Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,27
I doing? I can’t answer the door post-orgasm if it’s him. I’ll say I had headphones on and didn’t hear the knock. Curiosity gets the better of me. I tiptoe over and peek through the peephole.
Brendan.
I scramble back, my bare ankle slamming into the hard edge of the wood coffee table leg. I yelp in pain and nearly lose my balance but manage to right myself.
“Chloe, are you okay?” he calls through the door. He sounds concerned.
I cringe. Now I have to answer the door.
“Yes,” I call out. “Just a minute.”
I smooth my hair, take a deep breath, and open the door. “Hey, what’s up?”
Brendan immediately looks over my shoulder. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I nicked my ankle on the coffee table.” I lift my ankle behind me, glance back, and quickly drop it. There’s a thin line of blood from the scrape. Somehow those surface cuts hurt like hell. All those nerve endings protesting, I guess.
He peers around my shoulder. “Mind if I come in?”
“Sure.”
He steps inside, his dark brown hair damp from the shower. He smells like soap and that woodsy scent that nearly makes my eyes roll back in my head. Snug white T-shirt, faded jeans, sneakers. Is he trying to tempt me? Because I’m into the multi-orgasm night. Wrong. So wrong.
He walks over to the kitchen and peers down the short hallway toward my bedroom. Shit. Did he hear me in there? Is he looking for the guy? Just a solo endeavor! That’s not any better, is it?
Play it cool. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just curious how my apartment is laid out compared to his.
“Need something?” I ask casually.
He stills and then glances around my kitchen, gesturing toward my refrigerator. “Just wondering if you had the same ancient refrigerator as I do. I planned to mention an upgrade to the landlord.” He plants his hands on his hips and stares at my refrigerator.
I shift uneasily. “So, okay. An upgrade would be nice.”
He slowly turns to me. “Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “So…” He ambles out of the kitchen, his brows drawn together.
I watch, expecting him to amble out the door, but he stops suddenly and turns to me. A smile tugs at his lips. “Were you, uh, working out? Your cheeks and neck are bright pink.”
“Yes! I like to work out after work. Ha. Two works. I’m a hard worker. That’s how I bumped my ankle.” I congratulate myself on this completely reasonable explanation. I’m so playing it cool.
“You sure you’re okay?” He closes the distance and puts the back of his hand on my forehead, his brows shooting up over twinkling blue eyes. “Chloe, you’re burning up.”
There’s no hope for it. It’s post-orgasm heat, raw lust, and embarrassment, a killer combo. Still, I double down on denial. “Just exertion. I was dancing.”
He cocks his head. “There’s no music, and that night at the bar in Villroy you said you didn’t dance.”
Great! Bring up that night. Could we pile on any more embarrassment to this moment?
I wave a hand airily, trying to come up with something believable. “It was interpretive dance. You don’t need music. It’s not officially recognized as a legitimate dance form by the established dance, uh, culture. So, according to those more expert than I, I was technically not dancing.”
He crosses his arms, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Uh-huh. What were you really doing?”
I attempt an interpretive dance move—pumping my fists forward and then straight up a few times. “It’s a weekend victory dance. My roommate and I used to do this to celebrate every Friday night.”
His lips curve into a sexy smile. “I’ve got to meet this roommate.”
“She’s back in Texas for the summer. Just me. So what’s new?” I’m nearly bouncing on the balls of my feet. I’m pumped from my recent exertion and the fact that he’s here, smiling his sexy smile at me. Not that I’m going to pounce on him or anything. Been there, got the awkward memory to live down forever.
He steps closer, and my pulse kicks up. “What’re ya doing tomorrow night, party girl?”
“I don’t know. What’re we doing?”
He flashes a smile that makes my breath catch. “We’re going to attempt to cook homemade tortellini. Beast made it before. It’s the best I’ve ever had, and since neither of us is great at cooking, I thought it could be something we figured out together.”
We talked about our lack of cooking skill back in Villroy. We talked about a lot of things that