He must’ve scaled the fence, desperate for a few pictures to sell to the gossip rags. I can almost see the headlines he was so hopeful for:Kat and Grayson’s First Christmas! See the exclusive photos on page 12…
Joke’s on him.
I’d laugh at the ludicrous situation, but it’s not remotely funny. Belatedly, I realize I should probably call the police. Somehow that feels like an overreaction, so I call Masters instead. He answers on the first ring.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m—”
“Are you inside?”
“Yes, I’m—”
“Good. I’m pulling into your driveway. Don’t come outside.”
“But, Masters—”
He’s already hung up. I army-crawl like a damned idiot across my hardwood floors, all the way from my kitchen to the front room. Twitching the curtains aside, I peer out and see — sure enough — there’s a familiar black SUV parked behind my red convertible. The engine’s off; the driver’s seat is empty.
Where the hell is Masters?
I’ve barely had a chance to wonder that when he emerges from the side yard, muscles straining against the confines of his white button down as the man in his arms thrashes to get free. It’s no use — Masters is a giant. I’m pretty sure he could dead-lift a baby elephant without breaking a sweat.
The flashing lights of a police cruiser appear at the end of my driveway. In less than ten minutes, Masters has deposited the trespasser into the officers’ custody and given them a brief statement. He glances back at the window I’m watching from, my face pressed against the glass with the same intensity I use to peruse cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery. He gives a slight head-shake as if to saystay inside, idiot.
I decide not to argue with him.
The police drive off with the paparazzo bolted firmly in the backseat of their cruiser; Masters vanishes around the side of the house, presumably to check for other intruders. He’s back a few moments later, standing at my front door with his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his jeans. I let him in, eyes fixed on the shocking garment.
“Youownjeans?” I ask, stunned. “And here I thought you were born wearing that badass looking security-dude suit.”
“Security-dude suit?” He snorts and locks the deadbolt firmly. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here in jeans if it hadn’t been an emergency.”
“How did you know he was here?”
“Remember when you first moved in, and I spent several days rigging all manner of cameras and security sensors around the perimeter of your house, while you and Harper laughed at me and called meparanoid in the extreme?”
My cheeks heat. “I might… possibly… recall saying something along those lines…”
“Right.” His eyes crinkle in amusement. “Long story short: motion sensor went off, sent a ping to my phone, I got in the car and came straight here.”
“You could’ve called me.”
“I assumed you’d still be asleep. And I was worried you’d do something stupid, like confront the bastard by yourself.”
“When have I ever done something stupid?”
He just looks at me.
“Second thought, don’t answer that,” I murmur. “I’m too fragile to handle the truth.”
Masters walks to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee.
“That’s decaf,” I warn.
He grimaces, but takes a sip anyway. “Caffeine’s effects are mostly mental, anyway.”
“Says the man who can consume it any time he wants.”