“Catarina?” North asks as I check the peephole. “Is everything all right? Who is it?”
“It’s Barrett Fox,” I tell him as I unlock the deadbolt.
“A little late for work, isn’t it?” North growls.
“Not in your handbook.” I end the call, delighting in the zing of satisfaction I feel at hanging up on him.
When I pull open the door, Barrett’s face looks like North’s voice. Hard and unyielding.
“Should I ask how you found my address?”
“12C.” He points at the number and letter on my door as if I don’t know they’re there. “You mentioned it.”
“No, I didn’t. I met you out front when you picked me up.”
He blows out a sigh of defeat. “I sweet-talked it out of Nanci.”
“She wasn’t at the office when I left.” I narrow my eyes.
“I called her.”
Before I can ask why he has Nanci’s number, my cellphone buzzes in my hand. North’s name is displayed on the screen. I show my houseguest.
Barrett’s face is a predictable mask of disapproval. But I’m my own woman, so I answer it anyway.
“Hi, North.” I step aside and sweep an arm inward to invite Fox into my humble abode.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay.”
Barrett walks into my apartment, looking out of place in here. His laptop is under his arm, his hand raking through his reddish hair and then down over the scruff on his face. He studies the floral rug at his feet and the many birds adorning my living room. There are metal ones in mid-flight hanging over an antique sidebar. The encaged statuette of a canary, beak frozen open in song sits on my coffee table. The pillows on my dark brown leather sofa are turquoise and lime green with black bird-shaped silhouettes.
“...or if he’s not treating you well, say the word and I’ll be right over,” North is saying.
“Barrett, do you intend to treat me well?” I ask Fox. “If not, North says he’ll be right over.”
The intensity fades from Barrett’s face and is replaced by a confidently sexy smile. I grin at the exasperated sound coming from my phone.
“Talk to you later,” I promise North before ending the call.
“What’s he going to do, challenge me to a duel?” Barrett asks drily.
“Chess, most likely.”
“He’d win.”
We hold each other’s gazes comfortably. “May I offer you something to drink?”
“Am I staying?”
I gesture to the laptop. “At least long enough to show me what’s on that hard drive.”
“I saved it in the cloud.”
“Cloud drive,” I correct.
“Beer,” he requests.
That I can do.
Chapter 12
Catarina
Barrett’s expression is pure anguish.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” He nervously chews on the side of his index finger. I’ve never seen him less than confident, cocky, or in control. It’s weird.
“Shh.” I pull his finger away from his mouth and scroll through his column. I navigate the menu to show the document’s history and inspect his changes.
“Kitty Cat.”
A sensual shiver runs up my neck at the way his low, soothing voice says my pet name.
“How bad is it?”
He’s sitting next to me on the sofa, his leg bobbing as fast as a sewing machine needle. I reach over and pat his leg. Beneath my palm is stiff denim and taught thigh muscles. I pull my hand away before I cave in to the temptation to run my hand up the length of his hard body.
Odd reaction on my part. Must be the wine.
I reclaim my glass and finish reading his column, then set aside the laptop to give it to him straight. “It’s good.”
“Good?”
“Good, not great. You over-edited in a few places. Scrubbed your voice right out of it.” I show him where he swapped a casual word for a more proper one. “The word ‘crap’ sounds like you,” I tell him. “The word ‘garbage’ sounds more like my grandmother.”
A frown pulls his lips, and my gaze lingers on his mouth a second longer than it should. “You’re the bad boy of the NFL, Barrett. People will expect you to sound like one. Want me to tweak it back for you? It’ll only take me a minute.”
“No.” He snatches the laptop, closes the lid, and tucks it under my turquoise pillow. “I’ll do it.”
“I know this isn’t your life’s work. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me. You do your work. I’ll do my own.”
I meet his glare. “You’re blowing away the idea of the jock who cons the smart girl in school into doing his homework for him.”
“I didn’t do that, either.”
“Not even when the girls at OSU were salivating over your big weekend play?”
A sparkle lights his blue eyes, which are steadily trained on me. “Not even then.”
My wineglass wobbles in my hand. I set it aside. North’s unexpected phone call could be what has me wound tight. It’s not Barrett. I’m not attracted to Barrett. At most I find him tolerable.
“This is work time, not date time I’m assuming,” he says. “None of this goes into the column?”
“I don’t typically work during dates so that’s a safe assumption.” I cut myself off mid-laugh when Fox pushes off the couch and scoots an inch closer.
“Good.” His gaze is on my mouth. I lick my suddenly dry lips. His smirk makes a brief appearance before his fingers rake into my hair. He palms my nape, tips my chin. His breath fans over my face as my eyelids sink to half-mast. Closer and closer his lips come as my heart thunders.
Our mouths meet in the briefest brush before we’re jerked out of the moment by a knock at the door.
Seriously?!
My shoulders stiffen but Barrett’s posture grows more languid. He pulls me closer as another knock accompanies a bellow.
“Catarina!” calls my visitor. An angry, jealous sounding version of my ex-boyfriend. That’s new.
“I have to get that,” I am way too close to Barrett’s mouth to think clearly. His delicious mouth.
“Do you?”
My heart ticks out a few hectic beats. Temptation is a hungry, fanged beast.
“Yes,” I state firmly.
He lets me go and that beast howls in disappointment. I straighten my clothes on the walk across my apartment, and then jerk open the door to find North wearing a suit and a harried expression. His eyes snap over my shoulder and clash with my houseguest’s.
“Barrett Fox. Northrop Phillips the third,” I introduce lazily.
“There are three of you?” Barrett props his hands on his hips rather than stride forward to offer a hand in friendly greeting. Not that North is offering a hand, either. He mirrors Barrett’s superhero posture, and now they both look ridiculous.
“Did you need something, North?” I ask.
“I don’t trust this Neanderthal,” he says, pointing at Fox. “I came to make sure he wasn’t planning to club you over the head and drag you to his cave.”