Alice did not move.
“Or else you wouldn’t be in this house right now,” Logan added. “So you take care of her. If someone tries to hurt her, you fucking take the bastard out. Got me?”
“I think you’ve made yourself quite clear.”
Grunting, Logan stormed away. Saint watched him go. There were a few shouts from reporters that drifted through the open door. Then he closed it. Very, very softly. Flipped the locks.
In all the commotion of the day, she hadn’t gotten her window fixed. The boards were still in place. She should go ahead and send out a text about that to her repair—
“Ever consider that maybe Logan is your stalker?”
She’d known the question would come. “Of course.”
Surprise rippled across Saint’s face. Surprise, then a flash of anger as he stalked toward her. “And yet you still let the bastard near you?”
The storm is getting closer. “Would you like a drink?” Then, not waiting for an answer, she turned away and strolled toward the kitchen. “I would like a drink. A big, delicious glass of wine.” She didn’t run away from him. She walked—at a normal speed—toward her kitchen. In the kitchen, she pulled down two wine glasses and opened the bottle of wine that she’d left chilling. “It’s sweet. That’s the only kind of wine I like, so if that’s not to your taste, then I’ll just drink both glasses.” She filled the glasses nearly to overflowing because it had been a day. Her fingers curled around one stem. Lifting the glass, she saluted a grim-faced Saint. “Cheers.”
His hand flew out and curved around her wrist. The sudden move made her shake the wine glass, and a few droplets spilled on her white marble countertop.
“What a waste,” she said, exhaling despondently. “Now if you would release me so I can finish my drink?”
His hold tightened. Not in a hurting way. He’d always been incredibly conscious of his strength when he touched her, something she found oddly sexy. But him stopping her from the drink? Not sexy in the least.
“Alice.” Her name held so much tension. “You think Logan might be your fucking stalker and you let him into your home? You work with him every damn day? What in the hell are you doing?”
“First, if you don’t let go of my hand so I can have this drink, I will be flinging wine all over you. You’ve been warned.”
They had a stand-off that lasted for…
One.
Two.
Three.
F—
His eyes narrowed. He let her go.
Delicately because she wasn’t there to guzzle, Alice sipped her drink. Sweet goodness. “Second, I didn’t say I thought he was my stalker. I told you that I had considered the possibility. I would be a fool not to have done so since Logan has been in my life since I was a teen.”
“And?”
“And…are you going to drink your wine or not?”
“Alice.”
“You have a muscle jerking near your jaw. Is that a nervous tic or rage?”
“You are playing with me.”
No, she was pushing him. There was a difference. She intended to push and push to see just how far she could go until his storm broke over her. “Logan cried for a week when we found a stray dog that had been run over near Abracadabra, so I don’t think he exactly has the killer instinct that my stalker would need.” She sipped. Swirled the wine in her glass. Sipped again. “Do you have a killer instinct, Saint? Something tells me that you do.” In the SUV, he’d offered to put her stalker in the ground.
Had he meant those words? Doubtful. He could hardly be at the point where he was ready to kill for her. In order to do that, he’d really need to love her.
He didn’t.
That muscle ticked again along his jaw. “Maybe Logan didn’t think the dog deserved to die. Maybe he thinks the men in your life do.”
Ah. Well, that was one way to look at things. “You didn’t answer my question.” She lowered her wine glass back onto the counter. “Do you have a killer—”
His hands closed around her waist. In a blink, he’d lifted her onto the counter. My, my, he could certainly move fast, and she did enjoy seeing his strength in action. He stood between her legs, and her dress had hiked up to a wonderful degree. Maybe enough to tempt him and…
He lowered his head toward her mouth. She parted her lips for him.
“No, baby,” he rumbled. “I’m not fucking kissing you.”
How very disappointing.
“You want me to give you oblivion again?”
A little oblivion would be wonderful.
“That’s not happening. Not until I get my answers.”
In his fast movements, he’d somehow managed to not even touch the wine glasses. Since he wasn’t kissing her, she reached over. Lifted his. Sipped it. “Tease.”
He took the glass from her. Turned it and lifted it to his mouth. She noticed that he put his lips in the exact spot where she’d had hers. He drew in a long pull of that wine. “Yes,” he said, holding her stare as he lowered the glass back to the counter. “You are.”
She curled her hands behind his head and pulled him toward her. Her mouth crashed onto his, and Alice kissed him with all the passion she felt. She wanted his storm. She wanted it to break over her and sweep them both away. Out of control. Running on need and lust. Obliterating everything else that had come before. Wiping away the horrible images and taking away the pain and—
Alice caught herself. Stopped. Instead of hauling him closer, she pushed him back. Her breath came out in quick bursts. Her fingers trembled. “Sorry.” Since when did she apologize? “Bad impulse control. You called me a tease, so I wanted to show you I wasn’t.” She licked her lips. Alice could taste him and the wine. After a moment of contemplation, she realized that she liked his taste better than even her favorite Prosecco. “When it comes to you, I don’t tease.”
“Don’t you?”
Her own storm began to swell. “No, I don’t.” Hadn’t he realized that yet? He should have, damn him. “From the beginning, I told you to stay away. I warned you it was dangerous to be close to me.” He hadn’t listened to her warning.
“You neglected to say it was because you had a crazed stalker taking out the men in your life!”
Her lashes flickered. “Not all the men.” Dammit. She could have slapped a hand over her mouth. “Look, Tracy wasn’t a man. And I’m pretty sure he took her out, too.”
“Why?”
Why? “Because she was hurting me. Because he thinks he knows what’s best. Because he thought it would make me happy. I don’t know, pick a reason.” Saint was still between her legs. Way too close. “Look, if you aren’t going to do something fun with this position, can you move?”
He looked down at her legs. “You don’t have your knife on you.”
“A good thing, or else the cops would have taken it at the station.”
“But you told me that you wore it all the time.”
Whoops. Did he remember everything she’d ever said to him? “Not all the time, clearly. I didn’t wear it when I went jogging. I don’t have it on now.”
His head lifted. “Did you know you were going to be taken to the police station?”