore for now.
Fifteen minutes later, she was seated at the café table for two that served as Dax’s dining area devouring an omelet. She followed that with everything else he offered: toast, yogurt, a banana.
“Hmmm…” he said, staring into a cabinet. “Oreos?”
“Hell, yes.”
He grinned, ripped open the package, and tossed it on the table.
“I really am starving,” she said through a mouthful of cookie. “I was too nervous to eat yesterday before the wedding.”
“And then I plied you with alcohol, cad that I am.”
“Something like that.”
They were munching in silence when another pounding started, distinct from Gary’s work.
“Dax!” came a voice from the front door as the doorknob rattled. “Why is this locked?”
“Oh, shit.” He bolted from his chair. “Do me a favor and run and get dressed—no, wait, that’s probably worse.” He threw her the quilt from the sofa and nodded at her legs with his eyebrows raised, a wordless exhortation to cover herself. “Coming!” he called in the direction of the door.
It would be Shelby. It had to be. Dax had said it was over, but she suspected that when it came to dating, Dax was the type of guy who played a little fast and loose with the truth. Why else would be so upset over the prospect of her being seen by whatever woman was at the door?